#what do you think he could do in a way that wouldn’t be authoritarian?
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LESSON NO. 1
a/n: bassist!geto teaching you how to play the guitar. loosely based off this but not really connected. as requested by @alcospray 💟 i dont play bass so i just watched a whole bunch of videos for just one song - any bass players wanna correct me feel free to do so ;"). only if u look like geto tho /j. they havent say the three words to each other yet, read it with that in mind :3
wc: 2.1k
“any update from your fan?” gojo nudges him playfully as they wait for the principle of the university to introduce their band for the freshmen orientation, which, weirdly, something that the four of them never thought would happen. they sang about topics that wouldn’t normally get talked about or were shunned — politics, capitalism, authoritarianism — and yet being introduced by the principle of their place of education was quite ironic.
the bassist doesn’t hear gojo at all, not even when his best friend tries to tease him by calling you his fan. there were too many things in geto’s mind way even before this whole performance: his finals, a rival band that sought out to create false rumours about them, you.
always, you, the unexpected distracting thing that infiltrates his mind without fail. from the first night you trodded over to his dorms, opening up to him and letting him take care of you, to the many dates after. he’s taken you to cafés, watched you study way too many times, or simply let you sit through one of his song formation days.
a conscious effort to keep his distance and everything is just you, you, you, and geto is terrified. he’s never liked the kind of love with strings attached, with those mushy, complicated feelings, but no one-night stand, no quick fuck has ever made him feel the way you do.
but lately, he’s seen less of you, unwillingly accepting the principle’s offer to perform for the freshmen because he knew you were one of the group leaders ushering in the new students. at least he could try to search for you in the crowds, even getting a cheeky little text about where your group was meant to sit a week ago. he could be granted at least that when you both have been working so hard for final exams that you two could hardly see each other.
although, throughout their whole set, he sees everyone but you. he loses the bass line often, looks lost on the stage, needs to be cued in, something that never happens to the geto suguru. he’s always been a natural, and yet when it comes to you, you ruin him in the best way possible.
“hey— hey! man, what was that?” gojo slaps him on the back but it doesn’t even register in geto’s head, not really bothered by how he messed up the performance if it wasn’t for gojo’s vocals and shoko adding in her own improvisations for her parts. nanami can only shrug as he comes around to geto’s front.
“she wasn’t there, i looked, too,” nanami mumbled, tapping his drumsticks on his shoulder, “but you’re the most passionate guy i know who loves his guitars and bass lines.”
gojo has to chime in, “he’s the only bass guitarist you know, nanamiii!” and shoko pulls him back with a smack to the back of his head.
the dark-haired guy only clicks his tongue, “sorry ’bout him.”
nanami waves his drumsticks before pointing them at his face, “i know you’re obsessed with her, but i don’t wanna be a drummer if i can’t work with my bassist. sort this out before our next gig. she’s a sweet girl . . just, not when it’s at the expense of the band.”
geto only sighs in relief, landing a hand on his drummer’s shoulder.
“thank you, nanami.” the two exchange smiles before he gives a salute to his other two friends (“do you think he finally loves someone enough for him to be distracted on stage?” shoko says, and gojo gasps dramatically), heading out from the wings and down the stairs at the front of the stage where people look confused at the recent performer looking high and low for where your group was meant to be seated.
he sees not you, but rather your group leader mates who he’s at least seen pictures of, so he has no qualms about heading over to ask about your whereabouts — “the last thing she told our head group leader was that she was down with a nasty flu . . terrible fever and all. our main group leader went to her dorms to check on her and she’s unfit for doing orientations activities. we just sent her loads of soup packets and pei pa koa’s.”
geto laughs at the last part, knowing your need for sweet things. when it’s combined with a soothing coating for your throat, it’s pretty much the only thing you take when you’re sick. with a quick thanks, geto races for the campus bus straight to your dorm, the bass carried on his back rattling with his capo, chord sheets and mute nosily.
at least your annoying roommate’s gone home before school starts so it’s only you when geto knocks on the door. his knuckles rap against the wood, heart breaking when he hears your hoarse voice answer from the other side. soon, he can hear your feet moving towards the door, but it takes a while from how your body is, knocking over some things in the process.
“c-coming!” you groan out, wrapped in layers of clothing and feeling so hot you feel like you were in hell. but you aren’t expecting the sight when you open the door: your boyfriend panting, the guitar case behind him only telling you he’s come straight from the freshmen gig, the expression on his face.
“s-su!” you exclaim, both excitedly and a little worried because you didn’t want to get him sick, something you regret immediately when you go to clutch your throat.
“oh, baby,” geto brushes the hoodie off your head and brushes away the mess of your hair, “you look so pale, i— i would’ve come sooner if i knew—!”
“that’s why i didn’t tell you,” you pout, pushing away his hand gently and stepping back. it hurts to speak, but you feel like you at least need to explain your absence to him, “i was afraid you’d ditch the performance. also— don’t want you to get sick.”
suguru’s expression softens, “don’t worry about me, doll. come,” he takes one more step towards you and you feel so safe with him you don’t take a step away, “let me take care of you.”
the next hours are full of geto, a revered bassist in an upcoming band who dons long hair, piercings and has a menacing dragon down his arm alongside some boots, taking care of you. he runs back and forth between the pantry to make sure you have enough hot water, boiling hot soup to drink, enough layers to keep you warm and even calling gojo to get some tylenol from the supermarket.
“take a breather, sugu, i’m not gonna die,” you laugh slightly with a rasp to your voice, squeezing his hand as you rest against his shoulder. he’s made sure you at least have something in your stomach and enough hot water to power a hot spring, worry showing through his heartbeat when the hand he holds is still so warm.
“you’re heating up loads, baby,” geto frowns, turning his head to plant a kiss on the top of your head. he rolls his eyes when he hears it’s because you’re here. “do you want me to put cool towels on your head?”
you giggle again and cough, sniffling the mucus back up your nose, “no, it’s okay — you’d have to go to the pantry again to get water and i just want . . you here.”
suguru only hums, something akin to a melody that you don’t quite know but you’re happy to listen to his gruff voice anyway. the way he vibrates as he hums sends a calming feeling right to your body, and how he looks and feels so different from the very first time you were alone together.
he seemed so cool, passing the blunt to you and blowing his smoke into your mouth, kissing you like you’re just another girl in his roster; but right now, you were far from it.
now, not only is he still cool, but he’s also the most caring person you know and is something so far from his appearance and band: this is just one in many instances of how much he takes care of you. from the same fingers that strum upon the stainless steel, they travel miles over your body, your face like the first songs he learned on the guitar, weaving a melody and language so intricate only the two of you speak it.
silently, you feel him push you forward while he slots his legs on the other side of your body, letting you naturally rest with your back to his chest. “wanna learn?”
“i am in the most terrible state, suguru,” you whisper, reaching over to take a tissue. there, you blow your nose and clear out your nostrils until the next round, groaning softly at the grossness of the tissue.
“ohh . . but wasn’t someone saying that she isn’t dying?”
your jaw drops, “i can’t believe you would use that against me.”
the corners of your boyfriend’s lips turn up in a sly smile, “just quoting my girl. but—”
this time, he’s the one reaching over much further than you, hand clutching the neck of the guitar through the bag. gently, he settles it on both your laps, laughing when a small oof leaves your lips at just how heavy his bass was.
“i’ll do all the playing, you just mirror my movements.” with one more kiss to your temple, geto reaches around easily to play the starting notes of psycho killer. while there’s a clear layering of the lead, vocals and drums in his head, you’re just left confused by the repetitive bass.
but soon, you’re able to catch the notes that repeat over eight counts, hypnotised by the other’s longer fingers as they transition into the chorus line. it’s a little more complicated, now, descending into chords that you frankly don’t have any grasp on. one look at your face is enough to send him into soft laughter.
“okay, okay, let’s just focus on the verse.” if you weren’t feeling lightheaded from the fever before, you are now when geto curls his hands around yours, placing your finger easily on the fifth fret of the first string.
“so here . . we have the first bar of A notes, easy? then . .” he demonstrates the first four notes, plucking the strings for you before moving it down to the third fret to play the G note. a small smile spreads across his face when you slowly get the hang of it: six notes of A, two eighth notes, and then a G on the same string. geto slowly releases his left, letting you play on the melody while he helps you to pluck.
“that’s it,” still natural, it doesn’t faze geto at all to nuzzle his head into your neck from behind and to start kissing up your shoulder to your jaw, fingers still expertly plucking the string. the both of you repeat the bass line until he’s grabbing your awkward right hand and quietly, he angles your fingers so you’re following him, “you’re a fast learner.”
“i have a great teacher,” you mumble, and suguru doesn’t tell you that you just willingly kissed his jaw out of habit — because he knows you’d freak out at the possibility of getting him sick. it’s sweet, that in your delirious state you’re still acting out of admiration at the back of your mind. like the bass, loving geto feels as natural as the repetitiveness of psycho killer.
the bass notes reverberates through your bodies, just almost acting like a trance that makes your fingers falter upon the steel strings. he goes on to slowly play the chorus, stretching his fingers into weird shapes. he plays various chords, voice cracking just a bit when he tries to sing the vocals and you laugh softly.
“i just don’t have satoru’s higher register.” geto jokes, knowing you’re close to falling asleep from the way you hum and give one worded answers, so he easily takes over from you, changing it to an easy song. you let the low notes of the bass serenade you to sleep as you curl more into your boyfriend, but not before you hear a glimpse of geto’s harmonised singing to yellow.
it’s not often you hear him sing, being a bassist and all, but there is a nice edge to his voice — not quite made for vocals but you know he can do it if he tries. and even if you don’t voice it out, geto thinks the same thing. it’s similar to this stupid love thing that’s got him all tangled up and distracted, too, and he realises so many new things about himself through you.
you give love a fresh breath of life, nothing like the things suguru sings about in his unfinished demos and notebooks — multitude of things that involved you and his fucked-up perceptions and the foolishness of his parents telling him he’d find the same. you are all he thinks about when he sees the black cough syrup and he can’t stop craving the feel of your body against his.
the moment your breathing turns even and you sag against his embrace is when the strings stops and his breathing escalates. in geto suguru’s arms is the personification of something he never thought he would let into his life, yet you carry the choirs of love and acceptance so effortlessly like heath’s bass guitar solos and atsushi sakurai’s spotless vocals.
suguru’s head simply falls onto your unknowing shoulder, a small fuck that leaves his lips and a smile that he can’t contain is all he needs to know.
@mysugu @suget @slttygeto @na-t0 💟
#i had to give this lore 😭😭😭#also SOOO self indulgent#pei pa koa lovers rise#school has left me burnt out omfg ... i hate this 😭😭 what was i writing#any gals wanna help me check my wc cauusseee im out lol#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen headcanons#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen geto#geto x reader#jjk geto x reader#geto suguru fluff#suguru geto x reader#suguru geto x you#getou suguru x you#getou fluff#getou suguru x reader#jjk drabbles#jjk fluff#jjk scenarios#jjk x reader#geto suguru x reader#jujutsu kaisen getou
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i cannot believe its 2024 and there’s people that think cordelia did nothing wrong 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭
i apologize for the rant but
i read the original ‘argument’ and well
personally, i think its kinda insulting to the triplets as characters to just diminish everything they experienced as children and say that cordelia was a good mother. to say that “cordelia never had sex with laito and never had sex in front of kanato!” and that it was just blood drinking is like … insane to me.
like. just use your brain. i really don’t wanna go into a long rant about this, but im prettttty sure laito wouldn’t be attempting to ruin all people that still have their purity by forcing them into sexual intimacy and having such a bad perspective of love if he was just asked by cordelia to drink his blood. like seriously, in MB laito even uses the word “love” to get sex with some of the maids, since thats his understanding of love. and who would’ve taught him that? maybe the person he continuously has conversations about love with in his flashbacks. like his mom.
and im prettttty sure kanato wouldn’t be so traumatized by just seeing his mom drink blood in front of him. kanato even learned how to pleasure girls BY what he witnessed crim cordelia. please correct me if im wrong, but im pretty sure kanato said in dc that cordelia even made him sing until his voice cords bled. kanato was neglected, ignored even when cordelia was doing something intimate with another — which made him the character he is. bratty, angry, always needing to fight for attention. even in cordelias death, kanato took her ashes and stuffed them into teddy so that he finally could have ALL the attention and all of her that he never could have. even eating them when he felt alone.
im not going to touch on ayato since i think his abuse is the most known, and my point about this is just more on the sexual abuse anyways.
theres no denying ALL of them were abused in their own ways.
my point is, if you say laito never engaged sexually with cordelia and kanato never witnessed cordelia having sex with other men, their character development would literally make no sense. flashbacks appear for a reason in DL, and its to give an explanation on how they developed into the diabolical characters we know and love. if cordelia was such a good mother she would not be shown so often in the triplets routes. i mean, look at shu’s. beatrix hardly makes an appearance in his in comparison to the other brothers, since his explanation on his character development comes from what happened with edgar more than his mothers authoritarian parenting.
i also think people get confused of the difference of liking a well written character and completely justifying what they’ve done. cordelia has gone through her own share of trauma, so it makes sense how she came to be the mother we know, which is an abusive one. but its not an excuse, its just an explanation for her actions. i love her as she’s a great antagonist, but just because i do doesn’t mean i love what she’s done. you can do both.
#toffee speaks#and rants#diabolik lovers#diabolik brothers#dialovers#shuu sakamaki#ayato sakamaki#sakamaki#kanato sakamaki#laito sakamaki#cordelia sakamaki
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Weaponized Incompetence -
Weaponized Incompetence 1/?
John ‘Soap’ MacTavish x reader, fem pronouns
Warnings: none, sfw.
MacTavish was, without a doubt, one of the most patient and kind Sergeants you had ran across in the SAS, made even odder by the fact that he was a Sergeant in one of the most elite Task Forces in British military history. But he was. He was firm and encouraging, always willing to answer (reasonably) stupid questions, and the least likely between himself and Sergeant Garrick to absolutely lose his shit.
Admittedly, Sgt. Garrick had been pushed to the metaphorical edge by a very, very stupid troop who just didn’t know when to quit. He probably would have handled it better, if it hadn’t been the first week of evaluation. You couldn’t really hold it against the Sergeant.
Six months later, and Sgt. MacTavish had kept a distressingly cool head. You weren’t fond of it; it left a lot of questions. Where was the line? How would he react when it was crossed? How did he handle anger - was he a shouter? Mr. Cold Shoulder? You had seen Sgt. Garrick at his limit; a shouter. Captain Price was authoritarian to his core; disappointed, and willing to hand out fitting punishment to ensure it didn’t happen again. Ghost, terrifyingly, appeared to be a cold shoulder kind of guy; the kind of petty, what are you talking about, I’ve never heard of Trooper Johnson a day in my life while maintaining eye contact with said never existed Trooper.
Initially, it hadn’t bothered you. But the longer it went on, the more you wondered. And obviously you couldn’t do anything serious to trigger him. You weren’t about to risk your tenuous place on the 141, even as a tertiary member. Which left your favorite method - playing as stupid as humanly possible.
Never about anything work related. You had fought tooth and nail for the respect you earned as one of maybe 20 female front line soldiers. No, you had to act stupid about the stupid things.
You started small. Spotting the mohawked sergeant in line at the cafeteria, sliding your way behind him with a beatific smile at Troop Russell, who let you into line with a resigned air. Carefully brushing your shoulder against the sergeant, welcoming his easy greeting like a witch letting children into her gingerbread house.
“You know,” you started, in a way that anyone who shared a barracks with you knew was a bad sign. “I’ve never figured out why people think chickens lay eggs.”
Smiling vacantly to hide the incandescent joy of shit-stirring, you watched as the sergeant stuttered, brows closing together in confusion. You could practically see the thoughts growing in that pretty little head; is she being serious? Is this a joke?
No joke, you thought giddily, still maintaining a deviously blank poker face. Go on, you know you wanna.
“What are ye talkin’ ‘bout?”
“Eggs,” you answered, slow enough to cast a questionable tone. Like you couldn’t understand why he would be confused. “They come from cows.” By this point, the line had stalled, Sergeant MacTavish bewildered enough to cease multi-tasking. You couldn’t blame him. Walking single file while cafeteria staff handed you food was probably a difficult task when dealing with yourself. You wouldn’t know - you were everyone else’s problem, never your own.
Pointedly, you looked at the lone, hard boiled egg resting on his plate, and then past his shoulder to the stretch of no man’s land between him and the person in front of him. At least a meter of space. He jolted into action, the hiss of his plastic tray frissioning against the metal ledge covered by his pretty, deep baritone. “Eggs are poultry, lass. They do come from chickens.”
“See, everyone thinks that,” you shook your head. From the corner of your eye, you can see Troop Russell, chin tucked to his chest. Troop Russell has never won a game of poker in his life. You’ve never played poker with him, but you know this for a fact as well as you know that chickens do, obviously, lay eggs. “But they’re wrong. They come from cows; its why they have a second stomach. Its how they regurgitate eggs.”
They key to saying this kind of off the wall shit, you’ve learned, is to never give anyone time for a reasonable retort. It’s why you decided to corner him in the lunch line, a bunch of military ducks in a row that clears out relatively fast. Content with the microwaved chicken sandwich dressed up with a single leaf of lettuce, fruit cup, singular rolling egg, and squat baby water bottle on your tray, you decide it’s time to make your escape.
“C’mon, think about it sergeant - if eggs come from chickens, why are they in the dairy aisle? With all the dairy?” And there it is, quick but beautifully vindicating; a flash of what the absolute fuck across his adorably disgusted little face. Not yet fed up with your shit, but certainly in disbelief of it.
“Anyways, have a nice lunch, Sergeant,” you grin, practically floating to your usual table. Moments after you settle onto the bench, Troop Russell is sliding in next to you. “This is going to end horribly,” he points out.
“But hilariously,” you counteract. “Don’t ruin this for me.” Deciding to start with your victory egg - the catalyst of your nonsense - you make eye contact with Sergeant MacTavish as you bite into it. Three rows away and seated diagonal from your own table, he’s ignoring the seemingly content ramblings of Sergeant Garrick to squint at you. Confused. But, like those dumb ass kids who saw a gingerbread house in the middle of haunted woods, you knew he wouldn’t walk away. Oh no. Too baffled by the incongruousness, he would walk right in.
Blame it on daddy issues, or problems with authority, but you refused to work with a man without knowing what he was like madder than a bull. And something about easy, pretty Sergeant MacTavish told you whatever outcome? It would be fun.
anywho, I have no idea & am screaming into the void 🥴
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Future generations will look back on this time period like we do the dark ages. Religion, in its death throes, is fighting to make a comeback in relevance by banning women’s healthcare because they want more babies born whose health and well being they won’t contribute to.
And fuck you if you were raped and molested by a stranger or family member resulting in pregnancy. Even if you’re 12. You have to carry your rape baby, especially in Texas where we lead the nation in rape babies doubling the next highest state.
Like we view the dark ages
We have a depraved degenerate piece of shit subhuman claiming to be ordained by god, confirming that yes, religion is bullshit and just a way to control the superstitious masses. If god existed, it would in no way want to be associated with trump and would actively distance itself.
The fact that that traitor insurrectionist piece of shit is allowed to run for president after trying to overthrow the govt by force (jan6), bureaucratically(fake electors scam), and by extortion (the Georgia find me more votes scam), is beyond me.
The whole country saw what he did. It’s just that republicans have gotten sick of losing elections so now they embrace fascism. They will support trumps authoritarian autocratic dictatorship because it means they won’t lose anymore elections.
And we will just let him.
See, this election isn’t Trump vs Biden. The democratic challenger could be a flaming bag of shit, it wouldn’t change the stakes. Every year, people say this election is so important and they’ve been wrong. But this year they are correct. This isn’t Trump vs Biden. It’s dictatorship vs democracy. Trump wins and he’ll crown himself king for life. Anyone who opposes him will be thrown in prison. Listen to his speeches, he says the quiet part out loud. Everyone in his campaign is saying trump’s next term will be all about retribution. RETRIBUTION against those who wouldn’t allow him to steal the last election.
There is no love, no goodness in Trump. He’s an asshole to everyone. He quotes Hitler and counts Putin, Kim, and the Hungarian dictator Orbàn as friends. He’s a scumbag using religion to solidify his cult status over the simpleminded racists who support him. He’s not a christian, he’s not friendly and he thinks Hitler did good things
Even if you hate Biden, it’s not him you are voting for by voting for him. You’re voting for a continuation of democracy, which may be battered by things like horrible Supreme Court rulings (citizens united, repealing Roe v Wade, corporate personhood) but it’s better than a Trump led dictatorship. Once democracy is gone, it’s never coming back without war and death. Is this what you want? Do you think you will survive bombs hitting your neighborhood, your apartment building? Ask people in Ukraine what that’s like.
It’s not Biden vs Trump. It’s dictatorship vs democracy. It’s black and white, no shades of gray. If trump wins, you will never vote in a meaningful election again. And if you or anyone you know complains, they will disappear. Those who don’t remember history are doomed to repeat it. And history is repeating itself. Hitler won by one vote. Trump won in 2016 despite getting fewer votes because of the electoral college. And if he loses again, he’ll pull the same shit as in 2020, but more forceful.
Keep trump out of the White House.
For fucks sake!
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Parallels between Danny Phantom A Glitch in Time and The Ghost and Molly Mcgee
While i was reading the graphic novel, Danny Phantom A Glitch In Time and the way it talked about the nature of the ghosts, i couldn’t help but think about how similar it was to themes of the series The Ghost and Molly Mcgee.
For those who don’t know, The Ghost and Molly Mcgee is an animated series about a girl, Molly Mcgee, and a ghost, Scratch, who accidentally get cursed to be together and over the course of the first season they become friends and family.
The series has story arcs and episodes exploring ghosts and the ghost world much like Danny Phantom does. The main difference is that The Ghost and Molly Mcgee is more slice of life, meaning the focus is on the character interactions and development.
Since i’m going to talk about A Glitch in Time’s plot and themes, this post is going to have spoilers. So, be careful if you haven’t read that novel yet and you don’t want to get spoiled.
Having that in mind, let’s discuss some parallels between these shows:
1) Ghosts being driven by emotion
In A glitch in Time, it is revealed that the ghosts have an ¨emotional drive¨ or that their powers come from emotions. This makes Danny and the others change the way they have seen ghosts all this time and reconsider a different approach when it comes to dealing with them instead of only fighting them.
In addition to this, Danny and Vlad change in the way they see themselves as ghost-human hybrids, inspiring them to find a new purpose to drive them.
In Danny’s case is helping both human and ghosts while Vlad’s purpose becomes making amends for his terrible past actions and trying be better.
This changes the way the series potrayed ghosts until now: In the original show ghosts were often potrayed as enemies that Danny should fight and were there to cause chaos. The novel introduces the idea that maybe there is a better option to deal with them that comes from understanding what makes them do certain things and looking for a way to help them.
In the series The Ghost and Molly Mcgee, while ghosts aren’t ¨driven by emotions¨ they can have unfinished business from their past human lives and become corrupted if they get consumed by a single emotion from their unfinished business.
The third episode from the show (Season 1 2-A), Howlin Harriet, introduces the idea of ghost corruption by using the ghost Howlin Harriet as an example of that. In the episode the protagonists help Harriet with her unfinished business, she turns into a normal ghost and is able to move on to the Ghost World now that she doesn’t have to worry about her unfinished business.
As you can see, The Ghost and Molly Mcgee usually potrays ghosts as beings who aren’t good nor evil, it all depends on the ghost. Ghosts are often potrayed as lost souls who should be helped with dealing with their unfinished business instead of being hurt.
The show also makes a good point that some ghosts are forced to scare and cause misery because, if they don’t, they will be sent to the Flow of Failed Phatoms by their authoritarian leaders, the Ghost Council and the Chairman. Ghosts don’t start chaos because it is ¨their nature¨. It’s because of the system they live in and they wouldn’t do that if they weren’t obligated too.
Scratch, one of the two main protagonists, has the job of spreading misery in his town, something that is a main conflict in Season 1.
2) Helping ghosts instead of hurting them
In ¨A Glitch in Time¨ Danny decides that he would like to help ghosts instead of capturing them like he used to in the series. He talks about how he is going to ¨heal the rift between worlds¨, acting as a bridge for the human and ghost world.
This gives the idea of the protagonists not seeing ghosts are their enemies but more as beings that could be helped or saved from whatever issue they have, since their are entities that are driven by emotions.
...Now when Sam mentioned them being ¨ghost helpers¨, it made me smile because in The Ghost and Molly Mcgee, the characters start their own team called ¨Ghost Friends¨ whose goal is helping ghosts in need or looking to help them with their unfinished business.
The characters have been helping ghosts since the start of the show but the team as a concept wasn’t introduced until Season 2 in the episode ¨The Unhaunting of Brigton Video¨. What it is funny is that in that episode they have their own theme sequence:
youtube
If you pay attention to the theme, Scratch mentions how Ollie Chen is a ¨ghosthunter¨,because yes, Ollie comes from a family of ghosthunters and he was raised to see ghosts as ¨horrible monsters¨ growing up, a bit similar to how Danny Fenton was raised to see ghosts as his enemies his series.
Now... the big difference between Danny Phantom and The Ghost and Molly Mcgee is that in The Ghost and Molly Mcgee the ghosthunters are potrayed as antagonists and their hatred for ghosts is left very clear as something that is bad since most ghosts are usually harmless or just lost and confused and need some help as shown in multiple episodes.
Ollie Chen is someone who was raised to see ghosts as evil but over the course of the first half of Season 2 he changes his mind about them and later joins the ¨Ghost Friends¨ team to help ghosts instead of capturing them. Season 2 is following this story arc with the rest of the Chen familly, which has yet to finish airing since only a bit more than a half has aired.
In Danny Phantom ghosthunters are potrayed as more morally gray since in the show ghosts tend to cause chaos and Danny has to fight them and send them back to the Ghost Zone. In A Glitch in Time brings up the idea that this view of hurting and capturing ghosts isn’t the best and maybe Danny should fight them only when it is necessary, like he does with Dan later in the story.
If Danny Phantom gets some continuation in the future, it is possible that ghosthunters could be potrayed in a more antagonistic role and ghosts in a more sympathetic way to expand on this theme from the graphic novel.
3) Redemption
A theme that becomes very clear in the last third of ¨A Glitch in Time¨ novel is the capacity that people have for change and deserve healing, even if they are really broken and aren’t good people. This theme is executed through Vlad Masters and Dan/Phantom, two characters who went through some terrible experiences and developed very toxic coping mechanisms in different ways.
During the battle against Dan, Vlad admitted his very selfish actions and how he pushed everyone away as result of that. He decides that his new purpose is going to be making up for his past misdeeds, starting with helping and taking care of Dan/Phantom.
In case of Phantom, is both a mix between letting himself be helped with his issues and regretting is actions. He accepts Vlad’s offer and he is later put inside a Danny clone to hold his spirit in the timeline.
In the series, Danny Phantom had a bit of this theme like in the episode ¨The Ultimate Enemy¨ and Valerie’s character arc. However, I would argue that the morality was a lot more black and white, specially in Season 3. In the novel, things aren’t so black and white as they seem and there is a bit of gray in between.
In the series The Ghost and Molly Mcgee, redemption is a theme that is clear from the first episodes with the main character Scratch.
Scratch starts as a very mean, closed off and cold ghost who pushes others away. It is explained that this comes from the system that exists in the Ghost World and how he is treated like ¨the worst of the worst¨, leaving him with no friends. It’s heavenly implied something bad happened to him in his past human life that lead him to be this way, an aspect that the series has yet to explore in detail but will soon in this season.
Thanks to his friendship with Molly and his relationship with the Mcgee family, Scratch is able to open up to others and start ¨living¨ again. Overtime he becomes more considerate, generous and adopts part of Molly’s more optimistic world view. However,he still has a lot to learn and things he has to work on.
While not all characters get redeemed in The Ghost and Molly Mcgee, there is this theme that people have good in them and have the capacity to change if they want to. One of the main arcs in Season 2 is about the Mcgee family making the Chen family to change their minds about ghosts, since their hatred seems to come from not knowing well enough about ghosts and how they behave. This is applied to other episodes as well, like Lord Doom episode.
I would argue that in contrast to Danny Phantom, this theme has been prevalent in the series as a whole so far. In Danny Phantom this theme became a lot more prominent in the A Glitch in Time novel, taking a different approach that the original series did.
Conclusion
Both Danny Phantom A Glitch in Time and The Ghost and Molly Mcgee share similarities in their core themes and how they potray ghosts as entities. Both stories show ghosts as being that should be helped and usually have a reason behind their actions. The capacity for people to change and heal is another theme that is common in both works too.
In my personal opinion, i think this happens to be pure coincidence since the A Glitch in Time novel was announced to be in production some time before The Ghost and Molly Mcgee premiered back in 2021.
It is still interesting to see how these two shows share parallels between them and how these themes are executed in different ways.
#Danny phantom#danny phantom a glitch in time#The Ghost And Molly McGee#Tgamm#danny fenton#Vlad masters#Dan Phantom#molly mcgee#Scratch mcgee#ollie chen#parallels
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A Growing Lily - pt. 2
Hope you like part 2...let me know what you think! And part 3. Is almost ready!
Word count: 3435
Summary: You’re divorced. Elvis takes you and you little daughter to live with him. 13 years after he acts like a perfect possessive and jealous father.
Warnings: +18, mention of booze, authoritarian fathership, rebellion, relationship step-father/daughter
-‐-----------------
13 years after...
In the first years your life was exactly as you expected. Lily was growing and you and Elvis were united as ever. But thirteen years could change even the most perfect couple. He was always caring and loving with you and Lily, but you seemed to have lost the joy of loving him, even if you would never leave him. You were so grateful to him for saving you, for giving you the new life you deserved and now you simply couldn’t tell him that things have changed a little for you.
Lily had turned into a beautiful 18 year-old girl and she was Elvis’ real joy. He spent most of his time with her, spoiling her and cuddling her as his little princess.
One day he got back home and find Lily on the couch, reading a book. He leaned down behind her and kissed her head: “How's my favorite little girl doing tonight?”
“She gasped surprised: “Elvis...you scared me! I’m good... you alright?”. After she turned 15 she wouldn’t be able to call him daddy again. She was growing and he was getting older too. He was 35.
Lily grabbed his hand as he seated next to her on the couch: “Where's mama? I haven't seen her all day...is she ok?”
He looked at her seriously: “She's upstairs in bed and do me a favour, darlin', don't bother her, alright?”. You asked him to let you sleep. You hadn’t felt well all the night and you were so sleepy that you had to recover. Lily looked at him worried: “Is she sick?”
Elvis looked up annoyed. “Not exactly, sweetheart. She been cryin'...ya mama got a lot on her mind, but it was my fault this time, so she needs her sleep now.”
“What happened?” she asked worried.
He smiled: “Don't you be worryin' your little pretty head about your mama, sweetheart, she’s fine. Just let her sleep, don't you bother her tonight, ok?”
Lily got up from the couch. “Well...ok...I was about to tell her that I'm going out tonight...”
He looked at Lily: “You are, sweetheart? Where you goin'?”
She headed to her room: “Hanging out with my friends, we would probably go to that beach party I told you about!”
He pointed his hands on the couch and followed her. “Seriously Lily? I thought we talked about that…I don’t want you to go that party...who knows how many people, drugs, booze... just ain't safe, ya hear? I think I maybe have to talk to your mother...”
Lily smiled at him and kissed him on the cheek: “Oh please...I'm not 5 years old anymore...and mama agreed to let me go! Didn’t she tell you?”
He ignored her kiss and kept on talking: “Well, sweetheart, just cause you aren't five anymore doesn't mean a thing, darlin'!” He was in rage. But suddenly he calmed down “Just promise me...no booze, no drugs, no messin' around! Okay?”
“Alright... no booze, no drugs, blah blah blah...ok...same things...” she answered.
“That's a good girl, you know how I love you and I get so worried when you ain't around, sweetheart.”
“I know! But you dunt have to worry! Now I have to get ready. Danny is gonna pick me up in 15 minutes!” She headed for the bathroom but he stopped her. “Oh…and another thing Lily: no make up this time, ya hear?”
She passed over him: “Oh Elvis please...no make up? Seriously?”
He looked at her seriously grabbing her cheek. “I think you need to be natural, Lily, you are more beautiful that way. Ya don’t need to cover that natural beauty. No make up Lily, that’s it! Ya hear me?”
She rolled her eyes back, taking his hand away: “Alright, but it's not fair!” she answerd hiding some make up stuff in her purse.
“Fair or not, darlin', when I say something, that's what I mean and you know that. So ya better behave and stay out of trouble!” he yelled going back to the living room.
She got angry and turned to him: “You know... you're not my real father Elvis! you can't keep on treating me like I was a child. As you can see, I'm not a child anymore!!!!
He stopped and got back. He got very close to her and he stares from up to down: “Hey!! don't ya raise your voice at me, young lady!! You are still too young, so you better listen to what I say. Understand?”
“Too young?? Oh God, Elvis, I'm 18 and technically I'm adult...”
He was getting angrier: “Well, you may be an adult technically, but mentally you still got a long way to go til you're a grown woman. Furthermore, you're legally my step-daughter, and the rule is no make up, no booze, no drugs and that's the end. Ya understand?”. He threw a punch on the wall.
She stepped back scared. Then he kept on talking: “Don’t look at me like that...I'm only tryin' to protect you and keep you out of trouble. Now go. Your boy is comin' in a few minutes.”
She came to your room to tell you she was going out and that she loves you. You kissed her and wished her a good evening. Then she came back with a short pink dress on. As she passed beside Elvis he grabbed her arm. “I think you didn’t heard what I told you!!! Where do you think you’re going with this thing? Don’t you think it’s a little too short?”
“Oh please Elvis, not again, mom said this was alright! I bought it with her!”
“I don't care what your momma said! I’m in charge now! I'm your step-father and I said no. This dress is too short, and you’re not going to wear it! Understand?”
She laughed at him: “Are you serious? Is this some kind of joke?”
He looked at you: “This ain't a joke, I'm dead serious right now. So, you’re not gonna wear this dress. That’s it!”
In that moment the door bell rang. “Too late!” She went to open the door to find her boyfriend Danny.
Elvis stopped the two lovers: “So…where ya going?”
Lily snorted: “Elvis please I told you... we're going to the beach!”
He was standing in front of the door: “Yeah, beach party, right..”
Danny felt the heavy situation and promised to take care of Lily. “You better son, otherwise ya gonna make me have to follow you and keep an eye on ya!?”
Lily pointed her finger at him: “Oh don't you dare....”
Elvis towered her: “’Don't you dare’ what? Ya got a little attitude there?!”
An annoyed voice came from upstairs. It was you who stopped all the circus: "Elvis please stop it...let them go!”
He looked up: “Oh for the love of Christ, alright...just go on, and do me a favorite, behave yourself. And don't be callin' your momma and tellin' her I told ya to behave, ya hear me?”
“Oh thank youuu... you're the greatest!” she kissed him on his cheek then she went out with Danny. Elvis remains alone and he sat on the couch.
“God, that damn girl's gonna be the death of me. She's gonna do what she wants...and if she ever gets herself in trouble, I don’t know what I’m gonna do...” He said to himself with annoyance and with a pinch of sadness in his voice.
Lily spent a wonderful night with her friends. As she promised there were no drugs or other bad things...except a little bit of alcohol.
The day after Elvis woke up early, his thoughts were already on his stepdaughter. He went to check her in the bedroom, but the bed was tied up and nobody was in the room. He went to the bathroom, he looked at his reflection in the mirror and splashed cool water on his face to wake himself up. He couldn’t help but think about Lily and he was worried about her.
He was about to wake you up, when he heard the doorbell. Elvis rushed up to answer it. To his surprise, he found Lily and Danny at his doorstep.
“Well...isn’t it a bit late to come back!?” he was furious. “You were supposed to take it easy and come back by midnight. Are ya two alright?”
She entered the house: “Don’t worry Elvis, I'm feeling very good!”
“And Danny here? Is he treating you well? Please tell me he is behaving. I'm trusting him to take care of you...
“Oh don't you worry, he took greeeat care of me!” she answered looking at Danny with a mischievous face.
Elvis's tone changes and he became harsh and authoritarian. He saw a big smile in her expression, and knew she was hiding something. “You...you two...haven't done nothing stupid, Lily?”
“Come on Elvis... you worry too much....” then he kissed Danny and she sent him away: "You better go!".
She sat on the couch and Elvis went straight to her. “I'm pretty sure you broke your promise! What happened last night?”
“Dunt get mad, it's alright!”
“C’mon, you know me better than that! I just want to know how you spent your night, 'cause I couldn't stop thinking about you, I was worried!” He got closer to Lily, to the point that he was sitting right next to her. Their eyes met when he looked at her with a kind and worried look. Elvis smiled as he spoke: “Oh, this is killin' me, Lily...just tell me what happened, please. You know, I care about ya…”. His tone was sincere and honest. He looked at her with genuine worry and he put his hand on her thigh in a protective gesture.
She pushed him back: “What are you doing?”
“Don't worry about it, Lily...don't worry at all! Now, just tell me what happened, and everything’s gonna be alright, ya hear me? You broke your promise, you know that? But I want ya to be honest with me now!” He then slowly moved his hand to caress her thigh. He wasn't thinking straight anymore, his desire just took over at that point.
“Elvis please...what are you...?”
He couldn’t hold back his feelings anymore: “Darlin', now listen to me...ya know I love ya, like any other father, but hey, every man has needs and you just don't know how hard it is to resist you, and...” his hand had already traveled up to the edge of her dress, his eyes were now fixed on her lips like a hungry predator. The thought of kissing her was overwhelming him.
As she realised what was happening she got up from the couch: “Dunt you dare…I'm gonna tell mama!”
His desires overpowered him, and he was now ready to go much further to have his way. His thoughts were only focused on her, everything else had disappeared in that exact moment. Elvis got close to her and kissed her hard, while his tongue tried to find its way into her lips. He was now desperate to possess his stepdaughter. He pulls her on the couch so her body was now on top of him. His hand grabbed her hair and pressed the back of her head down, bringing Claire face closer to his.
She struggled to push him away... "It can't be happening!” she thought. His hand moved to lift the edge of her dress higher and higher up her thighs. He was trying with all his might to resist the urge to take her right there and then, but he was into it. In that moment, as she was trying to escape, she felt her body shiver and a strange pressure grew in her lower belly. “Oh my God..”
She grabbed his shoulders and pushed him away standing up and leaving him on the couch: “What are you trying to do?? Are you mad?”
“Honeybee, ya know what I'm trying to do! I want you in every possible way, and ya know that. I love the way you look, the way you move, the way you smell. You are mine, ya hear me? You are mine!” He stood up and grabbed her again. This time he pressed her against the couch with his whole body on her and pinned her against the couch as his hands were under her skirt and tried to undo her bra.
She cried “No, please...mooom!”
In that moment your voice came from upstairs: “Lily, what's going on sweetheart?” You asked while getting downstairs. Lily jumped from the couch. Elvis looked at her in a frustrated way, as he fixed his clothes to look good again. “Ah shit Lily! Why you had to go get your momma?” As Elvis heard footsteps getting closer to the living room, he tried his best to hide his arousal.
Lily ran upstairs and locked her in her bedroom. Elvis hears her crying and his face was filled with sadness. As you came down, he found himself with you in the living room and he tried to lie, but he seemed to be a bit nervous. You looked at him with a skeptical look.
“Oh y/n, sweetie, Lily was just scared because I yelled at her for breaking her promise and going out with his boyfriend. I just yelled at her 'cause I'm worried she'd break her promise again, she's not in trouble, ya hear me?” You looked at him worried. “Believe me y/n, Lily is ok, she’s in her room now, I sent her to rest!” You were so tired that in the end you believed him and went to get lunch ready. Elvis, in a desperate gesture, decided to knock on Lily’s door. He knocked very hard, as if it was a threat.
“Honeybee, I need to talk to ya. Please open the door!”. He was knocking on the door over and over and over again. He seemed nervous, frustrated, and sad all at once. He needed her to open that door so he could convince her. “Lily please...I didn't mean to scare you, sweetheart...and I won't yell at you again, I promise! But I really need to talk ya, darlin'. Please, sweetheart...I promise it will not take long!” He sounded desperate at this point. She felt him crying and she opened the door a little bit. He saw the little slit of the door open and his heart beat fast. He took all his strength to keep his composure and not look at her with lusty look.
“Lily please...I'm gonna fix this, I promise...just listen to me and don't tell on me, ya hear me?” His words were sincere, but he couldn't help looking at her and wishing he could hold her.
“What did you got on your mind?” she asked shocked. Elvis looked up and tried to fix his eyes on her eyes. “Listen to me Lily, don't say anything to your momma, ok? I couldn’t bare to lose both of you!”.
Lily is very angry and she felt betrayed by him. All of her life she looked at him like the hero of the fairytales, her prince charming and now she was seeing him as a monster. “How can you ask me that? Do you realise what you were about to do?”
“Lily, please... I wasn’t about to do anything, you hear me? I just wanted to hug you and...I'm sorry...just please, don't tell your momma. Please!” He started to sound needy, pleading, and desperate. He sounded as if his life depended on her not telling on him. Lily looked at him and in that moment something changed inside of her. She saw him vulnerable and almost lost. Elvis, who just wanted to kiss her, saw Lily getting closer to him. She got closer and Elvis' heartbeat increased even more. The temptation was bigger than ever for him.
“I won't tell her...daddy!”
Elvis saw her smiling. She was a lot more beautiful and cute when she smiled. Then he smiled back at her and put his arms around her waist, ready to hug her. She suddenly leaned towards him, expecting a kiss. Elvis was confused. He kissed her passionately, in a way he never expected to. He couldn't resist her anymore. His desire for her was too big to resist. Finally, his tongue was in her mouth and their lips were dancing free. She pulls back shocked at what she did: “I'm...I'm sorry daddy...I..”
Elvis was still holding her, and didn't let her go. His eyes were on her lips and he couldn't resist her anymore. This was just a kiss to her, but for him, it was like a dream becoming true. He kissed her again, but even more passionately than before. As their lips danced, he was the happiest man in the world, knowing it was a mistake that would cost him everything he had. He couldn't resist his stepdaughter and he was enjoying her lips and her body now more than ever.
He pushed her against the wall and kept kissing her passionately. Her legs moved a bit, but Elvis felt that she was into it. So he kept going, pushing her body against the wall. His desire for her was as big as his love, if not bigger. He couldn't get enough from her. Elvis didn't want this moment to end, but the thought of letting himself go any further also crossed his mind. He knew this would cost him a lot if anyone came to this room. As he kissed her on her neck, Elvis made sure to whisper: “Be quite baby...” then he locked the door.
He put his hand on the back of her neck, as his other hand moved slowly down to her butt and thighs. He loved to touch her body and he couldn't resist her anymore. He wanted to take her right there and then. He wanted to get her out of that dress and make her his own. He kissed her slowly and passionately, taking his time with her, giving her as much pleasure as he could. Elvis stopped his hands slowly from touching Lily’s body, as he took his eyes off her body and he started to look in her eyes. He looked at her with desire, but at the same time with deep feelings of love and tenderness.
Suddenly Lily pushed him away. “Please Elvis, stop... this is not the right way!”
Elvis was confused. He had never felt this way for a woman before, but at the same time he was just a man who couldn't resist his desire. Elvis knew he was in trouble, and he had a big decision to make.
“Lily, ya know I want to hold ya, ya know I want to kiss ya...and I want to give ya everything you... deserve, ya hear me?” he said while he kept on caressing here gently.
She looked down: “What I'm trying to say is...I want it too, but not this way!”
Elvis wasn't expecting that. He looked at her in shock. She was telling him that she also felt what he felt, but she was too scared to fully admit it.
“You mean...ya want this too? Oh God, ya can't imagine how much I want to be with you and make you mine, but you know I can't Lily...you know I can't...”
She held him and looked him in his eyes: “I loved you since I was little...when you took us with you I was just a child and you were my big hero. I remember I called you daddy back then but now...I just can't. That's why I never called you that way anymore...”
“Lily, you mean you love me? You...you fell in love with me a long time ago? I never knew that! I...I can’t believe it. But...you are too young for me Lily. We could never be…” Elvis was torn apart. He would have taken her right then, but still he saw her as the little girl he raised and he couldn’t do anything but feel guilty.
“I don't care if I'm too young!” said Lily “I want you to teach me how to love you. You know, I have to confess you a thing: Danny tried to do something last night, but I stopped him! I didn't want him to be the first, I wanted to be you!” At that words he took courage and chose the path of his new life. He could have the opportunity to be with her. So he didn't want to waste anytime and he had the perfect place for spending some quality time with her. “Lily, come with me! We'll need to be careful, but once we get there, there's no one that we have to hide from. It's just you and me, alone and free!"
*
#elvis presley#elvis the king#elvis history#elvis fans#elvis smut#70s elvis#elvis imagine#50s elvis#60s elvis#this man will be the death of me#elvis fanfiction#elvis fanfic#elvis x reader
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Just you? | The page, Alan and clu
Someone said this ages before me but the page was meant to get Alan at the arcade, Alan inside the grid. Clu wanted him but settled for Sam. I want to dive a bit deeper into that, especially after reading betrayal (really the novel does wonder for his character and providing additional context for legacy).
Backup plan—
Contacting Alan was the last desperate attempt to find a normal way out. I can imagine Kevin would have talked about him quite frequently, about how good he was and maybe even admitting to clu he was the one to originally write tron. So, clu figures out a way to contact this “great user” and make him fix everything. Maybe he could finally give the grid a purpose from the outside or do some work on the inside to stabilize everything. I don’t even think clu knows what all needs to be done to fix everything- he’s been lost and a bit power hunger for a while now I’d imagine he’d be forceful with Alan but have good reason to be.
I think having Alan rewrite and fix the grid from the outside (or in if possible) would make the most sense. What the hell use would alan have otherwise? He wouldn’t have a disk! Sam only got one once he was put into the games, additionally alan wouldn’t have the knowledge of the grid to use his disk as a key after receiving one. So getting Alan in the first place had nothing to do with “out there” or “world domination”.
Last resort—
I saw a theory a while ago which I wholeheartedly believe that said, Clu only did all of this (the army, the world domination plans) to give the grid a purpose. It really makes his authoritarian decent into madness all the more tragic, as stated before he never had a chance to be good. He can’t create new programs he can only rewrite what’s there— he’s slipping and out of ideas because endlessly building in a overheating system is a absolute nightmare. A mindless army works great as it takes up as little energy as possible, you can conserve what remains and give your citizens something to actually do… now mind you it’s not a good something to be a mindless drone. After Alan falls through he goes on with the first plan. I also believe the world domination thing also comes about because he’s a reflection of Flynn’s  arrogance back when he made the grid— this is so his speech can almost identically match Flynn’s “in their is our destiny!” -> “out there is our destiny!”. More that for a character motivation that makes sense.
Clu is a dangerous line. As the more you read into things the more sympathetic he becomes the more you understand his motivations and what lead him down this path. You almost forget how horrible his actions are from how badly a hand he has been dealt. He is fascinating and so unbelievably sad that he saw this (Dictatorship, mind control, genocide ,etc.) as the only way out. He is the antagonist but not the villain.
Sam—
No one was expecting Sam to be the one to arrive at the arcade. Clu didn’t take Into account Alan’s care for him,  probably because clu had his own issues with Sam since he was a baby. It’s interesting as Sam is basically the crux that sets off the film. Plan B didn’t work so we’re going for the crazy world domination plan, let’s use you to lure your dad out of hiding. To me it sort of comes through as the backup plans of backup plans to him- if Alan had come would he have concerned himself with Flynn at all? This god is helpful, this god sticks to his words and thinks things through…oh god the absolute angst potential in that. (Again keep in mind that Clus hatred is for a Flynn who didn’t go through 20 years of  philosophy lessons).
This is all me just theorizing anyway, my own way at picking through legacy trying to understand it. 🤷♀️ Clu is such a fascinating character that you really have to feel bad for, and again it’s a little concerning? Because you forget how much bad stuff he really did just because they fumbled Flynn SO hard. The Kevin Flynn who made the grid does not feel like the same Kevin Flynn who broke into ENCOM with his buddies one night and I don’t know how to explain it.
#tron#tronblr#tron legacy#kevin flynn#clu 2.0#clu#the grid#sam flynn#theory#tron theory#writing critique#meta#tron meta#alan bradley#tron lore#tron betrayal
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Bad Moon Rising
|The Quarry|
Part I Part II Part III Part IV
Sheriff Travis Hackett X Fem!Reader
Summery: Two years after the curse was ended, you find yourself on your way to the small town of North Kill. It was all because of a favour to your grandparents, but this simple trip to look after their summer cabin during the winter became more than what you bargained for when you found yourself smitten with the curmudgeon of a sheriff.
Warnings: self hatred, swearing, smut
As always MINORS DNI
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
The Sheriff continued his path to leave the house, and he cursed himself for having removed his shoes. This wasn’t going to be some quick get away.
You watched him fiddle with his radio on his shoulder. You watched him pick up his left shoe and start to untie it.
He’s leaving…
He’s leaving…
He’s leaving.
Panic shot through you. You knew if he left without an explanation from you, he probably would never let you give one. He would probably never come to the Crow again. He was a cold, closed off man- you could tell that much by your interactions with him, even if you didn’t have the full story. You knew that if he pulled out of that driveway…that would be it.
But that foolish determination clung to you aggressively and you let it. You knew you’d hate yourself later. You already did.
So what did it matter?
Your feet moved before you could say otherwise, and you let them.
You walked up to him, your footsteps padding on the wooden floor. At your movement in the corner of his eye, he looked up from his ministrations, and that crease between his brows was stronger than ever. “What-“
Before he could even register what you were doing, you had placed your hands on either side of his face, and held his gaze to yours. You waited for him to push you away, but he didn’t.
It wasn’t that he couldn’t. Travis Hackett might have been a man in his fifties, but his reflexes were faster than most cops in their twenties. His ability to have your hands behind your back before you could fight him were great…but that part of him failed to work when you reached out to him. So it wasn’t that he couldn’t stop you, it was that he didn’t have the will to.
Travis felt his chest tighten.
Weak
“What in the hell are you doing?” He rasped, but you noted that his authoritarian edge was almost gone. He almost sounded desperate. His eyes were hard and his was face harsh, but there was something there in those black eyes. A softness. A curiousity. And that was all you needed.
You leaned forward, flicking your gaze from his lips to his eyes, and when you felt him suck in a breath, you brushed your lips against his. You knew it was stupid, but you also knew that you wouldn’t sleep for the next five months if you didn’t try. You ever so gently slipped your tongue against his lower lip, anything to make him understand.
Travis swore he saw the gates of heaven. But he didn’t move. He didn’t dare, afraid he would awaken from a dream.
You moved your lips again.
Still nothing.
While you didn’t want to openly admit it to yourself, that was it. He didn’t want you.
You slowly pulled away, not able to look at him. “I’m sorry-“
But a hand in your hair and the sound of a shoe being dropped made you pause. The feeling of warm lips on yours made your over-thinking brain stop all together.
It was a single kiss at first his lips resting on yours so gently. Then he moved them again. So tentative, like he was terrified.
And indeed he was. If you pushed him away, he was certain that the piece of himself that he had kept safely hidden would be gone forever. The part of him that he had to hide away after years of torment and abuse. The part that just wanted to be held and loved. It was small and it was fragile; Travis knew he was out of his mind to let you touch it, but he needed to know. He needed to know if it was even possible for a person like him to be…not hated.
But as he held you so carefully, you only stepped closer and placed a hand over his heart, and the other in his short black hair; your lips moving with his until you could taste him. You couldn’t help the soft moan you let out when he parted his lips slightly.
You wanted more.
And he would give you everything you asked for.
But then just as quickly as it started, he put his hands on your shoulders and pulled you away gently. You waited for yelling and cold walls, but they never came. Instead, the sheriff just gazed down at you; his voice was gentle. Nervous.
“We can’t…” he murmured, holding your arms.
“Why?” You pleaded immediately.
Travis sighed and shook his head, and to your dismay he removed his hands from you.
“I’m an old man, y/n…and you said it yourself- you leave to return to your life and that’ll be the end of it. And I…” He rushed out, running a hand through this hair. You swore you saw the man slowly break right before your eyes, “…I won’t stand to lose you. So I just…I won’t have you at all.” He finished, looking away.
His words struck you straight in the chest as if you had been stabbed. With those words alone, you felt years of his pain in an instant.
You didn’t know how he had been hurt, or who had done it, but you did know that the sorrow in his eyes made a pain shoot through your heart.
“When was the last time someone…didn’t hurt you, sir?” You whispered.
He didn’t look at you. That was enough.
“I’m…I’m not going to hurt you,” you said, tenderly cupping his face. You saw he was already about to say something, but you put your finger over his beautiful lips, “Please…I don’t think you understand, sir…”
At that, those eyes you loved flicked to yours.
“I’m not going anywhere…” You shook your head to punctuate your point.
“You have a life, don’t be stupid.” He brushed you off, but didn’t move from your hold.
“I do. I have friends and family. But I’m a big girl…I tie my own shoe laces and everything.” You said with a small smile, “I quit my job a month and a half ago to come here. I ended my rental for my apartment…I don’t have anywhere to go when I’m done here…”
Finally, the line between his brows softened.
“And besides, I think my grandparents would like being able to see me in the summer.” You couldn’t help but smile, “And I’m really tired of the city…it always smells like a sewer that’s been lit on fire.”
Travis cracked the tiniest of smiles.
Did she have to be funny on top of beautiful and sweet?
“You can’t…” he started to say again, but stopped, his resolve breaking down. His words were barely his own anymore.
“I can.” You whispered, stroking his cheekbones with your thumbs, “I want this.”
His walls were falling one by one, and you knew he was terrified. You wondered exactly what he had gone through, and how long those walls had been up…or if they had ever even come down.
Travis’s eyes couldn’t look away from you.
“You…you want this?” He repeated back to you. You could feel his chest rising and falling quickly with just a hair of distance between you.
You nodded.
His eyes widened ever so slightly, as if he had been waiting to you to say no and laugh. But then as your answer settled, Travis tilted his head to the side and his gaze scorched you.
“Show me.” His voice was no longer breathless. It was low, and plain. Simple. Pointed.
For a moment, you thought you misheard him. But oh you certainly didn’t. Not even the thunder outside could overpower his voice and it’s effect on you.
You swallowed and your lips parted, drawing his attention instantly.
Show him y/n…show him.
After so long of wanting to be alone with him, your heart was sure to give out at any moment, and if it did, you wanted him to feel it. You wanted him to know what he did to you. So you removed one of your hands from his face, fingers alight from his stubble. You grasped one of his wrists and brought his hand up to your chest, and flattened it there; your heartbeat drumming under his palm.
There was something so human about the gesture, and it conveyed exactly what you needed him to know.
That he drove you to the brink of insanity.
You saw him stare at his hand, as if he was trying to see through to your insides. Like he wanted to cradle your heart. When his eyes flicked back up to you, there was a silent question there. And you had waited too long to tell him, and you wouldn’t be able to function if you kept it in a moment longer.
“Since I first saw you…” you whispered, and you felt like the entire world went away when his eyes trained so explicitly on yours, “This is what you’ve done to me, sir.”
His nostrils flared and you saw his eyes widen in surprise. He clearly wasn’t expecting that, “You…” he started, but there were no sentences to come out.
You nodded, knowing where his mouth must have been trying to go while his brain didn’t follow. Your poor heart felt like it was about to beat out of your chest.
He sighed and his eyes dropped shut for a moment. You took the chance he gave you and took his hand in yours. You gently pulled him to the stairs, and he followed just a few feet away. While you couldn’t see where you were going, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not when he was staring at you like that. Like you were the only person that mattered. Like a predator about to pounce, yet so much softer; a lion coaxing a lamb into it’s den.
And oh what a willing lamb you were.
You pulled that stern man along the dark hall, but the more you walked, the more you began to wonder if you were leading him, or if he was backing you into a corner.
As you came into your room, you saw his eyes flick to the soft glow front he fireplace, then the little questioning look he pointed at you. “I-it was cold, sir.” You whispered, coming to a stop just by the edge of the bed.
“Was it?” He asked, almost mocking as he was still being held by your hand.
You nodded.
“Well we can’t have that, hm?” His voice sent a shiver down your spine. You never thought in a million years that Sheriff Hackett would be standing in your room, dishevelled, and speaking to you so softly.
You shook your head, “No, sir.”
He sat on the edge of the bed, and you placed your hands on his shoulders, and you weren’t sure if it was to comfort yourself or him. You wanted him to touch you so badly, but his hands remained clasped in his lap.
“I said show me, y/n.” He said. It was chiding but you could see the firelight dancing in his eyes, and the softness of his mouth.
A challenge.
A dare.
He was daring you to demonstrate what you claimed.
You sucked in a shaky breath and slid your hands from his shoulders to the collar of his uniform. You tugged on the tie that still sat there until the knot came undone and the fabric slipped away. You could already see his chest rising and falling faster with each touch of your hands.
Your lips were parted ever so slightly as you undid the first button of his shirt. It popped open and you gaged his reaction. The older man nodded slowly, encouraging you. So you undid the second one and the third until you were kneeling down to get the last one, revealing a crisp white shirt underneath. Your knees dug into the hard floor, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as you reached up and pushed the black fabric off his shoulders.
He helped you remove it, eyes still latched onto yours. It came away, and you finally saw his arms. That beautiful alabaster skin you had only imagined; you cursed that uniform for hiking such beautiful arms. You leaned back onto your knees and gently took one of his forearms; running your fingertips over the silvery and pink scars that stretched up along them. You traced the veins there on his wrist that disappeared up his bicep.
Travis was certain he would combust right there if you weren’t careful. Having you touch him so delicately make his throat tight. He tried to keep his nervousness from showing, lest you laugh at him, but the harsh beating of his heart didn’t lie, and neither did the crescents in his palms from clenching his fists.
“Mr. Hackett?” You asked softly. The older man’s eyes snapped to yours immediately, and your breath caught. “Are you alright?” You had seen those marks in his palms, and even noticed a slight shake to his large hands.
He couldn’t speak. Not with you looking up at him like that from between his legs like that. Travis took his arm from your hold, and unclipped the cumbersome belt around his hips, and let it drop to the floor. Then he slipped his hands under your arms and lifted you up into his lap, your thighs on either side of his. A soft gasp escaped you at the feeling of him under you. His muscled thighs held you so firmly.
“Travis.” He rasped breathlessly.
You stared back at him, your lips just a centimetre away from one another.
“For fucksake call me Travis.” Before you could answer him, his lips were back on yours in an urgent kiss. He held you tightly, and cradled your face like you might disappear. His tongue smoothed against your lips begging for entrance, and you were more than happy to oblige. Tasting him made your head spin, and just as you had imagined so many times, his smell engulfed you.
You broke away, suddenly too warm and slipped off his lap to sit next to him. You saw a flash of concern on his face as your warmth left him, but when you lifted your shirt up and off your body, the look was gone. He stared at you like he would devour every inch of you, and that was exactly what he planned.
Emboldened by his heavy gaze that only looked more deadly in the firelight, you stood and walked to stand infront of him; right between his thighs.
You silently took his hands and placed them on the hem of your shorts. “Please Travis?” You murmured.
He sucked in a breath, but his wide eyes betrayed his usually schooled face. Without a word, he gripped the elastic and pulled down. Then as the fabric came to the apex of your thighs, he stopped, and stared. Then you watched as his eyes very slowly moved up to yours and you stopped breathing.
“Care to tell me why you don’t have any panties on, young lady?” He murmured, continuing to pull them down until you stepped out of the fabric.
“I…I…um…” you couldn’t breathe.
His quicker a brow at you, “Is that so?” He clicked his tongue and brought his hands back up your legs to your hips. “Where’s that sharp little tongue of yours that begged me to stay, hm?”
Nope. No air was in your lungs.
Travis reached up and pressed on your lower lip with his thumb until you opened your mouth, and your tongue peaked out. You ran it along the tip.
And he almost came right there.
He hissed and pulled his hand away before gripping your hips and pulling you down onto the bed beside him. You gasped, arms splayed above your head and you pinned your knees together but the man crawling to lay beside you had other plans. Travis perched his head in his hand and gazed down at you.
“Tell me.” He whispered, gently stroking your chin.
You blushed and looked away, but his hold on your chin brought you back.
“Please.” The word was so quiet that you almost didn’t hear it over the storm outside.
“I…you made me nervous so I never said anything but…I really liked you.” You confessed, biting your inner lip.
God she’s shaking…
“Mhmm?” He hummed, removing his hand from your chin and bringing it to your neck, then down to your collarbone.
Your brain started to short circuit the more he touched you. They were larger than you had thought, and had a roughness to them. Then as you tried to think back on all the little things you remembered thinking about him, you flushed and looked away from him. You couldn’t tell him you had touched yourself right where you laid.
“You…you don’t want to hear these things…” You were embarrassed again.
She’s so beautiful…
“I do.” He said, stroking your skin just above your breast. Your breath hitched again, and by god he loved that sound “…do you like it when I touch you?” He whispered, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.
You nodded and arched into his touch, “Yes…I- I’ve…” you tried to say, but your tongue wouldn’t work.
“Say it.” He whispered encouragingly, bringing his hand lower until he was toying with one of your nipples.
“I’ve touched myself and thought of you…” you looked down at the mattress beside you, “Right here…”
Travis sucked in a breath at the idea of you whimpering his name as you tried to come. Your eyes flicked to his, and found them wider under his raised brows, “I-I’m sorry I didn’t mean to make you unc-“
“Did you come?” He whispered, his hand not moving.
You stared right back at him, “Wh-what?”
He sighed, “Did. You. Come?”
Your lips parted, and you willed your mind to stop buzzing.
You held his gaze, “Yes.”
The older man’s nostrils flared, and you could almost feel his heart rate increase. He sighed out through he nose and you watched his eyes close momentarily, “Good girl.”
Your lips parted, and you couldn’t look away. Seeing him so relaxed out of his uniform was clouding your judgement, but you didn’t care. You knew you wanted him. You put your hand on his neck, and toyed with the small hairs at the nape, “Please touch me, Travis…” you whispered
“Where?” He cooed, knowing damn well where you wanted him to touch you. Travis Hackett might not have been the most confident man in the world, but the sweet girl he had been pining after was naked beside him telling him how she had orgasmed to the thought of him. He was invincible as far as he was concerned.
And the warming of your skin only made his chest swell more. Travis leaned forward to your lips and grazed them with his- not even a kiss.
“Don’t make me repeat myself young lady.”
“My…my um…” You tried.
God why did you have to say it?
“Where? Here?” He slipped his hand lower to your stomach.
You shook your head, “Lower.”
“Here?” He stopped at your belly button.
“Lower.” You could barely breathe as his hand came to your pelvic bone.
“Here?” His own breath was almost as nonexistent as yours.
“Please…” you whimpered, “Lower.”
This time, Travis sucked in a breath, and kissed you as his hand slipped right between your thighs. You moaned into his mouth.
“Fuck you’re already wet.” He pulled away and looked down to see that his hand was shining.
“Yes...” You whispered.
“You want me to touch you here?” He purred, stroking your thigh.
“Yes please.” You nodded, desperate.
“You want me to make you come?” He whispered.
You nodded, and to your pleasure he finally slipped a finger between your lips and eased it inside you. Your breath hitched, and you gripped the blanket below you. If you weren’t intoxicated by him, you might have been embarrassed by how easily his thick finger slipped inside you.
“How’s that, sweetheart? Does that feel good?” He stroked you, and his thumb moved in gentle circles around your clit.
But you could barely speak. So you nodded, and gasped out a breath.
With you so responsive to his touch alone, Travis knew he could do this all day. That thought alone had his cock twitch in his pants.
You rocked your hips in tandem with his ministrations, and he grinned down at you.
“You like my finger don’t you? Yea I bet it feels better than your little ones.” He teased you, stroking your clit with his thumb.
“Y-yes…fu-fuck…ughh-“ you moaned.
His mouth parted and he found himself licking his lips as he watched you. Then he nudged a seconds finger against you, and he noted a little flicker of discomfort, “Can you take a little more? It’s just going to hurt for a minute…” he purred to you, already easing it inside you.
You sighed heavily at the stretch, but with his thumb working so diligently on your clit, you could barely register it.
“See there you go…doesn’t that feel good? Hmm?” As he spoke you could already feel yourself growing more and more sensitive. Your soft inner walls began to constrict around his fingers.
“Are you going to come? That’s it…I can feel you.” He murmured. Travis curled his fingers against that spot inside you, and you threw your head back as a string of moans escaped you. Your thighs twitched and you could feel how slick your thighs were. Your breaths came in gasps as you rode out your high, hips bucking against his hand.
Travis couldn’t help himself when you came so prettily by his hand alone. He stared down at where he pulled his fingers out and marvelled at the cum covering them. Like a man possessed, he crawled down the bed and spread your thighs apart, and dipped his head to taste you.
He was slow at first- gentle. He knew you were sensitive, so he tested you. But your hitched breaths and mewls only spurred him on. Travis gripped your hips and held them firmly as he slipped his tongue along your pussy. Then when your breath came in high whimpers, he smirked and gave you no mercy. With his arm around your hip, he moved his thumb to rest on your pulsing clit, and slowly caressed it.
“T-travis, please- I -“ You started to cry and whine as you drew closer and closer to coming again.
Travis pulled his mouth away for a moment and gazed up at you, “Come on…be a good girl and come for me again.”
His voice echoed in your head as your brows pitched up, “F-fuck…” You whispered.
“Come on…one more. Give me one more…”He took one more long lick from you and sucked your clit for a total of five seconds before you came. Even you couldn’t make yourself come that fast. He locked you through it, cleaning up everything you gave him.
“Good job sweetheart…” He pressed a kiss to your thigh, and rubbed your hip as you returned to your body.
Marry me Travis Hackett
Good god if you had him with you every day you’d have to get a good muscle relaxer and perfect your birth control routine.
You slowly sat up and opened your arms, beckoning him to come to you. And he did, just a little slowly with his aching muscles.
You had no words, so you pulled his mouth down to yours and bruised his lips. A low groan emitted from him, triggering one in you as your tongues moved against each other. Travis rolled his hips against you’s, and you gasped at the feeling of his cock. Travis pulled away and you could see how heavy his eyes had gotten. You knew his irises must have been dark brown, but by god if they didn’t look pitch black in the darkness. He almost looked inhuman.
“I’ve wanted to do that every god damn time I saw you.” He rasped.
You gasped against him as he pushed his hips tightly against yours.
“I-is that…is that all you wanted to do, sir?” The title slipped out from habit, and he had never reacted to it in the past, but now with his hand in your hair and groin against your slick core, he went still.
You peered up at him, nervous that he was uncomfortable, “I didn’t mean to-“
“Say it again.” His usually soft voice had dipped lower into a growl. You felt a shiver run up and down your body.
“Yes sir.” You whispered. With the roar of the wind and consistent thunder, and the addition of the fire crackling, it could have been so easy for Travis to not hear you. But he did. Oh he heard that little slip up of yours like you had screamed it in his ear.
He breathed out a heavy sigh and tried to compose himself.
“Can I show you what I’ve wanted since I first saw you, sir?” You whispered, a little more confident.
Travis looked over your face and nodded. When you pushed him up and followed after him to sit, he watched your every move.
“Can you stand up please?” You asked so politely.
In a heartbeat, he was up and you crawled to the edge of the bed. You raised your hands to his belt and checked his face before continuing. His eyes softened as he stared at you, and gave you a nod; so you undid his belt, and unzipped his uniform pants. Your heart was beating a mile a minute.
“We don’t have to…” He murmured.
“Please?” You whispered, tugging his trousers down to just below his hips.
You then moved to lift up his shirt, but his hands caught yours quickly. You looked back up at him and looked a little hurt.
Jesus…she’s pouting? That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever fucking seen…
“Please?” You whined.
“Sweetheart, I’m not a young man.” He murmured.
“I know…” you nodded in agreement, “If it makes you uncomfortable, then I completely understand…but if your doing this for my sake, then there’s no need.”
He thought for a moment, fighting with that evil voice in his head that still sounded like Constance even as she laid six feet in the earth.
“Please?”
But among the harsh words and cruel thoughts, your sweet voice cut through, and his glazed eyes sharpened.
It seemed he made up his mind when you asked so sweetly.
“Lay back, young lady.” That rasp in his voice returned, and you could practically feel your pupils dilate. Without a word, you released him and pulled yourself back up to the pillows, and watched.
Travis grasped the edge of his shirt and pulled it up over his head. He paused as he let the fabric drop, still self conscious; even though he was in remarkable shape, his body was covered in scars. Scratches, lashings, bullet holes…
But when your pretty lips parted in awe and your raked your gaze down his body, Travis felt his chest swell, among other things. He gripped the hem of his briefs and brought them down along with his uniform until he was just as bare as you.
Your eyes fell to his cock bobbing up; you hoped that he was fully hard, already nervous about his size.
He wasn’t.
Travis crawled over you and slipped a hand under your waist to drag you down to him. You automatically spread your legs and hooked a knee over his hip. Your arms wrapped around his neck, but neither of you moved, and you almost didn’t want to.
“What have you done to me, Travis Hackett?” You whispered, stroking his hair tenderly.
He smiled briefly, “I could ask you the same.”
You pressed a kiss to his forehead, and he sighed at the feeling, his free hand stroked your cheek.
“You’re… so handsome.” You shook your head in disbelief when you remembered Shirley telling you he had never been interested in the ladies of the town, “I want…”
“What?” He prompted you, though he wasn’t above begging if you refused to tell him.
You blushed. “I want you…”
“You have me-“
“No I mean I…I want to be yours…I want to wake up next to you everyday, I want to share your pains, I want to embarrass you at the station because I can’t stay away from you…I want your rough stubble and grumpy mornings.” Your voice was soft, but it broke gently when your finally said everything you had wanted to, “I meant what I said about you being a good man, Travis…you are. I don’t think you see it that way but I do and I want to love a good man.”
Travis almost pinched himself.
Love?
“You’re sure?” He breathed.
You laughed softly.
“Well I’m fairly certain that if I let go of a good man who looks like you, and makes me come repeatedly…I wouldn’t live with myself.” You smiled and knew his ears were red, even in the warm light.
“Well I…”he looked away and you smiled more when you realized he was embarrassed. You shifted against him, brushing his length with your slick pussy and thighs. He groaned and dipped his head.
“Make me yours…please?” You whispered.
Travis sighed. “You’re going to be the death of me, young lady.” He ground out, and moved the hand he had cradled your face with to hold himself. You were once again reminded of his size as he leaned back, and held your waist. The older man stroked himself between your folds, hissing at the feeling. When he gazed back at you, he sucked in a breath at your parted lips and heavy eyes. “You want this?” He rasped, dipping the head inside you.
You gasped and nodded, “Just…be gentle…” then you let out a nervous laugh, “Geez you’re huge.”
Travis slipped just an inch inside you before he leaned back down to you and pressed gentle kisses down your neck. “There you go…just- fuck…relax for me.” He slipped inside you another inch and he nearly lost his composure when he felt how soaked you were.
“Jesus youre tight.” Travis groaned.
Keep yourself together old man…
A whimper escaped you when his size became too much.
Travis stopped moving, and cradled your cheek, “You’re doing so good, sweetheart.” He kissed you gently, but it was a welcomed distraction from the pain, so your quickly threaded your fingers through his short hair and held his neck to pull him closer. He pulled out and eased back inside you, over and over as his tongue smoothed against yours and you could taste him. The drag of his cock inside you couldn’t compare to anything you had felt before, but what you did know was that with every move, he stroked that spot inside you that made you moan uncontrollably.
And oh how Travis soaked your little noises up. He was now almost completely inside you, and he pulled away from your swollen lips to look down at where your bodies joined. He hummed at the titillating sight of your little pussy stretching to accommodate him; he knew he was larger, especially after numerous complaints in his younger days…but by god seeing you take him so well with barely a word of complaint just about made him lose control. You wanted him.
Travis pulled out of you again, and very slowly slipped back inside you, watching your face for any pain. It wasn’t until he felt his hips against yours that re realized that he was inside you completely and he felt heaven.
“Good girl…” he purred into your neck, and rocked against you, barely pulling out.
At his praise, he felt you tighten around him, and smirked against your skin, “You like that? You like it when I tell you how good you are for me?”
You nodded, and held onto him tightly, “Yes sir- ah!” You gasped when he moved the angle of his hips and his cock rubbed against that spot inside you again.
Travis pulled away and gazed down at you, and repeated the action. He was rewarded with your little back arching to press your nipples against his chest, and your brows scrunching up in pleasure.
The older man focused on making you make that face for as long as he could, “Is that the spot? Right there?” He cooed to your, and he received an enthusiastic nod from you, “Alright, sweetheart I’ve got you...”
He moved his hand from your waist to your hip, then he got an idea. Travis grabbed one of the smaller pillows from beside you, and dragged it to your side. Before you could ask him what he was doing, he grabbed your hips and pulled you up, then slipped the pillow under your lower back. Not only were you confused, but you were dumbstruck by his strength to hold you like that. You were about to ask him what that was for, but then he thrust into you, and you shut up right away.
The angle of your hips made you feel even fuller and you swore it made his cock reach another spot inside you. You huffed out your breath as he began snapping his hips against yours, and your started to see stars.
Travis held your hips firmly, and eased into a tempo that was so even that you were embarrassed by how quickly you felt your stomach warm up. Then your thighs began to twitch and you felt yourself starting to become more and more sensitive.
“You gonna come? That’s a good girl, come on…that’s it.” He rasped, holding you tighter. He knew he wasn’t going to last much longer but by god he was going to have you come on his cock before he was done. “That’s it…come on…” he slipped one thumb to circle your clit.
And just like that, you came. Hard. You couldn’t help the scream that tore from your throat and your dug your nails into his back and bucked your hips. Travis gasped at the feeling of your pussy spasming around him.
“Fuck-“ he moaned, his cock twitching already.
He went to draw out of you, but even in your daze, you locked your legs around him, “No, I want you to come inside me…I’m protected…please?” You whispered.
And Travis was in no position to argue. His hips began to stutter, and you held him close to you, running your hands through his hair; you decided to test a theory you had.
You kissed his head and rocked with him, “Good boy…come on I want you to fill me up really good.” You murmured into his ear.
Now you did not fully understand the extent of a man who hadn’t come inside a woman for close to a decade to indeed fill you up. But that was exactly what you got.
Travis let go, gasping uncontrollably as he pumped his thick, hot cum inside your greedy little pussy. “Fuck…fuck Travis-“ you gasped as you felt it leak out of you, but you could still feel him pulsing inside you, his cum still filling you. It took a full ten seconds before he was finished, and you knew there was a thick pool of slick under you.
The room was filled with soft panting. You stroked his hair, and kissed at his neck as he buried his face into your shoulder. Then, very slowly, he pulled away and leaned back onto his knees, and wiped a hand over his face. You gazed up at him lovingly, and smiled.
And he couldn’t help but return it. “You alright, sweetheart?” He asked, pulling out of you, and leaning down to lay next to you. His little wince of pain was not lost on you, and you made a note to get both of you a couple painkillers.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to walk for a couple days but aside from that? I don’t think I could be better.” You grinned and kissed him gently.
He ran a hand over your shoulder and drew you closer. Travis had so much he wanted to say, but he knew he had to wait. He knew he wanted to tell you he loved you- he knew he wanted you to live with him too. But he knew if he asked you now, it would be too much, so instead, he just soaked in your beautiful face, and basked in your soft breath.
With the lack of power, it wasn’t an option to bathe together, but after a stumbling journey down the stairs and a large pot of boiled water later, you both sat back in the bedroom on the cost carpet with a large bowl of warm water between you. You even got him to agree to drink a cup of hot cocoa.
As the fire continued to crackle away, you grasped the soft washcloth, and wrung some of the water out. You kissed his thighs and along the scars that covered his skin. Long jagged marks that you knew couldn’t be from his position as sheriff; ones that looked like bursting suns that must have been bullet wounds; even a bite mark on his arm. You knew there was more to what he had done than just defend a town from strange happenings…these were years of harsh wounds.
You could see him holding his breath as you did, waiting for you to ask, or say something about them, but when you didn’t, his shoulders relaxed. That man had stolen a part of your heart, and you sure as hell wasn’t about to bring any harm to the part of his that he gave you. If he wanted to tell you, he would.
Travis could barely control himself as he dragged the cloth over your skin; he could have spent hours between your thighs if it meant you’d come on his face. He pressed tender kisses to you legs, to your navel, your stomach, your ribs and your breasts. You were trembling by the time he was dripping the cloth over your neck.
“My pretty girl.” He whispered.
And you nodded.
Travis had helped you strip the bedding and change it, even through you insisted he relax. The two of you curled up into the sheets, and you vaguely wondered about his work, but when he didn’t say a word about it, neither did you. His arms held you tightly to his chest, and you tangled your legs together. You knew your face would hurt from smiling so much, but you didn’t care.
That night, you both slept soundly. For Travis, that was the first night he didn’t wake up in a cold sweat after a nightmare of his family’s bodies or his gun not firing fast enough. He snored lightly, and when you awoke before him, you had to keep in a soft giggle, and you could only sink deeper into the tight hold he had on you.
When he finally opened his eyes, you finally saw the beautiful shade of brown that they were. You saw how relaxed his handsome face could be and you were right- he did have the most beautiful smile.
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
@theroadreader @honeycovered-bandaids @dogmatic255 @spaghetti-spider @otassbek @minilev @our-legacy @thelittlexd11 @montblanckeeper @bellaboo303 @manymaria111 @georgiahackett
#travis hackett x reader#sheriff travis hackett#sheriff hackett#travis hackett#ted raimi#the quarry fanfic#the quarry
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endeavors #8 - something new
Summary: Two months have passed and August decides to challenge Grace a little bit.
August Walker x Grace Stanford (asian ofc)
Wordcount: 1.1k
Warning: Cockwarming, buttplug, female and male orgasm, unprotected sex, overstimulation
Masterlist // endeavors masterlist
We’ve been doing this for approximately two months now and I can say my horizon has broadened. August and I have grown closer and while I wouldn’t necessarily say we’re fallen more towards a relationship, it’s nice to have someone I trust so much. He knows me and my limits almost better than I do myself and afterwards, usually when we’re sticky with sweat and I’m trying to catch my breath, he often times presses long kisses on my lips.
It’s almost romantic, but I often times remember myself that we’re just in it for sex. He’s teaching me how to enjoy every aspect of sex.
‘Two things,’ August announces.
When I said it was almost pavlovian how I respond to his authoritarian voice, it’s now proven itself: my core starts to burn and tingle with excitement and I almost grow hungry for him, desperate to have some sort of coital intercourse with him. Eager for whatever he has planned.
‘Okay,’ I say.
He sits on the coffee table and his knees are caging my legs in between his. He leans in closer and says: ‘One: you and I are gonna do something new.’
‘What is it?’
‘You are gonna keep my cock warm,’ he tells me. ‘Right in your pussy.’
I swallow hard. I love feeling him inside of me, especially since we have thrown away the condoms around a week ago. Every vein, the way he’s shaped, I love feeling him like that. Ditching the condoms was the best idea we’ve have and it made August even more eager.
But having him inside for who knows how long? I think I can get used to that.
‘Okay,’ I say.
‘And two,’ he continues, ‘you’re gonna have this one in too.’
In his hands he’s holding a tiny butt plug, one perfect for beginners. I saw the things they had in the sex shop—the same one we have visited quite a few times now—and that made me very nervous, but I think this is doable.
‘Okay,’ I say.
With his other hand, August holds my cheek and pulls me in for a short little kiss. I wonder if he kissed the other girls like this too. Deep down I hope he doesn’t.
﹌﹌
August knows exactly what he does. Preparing me with the lube, whispering it’s all gonna be okay and softly instructing me what to do. And then I feel the butt plug slide passed my puckered hole and once it’s inside, I let out a strangled moan.
‘Good girl,’ August says, squeezing the soft flesh of my behind, probably admiring the view. ‘You took that so well.’
His hands roam over my body, before he tugs me closer.
‘Come on, sit on my lap.’
While I’m in no clothes at all, August has all of it still on, his sweats slightly pushed down and I grab his hardened cock, before I straddle his lap and allow myself to slide onto him. The stretch causes me to gasp for air, but I feel my tight walls wrap around him and once I sit on his lap, feeling his cock deep inside me, I try to say something, however I can barely mutter something out.
My eyes roll back, when he shifts a little and he moves slightly. He holds my sides and lets out a chuckle.
‘Fuck,’ I mutter, ‘you feel so good.’
‘You do too, Grace.’
I try my best not to move, but fuck, that is incredibly hard. I rest against his chest, while his hands slide from my waist to my ass.
I don’t know how long we’re sitting there, but it feels like eternity. August teases me, by sucking on my nipples, thrusting up or brushing his thumb against my clit. I can’t stop me clenching around him and my whimpers become more frequent, slowly turning into moans, as it does things to me and my state of being.
‘August,’ I whine, ‘I need you to fuck me.’
‘Look at you,’ he chuckles. ‘I don’t think you’ve ever begged like this before. Sounds good.’
‘I can’t do this anymore,’ I cry out.
He gently tugs my hair, forcing me to look at him. ‘If only you could see yourself,’ August says, a wicked grin toying on his lips. He sloppily kisses my neck, leaving marks behind.
My hips start to grind against his groin, however he catches on quick.
‘What’s this?’ he asks. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I need you to fuck me, August.’
One second passes by, two and it turns into five seconds of complete silence. He grabs me by my hips and lifts me from his cock. Before I can whine about it, he throws me over his shoulder and carries me to a bedroom.
‘You have a tendency to make a mess,’ he says, ‘and since we have guests over every now and then, we need to keep that couch clean.’
When he drops me on the bed and sees the slight blush I have on my cheeks, he shakes his head, a tsk followed.
‘Sorry,’ I whisper.
‘None of that.’
He swiftly takes off his clothes and kneels in between my spread legs, my center burning and aching with desire. August drags his finger over my cheek and says: ‘I’d like the neighbors to know my name, okay?’
I nod. ‘Okay.’
﹌﹌
I think the neighbors are now familiar with his name. Each time I tumbled over the edge, clenching around both his cock and the butt plug, it caused me to wail out his name and seeing me like this… I know it did things to him. The shift in his eyes, the way he was determined to make me cum.
August’s fingers dig in my cheeks. ‘Look at me.’ And through the tears, I try to find his eyes. ‘Just a little while longer.’
I sob as I cling onto his arms, desperate to be filled up again like he always does. I want to be filled, because for a few horrible seconds I can feel like we belong together. Like he and I are something more than platonic fuckbuddies.
And afterwards I feel awful for thinking that, for allowing myself not only to be horrendously addicted to him, but also for letting myself fall for him.
He shoots his cum deep inside of me and I let out a whimper as I feel the spurts of semen. He doesn’t pull out straight away, instead he looks at me. ‘This is gonna be a weekly thing,’ he pants. ‘Part of the program.’
And all I can say is just one word. ‘Okay.’
﹌﹌
endeavors taglist: @diegos-butt // @thelastsock // @liecastillo // @mis-lil-red // @sofiebstar // @abschaffer2 // @crazybutconfidentaf // @summersong69 // @gearhead66 // @xobriellaxo24 // @kebabgirl67 // @eldarwen333 // @kingliam2019 // @cherry-gemz //��@sillyrabbit81 // @enchantedbytomandhenry // @lyrarodriguez // @islacharlotte // @sunshine96love // @oddsnendsfanfics // @xuxszx // @omgkatinka // @pterodactylterrace / @peaches1958 // @pandaxnienke // @teamfan7asy // @raccoon-eyed-rebel // @geralts-yenn
#august walker#august walker fanfiction#august walker x ofc#august walker x asian ofc#august walker x grace stanford#august walker smut#henry cavill fandom#henry cavill#asian ofc#grace stanford#endeavors
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was kind of talking about this on twt a while ago but one of the most frustrating things for me about new teen titans (or even modern canon these days) is how it retroactively casts so much of dick’s life as robin in this pallor of imprisonment and control and lovelessness and like. to have to try to juxtapose that against the tone of the first few decades of bruce and dick’s partnership is honestly terrible, lol. ig you could reason it has to do with the shift in tone of comics over the years and that’s true but at the same time i don’t think a tonal shift requires entirely rewriting that history of deep love and implicit partnership between them when there are other ways to create tension. i can never really understand what we gain by acting like robin as a role held dick prisoner. robin is a mantle forged of his own making. he loved being robin, he loved being bruce’s tried and true partner, and he excelled at it so much he ultimately grew beyond it but not beyond the heroism itself. he knew this was his calling
being a superhero, to me, is something dick needs more than jason and tim ever will. robin was a conduit for both of them. but from the moment dick took those steps to get justice for his parents, he knew this was what he wanted to do, that this was who he was going to be. there’s a gotham knights issue a mutual and i were discussing earlier, where dick says if he had the choice he wouldn’t trade the life that he has now for the one where his parents lived, even though he knows bruce would do the opposite. and i think that’s so spot on personally. dick lives with reams of survivor’s guilt, but he survives by moving ever forward. and i think one of the things he’s most grateful to bruce for, or should be, as opposed to how new teen titans canon and onward sometimes tries to paint it, is for helping him move forward. bruce saw a boy in the same pain as he was and knew he deserved the closure that he never got. and i think dick loved him deeply for that, strange as the experience of dressing up in tights and flying through the skies and socking bad guys in the nuts was
i am really very deeply committed to a perhaps initially awkward, but ultimately incredibly close partnership between the two of them that only began to fray once dick realized his dreams were more entrenched in heroism than bruce would ever allow his own to be. the divide between bruce and dick forms not bc bruce was some authoritarian figure who robbed dick of a real childhood, but bc bruce always held a longing for a real life and civilian normalcy that dick couldn’t reconcile with, bc to him everything ended and began with the mask. the tension you create should come from the fact that dick doesn’t know how to be anyone else even though this isn’t necessarily what bruce wanted for him. that can be a mistake bruce made, to have allowed dick to remain robin for so long the identity consumed him completely, but dick shouldn’t be angry as if that was never what he wanted. he should be angry that the one thing he loves bruce for giving him is also the one thing bruce wants to protect him from, bc bruce recognizes a life lived exclusively behind the mask isn’t actually viable
#to be deleted#you can tell by the length of this alone that i saw something that pissed me off. glad there is a lot of love here though#bruce is an abuser heretics please do not interact i will block you ❤️
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Just finished watching Andor’s One Way Out and I have Thoughts.
There are no doubt a bunch of people who can explain it far better, they can jump on this if they like.
Andor, I think, I feel, shows that even if you try to live quietly with your head down, oppression and authoritarian dictatorships will still come for you. You could be living in a far-off planet, a middle-of-nowhere town, a house in the mountains or deep forests, and it will still reach you.
Cassian tries to run. To find a place where the Empire hasn’t touched -as was his plan with Marva- and failing that, finds a nice place on a nice, Emperial planet to have a vacation. Maybe it was a pit-stop to finding an untouched planet, or scouting for a new home? I don’t know.
Point is. He runs, and everywhere he goes, there’s the Empire. There’s the impact it left on people, no matter how brief or long lasting. The pain, the suffering, the loss, that is all permanent. Scars that will never fully heal, even when those who bore them and carry them are long since stardust.
He does literally nothing wrong, just walking, and one guy- paranoid, high on a power trip, a bad day, or looking for a commendation or promotion or whatever, is worth taking in and thrown into prison. The charges are completely different to what was said and done. They lie, blatantly, with no trial or evidence, only hearsay, with no regard for consequences because what consequences are there when you are one whole powerful entity? Above reproach? Above reprimand? Who would dare?
You could be like Bix, who just wanted to run a shop and maybe make a bit of extra money on the side? Stayed quiet, never made a fuss, and she ends up tortured because even if she did tell the truth they wouldn’t believe her. She would be tortured anyways. Why?
Because they can.
And what about Salman Paak? Basically the same, but less involved. Met the buyer, Luthen, once and only had a radio that other people used. He was tortured until his mind was completely gone, it looks like, and has likely already been executed. Hung, and for what? A show of authority. “Show the locals who’s in charge.” A man tortured and killed, and for what crime? For what?
You could be living in the lap of luxury, and still the oppression finds you. You just feel it less because you have enough money to give you leeway. But how long will that last? Dictatorships fear anything they cannot control, anything they do not have their hands in and their eyes on. Even when they are arrogant enough to allow a random person to walk into a military base with only a uniform and the right posture.
You will feel the sting of the shackles around your wrists, the bite of the rope around your neck, a collar and leash just waiting to become a noose. You may think ‘I have done nothing wrong, so nothing wrong will happen to me’ but you are thinking of a fair and just system. This is a system that incarcerates random passerby’s, burns farms and towns and cities and planets to the ground, all for quick profit and access to resources that they will choke an entire system to get their hands on. Leaving what is left empty, broken, husks and memories of what they once were. Unable to pick up the pieces without help, and who would help them? The Empire that destroyed them? Well, of course!
You need only sign your life away, abandon your dead home, and work yourself to death.
You can’t outrun oppression. Not forever. Sooner or later, you have to make a choice. Live quietly, hoping that it’s never you, that it’s always someone else. Or fight with all you have for whatever you have left. Die quietly, or die loudly. Proudly. Because you will die. It’s just a matter of for what. Because after a while, you will not be able to ignore the boot pinning you down, the rope at your neck or the shackles weighing you down. You cannot live in a society of fear and oppression and exploitation. You can only die in it. In a prison making parts, in a interrogation, on the street as a sign of power (of fear). You can’t outrun it or hide from it or ignore it. Eventually, all you can do is fight, whether you want to or not.
One way out.
#Andor#Cassian Andor#Kino Loy#Ruescott Melshi#Bix Caleen#Salman Paak#Star Wars#rants#thoughts#messy but eh#Luthen Rael#mon mothma#The Empire
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trick or treat!!
MADDY HAPPY HALLOWEEN here is a snippet of a wip in which nick suzuki is haunted by a ghost
“We’re haunted right,” says Cole to Nick, one night as Nick drives him back to his apartment after a game. “Like, that’s the only way this is happening.”
“I think we just suck,” says Nick. He wouldn’t say it to anyone else, but Cole’s been his confidante all season. “Like, we’re just really bad.”
“Ugh,” says Cole. “Well, on the brightside, it can’t last forever.”
Bergevin calls Nick into his office and asks him for his opinion on Ducharme in late January. Nick tries to diplomatically say that Ducharme is handicapping the team. Ducharme is gone a week later.
St. Louis seems like a good guy. He encourages them to play music in the locker room, works with them on ice like a teacher, not an authoritarian, and doesn’t act like he has something to prove. It’s too late to turn the season around, but at least the mood in the locker room has improved by the end of the season when Carey comes back.
They win the draft lottery, small comfort, and the guys start heading home. Close to the end of the season, when Carey starts looking like he might be back soon, Marty calls Nick into his office.
“Nick,” he says. And then he pauses and smiles. “You’ve got good leadership qualities.”
“Thanks,” says Nick. “I don’t do it alone, it’s all of us, you know.”
“You think you could?” Marty asks. He looks directly at Nick. “We need a new captain. What do you think?”
Nick feels beats of cold drip down his back, like someone with cold fingers is walking their hand down his spine.
“Shea recommended you,” says Marty. “Kent and I have been talking a lot about our options, but when we talked to Shea, he was pretty firm about who he’d think would be the best to replace him.”
The cold drips down Nick’s spine, pools at his lower back.
“We’d like you to be the next captain of the Montreal Canadiens,” says Marty gently. “We think you can do it. We think your leadership capabilities far outstrip your age and your maturity is the fit we need to carry this team forward.”
“Um,” says Nick, as the cold feeling pools larger and larger around him. “It’d be an honor. I’d like to think about it more.”
#the fic had like. five billion scenes of tensionless lead up BUT there was some spooky moments#hockey for ts#crimescene#rpf for ts
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semi-serious sand thoughts:
i’m not actually opposed to servalan/tarrant conceptually, at least within this very specific scenario...part of that i think is that if you’re going to do a story that touches on a pain servalan experienced when she was very young, bringing in a Fresh Faced Youth to evoke that period of life works. also i get the impression that getting to play the dashing hero type does appeal to tarrant - see assassin, where he’s absolutely swayed by piri being apparently emotionally vulnerable and likely to need him. so like at the very least there’s some sort of precedent within the show. the fact that he’s so QUICKLY attracted by servalan’s tears adds to some of the ambiguity surrounding to what extent she’s manipulating him because surely she knows that, despite himself, this would be an effective way to win him over - and i’m not 100% convinced that would be the case with any other character. do i think all of this is entirely realised within the episode? uh...not sure. but i do think there’s reasoning behind the whole thing.
also i just think she deserves a boy toy or two idc
speaking of tarrant. love when servalan says he saved her life and he replies ‘we’re all entitled to one really big mistake.’ like buddy you are going to make one WAY bigger by the end of this episode.
adored that final scene of servalan thinking over both keller and tarrant before crushing the water cube tarrant gave her in her hand to get rid of the last of the sand. mainly because that looks like it could surely cut you, so it just comes across as this almost self-destructive act with which she closes off the potential for emotional vulnerability which was opened up by the sand trapping them. destroying both the gift tarrant gave her and the thing that brought them together. he remains unsure how sincere she was, she gets rid of any evidence she WAS sincere and in emotional pain - and to do so she breaks glass RIGHT into the palm of her hand.
(also potentially thinking of this in relation to ‘i don’t care about us’ and her placing tarrant’s gun up to her head and daring him to shoot her - which is pretty intense even if she guesses he won’t do it. women will literally murder their way into the presidency of an authoritarian state instead of going to therapy)
another good scene, this time with the scorpio crew: soolin theorising they’re being affected by that alien mind that got onto the ship through cally and vila snapping at her and storming off, only for her to admit to avon when he queries it that she doesn’t actually believe what she just said. just...up there with her telling orac ‘you wouldn’t know where to start’ when he offers her her heart’s desires in terms of what i find to be Tantalising Soolin Character Moments.
i’ve now also watched gold and while i think it’s a very solid episode (avon losing it laughing at the end when the entire crew are pissed at him because he risked their lives for a trap that got them nothing and netted servalan a bunch of money?? man has Reached His Fucking Limit and is now firmly Past His Fucking Limit) it does disappoint me a bit that dayna and tarrant seem to be largely interacting like usual. don’t get me wrong, i do like seeing the crew act like a competent unit and i’m not asking for a big blow up, but they’re probably two of the closer members of the crew, Away Mission Buddies, and he just hooked up with the woman who killed her father. that's a massive betrayal by someone she thought of as a friend, and i’d have liked a bit more obvious tension there even if it was just in small moments of interaction
i honestly had a great time with sand. i think every blake’s 7 member should have an episode where they’re locked in a room with servalan, i wanna see what would happen to each of them
#blake's 7#scheduling this actually because i decided that THREE posts about the same episode might be too much for one night#i promise this is the last bit of sandposting for now though#a thing i queued one time for a queue
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Imagine that all the world’s knowledge is stored, and organized, in a single vertical Steelcase filing cabinet. Maybe it’s lima-bean green. It’s got four drawers. Each drawer has one of those little paper-card labels, snug in a metal frame, just above the drawer pull. The drawers are labelled, from top to bottom, “Mysteries,” “Facts,” “Numbers,” and “Data.” Mysteries are things only God knows, like what happens when you’re dead. That’s why they’re in the top drawer, closest to Heaven. A long time ago, this drawer used to be crammed full of folders with names like “Why Stars Exist” and “When Life Begins,” but a few centuries ago, during the scientific revolution, a lot of those folders were moved into the next drawer down, “Facts,” which contains files about things humans can prove by way of observation, detection, and experiment. “Numbers,” second from the bottom, holds censuses, polls, tallies, national averages—the measurement of anything that can be counted, ever since the rise of statistics, around the end of the eighteenth century. Near the floor, the drawer marked “Data” holds knowledge that humans can’t know directly but must be extracted by a computer, or even by an artificial intelligence. It used to be empty, but it started filling up about a century ago, and now it’s so jammed full it’s hard to open.
From the outside, these four drawers look alike, but, inside, they follow different logics. The point of collecting mysteries is salvation; you learn about them by way of revelation; they’re associated with mystification and theocracy; and the discipline people use to study them is theology. The point of collecting facts is to find the truth; you learn about them by way of discernment; they’re associated with secularization and liberalism; and the disciplines you use to study them are law, the humanities, and the natural sciences. The point of collecting numbers in the form of statistics—etymologically, numbers gathered by the state—is the power of public governance; you learn about them by measurement; historically, they’re associated with the rise of the administrative state; and the disciplines you use to study them are the social sciences. The point of feeding data into computers is prediction, which is accomplished by way of pattern detection. The age of data is associated with late capitalism, authoritarianism, techno-utopianism, and a discipline known as data science, which has lately been the top of the top hat, the spit shine on the buckled shoe, the whir of the whizziest Tesla.
[...]
It’s easy to think of the ills produced by the hubristic enthusiasm for numbers a century ago, from the I.Q. to the G.D.P. It’s easy, too, to think of the ills produced by the hubristic enthusiasm for data today, and for artificial intelligence (including in a part of the Bay Area now known as Cerebral Valley). The worst of those ills most often have to do with making predictions about human behavior and apportioning resources accordingly: using algorithms to set bail or sentences for people accused or convicted of crimes, for instance. Connelly proposes that the computational examination of declassified documents could serve as “the functional equivalent of CT scans and magnetic resonance imaging to examine the body politic.” He argues that “history as a data science has to prove itself in the most rigorous way possible: by making predictions about what newly available sources will reveal.” But history is not a predictive science, and if it were it wouldn’t be history. Legal scholars are making this same move. In “The Equality Machine: Harnessing Digital Technology for a Brighter, More Inclusive Future” (PublicAffairs), Orly Lobel, a University of San Diego law professor, argues that the solution to biases in algorithms is to write better algorithms. Fair enough, except that the result is still rule by algorithms. What if we stopped clinging to the raft of data, returned to the ocean of mystery, and went fishing for facts?
-- "the data delusion," jill lepore, new yorker 3/27/23
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Fuchsia held her pillow close to her body. Holly’s parents had no idea they’d have to be sheltering another kid, so there was no time to spruce up the guest room. The plain white walls, worn down floors, and tacky floral bed sheets that smelled like them hadn’t been occupied since the Empire were totally unfamiliar. She could only bring what fit in her suitcase, which sat in one corner of the sparse room.
But it was this or the street, and Fuchsia would never let an opportunity to be with Holly pass her by, especially since Boscha wasn’t there to keep them from seeing each other. A tear rolled down Fuchsia’s face as she thought about her wicked mother–the mother who cared more about success than about her. To kick out your own child…not that Fuchsia enjoyed being home, but still, how could Boscha do that?
Holly really cared, though, and so did her parents. Fuchsia was shocked by the kindness with which Willow and Hunter treated her. Willow was a far cry from the authoritarian matriarch she left behind, and sweet enough to make Fuchsia regret calling her half a witch.
Yes, Mrs. Noceda-Park was initially hesitant to let Boscha’s child into her home, but the moment she saw that girl and the sadness in her eyes, she knew Boscha hadn’t treated her right. She had immediately got the guest room ready (as ready as it could be on such short notice, anyway) for the night, and although she couldn’t exactly make it any more interesting, she assured Fuchsia that she’d help decorate.
Hunter, too, was a blessing, and was able to relate to Fuchsia’s situation. He knew that Boscha sounded every bit as totalitarian and power-hungry as Belos–the main difference being that she could only use her power on one person. She was a control freak, and her tendencies got in the way of even her parenting. He had assured Fuchsia that he knew the feeling of a terrible home life
And Holly…
Fuchsia shot up as she heard three light knocks on the door. She muttered a soft “Come in,” and in walked Holls.
Holly opened the door with a slow creak; the Noceda-Parks didn’t use their guest room very often. “Heeey…” she spoke quietly, peeking around the door. “Can I come in?”
Fuschia’s mood began to improve when she saw her girlfriend. She couldn’t help but blush as their eyes met, and Fuschia spoke with newfound energy, “Of course, Hol, why wouldn’t I let you in?”
Holly entered with her hands behind her back and a placid smile on her face. “I just thought you might have, I don’t know, wanted to rest.” Each softly spoken word eased Fuchsia’s racing mind. Holly took a seat at the foot of the bed, setting down something concealed with tissue paper at her side. “I wanna know how my girlfriend is feeling,” she explained, putting emphasis on “girlfriend.” She could finally say it and mean it, and it felt so good! “Getting used to the place alright! Also, I brought you something.” She handed the gift to her belle, eagerly waiting for her to open it up.
Fuchsia reacted with surprise as the present was thrusted into her hands. “Uh…”
“Open it up!” Holly urged.
Her exhausted girlfriend couldn’t help but catch her beautiful, infectious smile. Fuchsia hadn’t been gifted many things in her life; her dad had been spoiling her from the day she was born, but she couldn’t help but feel like it was all just to get her to love him. Her mother had only ever given her one present, a brand new grudgby ball, and that was clearly not motivated by love.
So, she didn’t really know what to think. But she daintily unwrapped the tissue paper to find an adorable stuffed elephant. It was purple, with big pink ears and button eyes, and was covered in soft fluff. “Thanks,” she muttered, smiling sweetly; “But why’d you get me this?”
A grave realization hit Holly in that moment, and a surprised expression spread across her face: no one had ever loved Fuchsia in the way she did. “Oh…I figured that maybe you might want something to have at night since, y’know…this is your home now, too.” She leaned in, closer to Fuchsia. “Right? I saw it while I was in the Human Realm and I knew I needed to get it for you!”
Fuchsia’s eyes immediately began to water. She stared into Holly’s eyes for what felt like hours (but was really just a minute or so), clutching the stuffed elephant close to her body. Wanting to express her overwhelming gratitude for the gift and gesture, she tried to speak, but a small sob was all she was able to get out, and she covered her mouth.
Holly placed a loving hand on her shoulder and wrapped her other arm around Fuchsia’s hunched body. She put her lips to the girl’s cheek and loudly smooched, to which Fuchsia couldn’t help but blush an even brighter shade of pink than she already was. Fuchsia pulled back, but quickly met her kiss.
They sat there for a good thirty seconds; it was the first time they had the chance. A new chapter had begun for bouts Fuchsia and Holly, one of freedom, openly expressing their desires, and most importantly, each other.
Holly squeezed tightly, and with the soft, loving voice she used with the beloved girl she was consoling, whispered, “Welcome home.”
AWWW!!! This was absolutely sweet with those touches of sadness mixed in, but Huntlow along with Holly are so understanding, loving and accommodating that Fuchsia does indeed have a new chapter of her live to look forward too. ^_^<3<3<3 The elephant stuffie sounds really cute and I'm glad Holly and Fuchsia got some affection in too. ^_^ <3<3<3
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Madame Putiphar Readalong. Book Two, Chapter Twelve:
“Where is my lord? where is my Romeo?” signals the beginning of Book Two.
(For any new followers wanting to read this novel in English you can do it now, here! )
this british anti-catholic, pro anglican illustration is not the perfect fit for this chapter,,, but i like it and it has a wolf.
As the lovers separate and move away from the home-as-prison, we start a new section of the novel. We also say goodbye to Ireland for the rest of the novel, and dive into the French fraction of the book.
It starts with Patrick struggling with not wanting to leave Deborah alone, and trying to reconcile his situation with pre-existent ideas of honor/courage. He knows he has to leave, and that staying next to her is really pointless (given that he’d not be allowed to sit by her side and take care of her. plus he could be killed, and dying if she lived on would be pointless, thinks Patrick) but he still feels guilty for running from the killer’s blade.
I wouldn’t have thought much of it with other author, but given how important canines are for Borel, I think it’s worth mentioning that Patrick gets compared to a dog (howling like a dog outside the house where its master agonizes) and a wolf (once he takes the choice to leave Cockermouth Castle and runs bravely into an unknown fate)
Sad, full of doubt and regret, Patrick leaves Ireland by ship. As the shores of his motherland grow blurry, Patrick weeps not only for Debby, but for his only mother, his country.
Once in French soil we meet through Patrick the Irishmen who have been forced to emigrate for years since the English invasion, forced to fight for another country.
Borel praises the relentless men whose “valor and genius proclaims the history of the continent and of the new world” (can’t help but think of Guillermo -William- Brown, 1st admiral of the incipient Argentine navy and fighter against empires in the Latin American Independence wars)
Patrick is taken under the wing of one of these Irish immigrants: -a scene that must have caught Janin’s attention in a powerful way since he felt the need to pastiche it in a clumsy but detailed way in his review- Monsignor Richard-Arthur Dillon, Archbishop of Narbonne, a historical figure and a noted libertine.
What follows is a picaresque scene (and in line with Borel writing not only a philosophical/social-critique/anti-authoritarian/with-elements-of-fairytale-logic/novel, but a multigenre pastiche of European literature as a whole) we get in this scene the clichés of the lover hiding behind the curtain, and the lecherous priest/in this case "sexually active priest " would be more fitting/, a figure Borel returns to in the Caverne d'Arcueil.
Social critique is brandished here in an almost gentle way? (imagine a Dillon type in Sade's hands) This is perhaps partially because the narrator assumes Patrick’s pov: Dillon recieves him merely wearing his bath robe, and invites him to his bedroom (he is not really even trying to hide his un-chaste activities... or is he inviting Patrick to join him and his lover?) Nevertheless the narrator claims one could have thought he had been praying, were it not for the scattered pieces of women’s clothes Patrick’s eyes keep falling at, and the sound of breathing coming from behind the bed’s curtains. You can tell from the playful tone Borel is just having fun building up the subtext, claiming that Dillon should have been the Bishop of the Opera House, that he was in a particularly great mood that morning, deeply predisposed to tenderness... (adressing the readers directly as well, plural vous and all, building up the complicity)
But Patrick rejects the implications because he can’t believe a priest would not be chaste. (his hardcore naivité is very ‘Pure and Innocent Protagonist in a French Philosophical Novel of the 18th Century’) The other unusual thing-to his experience- and second element of anticlericalism Patrick notices, is the opulence. The man is loaded, lives like a prince, unlike the other catholic priests he has encountered in Ireland.
Patrick continues to tell his story and Dillon’s hidden lover cannot hold back any longer, springs from behind the alcove’s courtains, and is pleasantly surprised that the touching narration was issued by a man of strikingly Ossianic beauty! (the song of ossian: a literary hoax, an original work written in the 1700’s whose author claimed to be a translation of a manuscrip wrtitten by a Scottish Bard. Fun fact: Napoleon adored the Ossianic saga and much of his imagery in paintings of the 1st stage of the empire is based on an Ossianic aesthetic. The connection here is not bonapartist, but celt. My edition claims the originality of the work was still being debated in the 19th century)
She enthusiastically declares her loyalty and undying friendship to him, Dillon swears to become his protector... Kissing Dillon’s forehead, his mistress declares Patrick has become her new favorite (echoes of François 1er’s wife having the king “gift” Benvenuto Cellini to her as a lover) Patrick shyly calls himself her slave... They part, but Dillon urges Patrick to return often, his door always open for him, etc (we just witnessed a sex pact, the difference is that Patrick seems too naif to understand what might be expected in exchange of Dillon’s protection? Or is he.)
Patrick bows and kisses the bishop’s emerald, but wholeheartedly asks for his benediction.
Next we get a frankly balzacian (not implying Borel is spoofing his style, it’s just reminiscent of it to me) paragraph explaining the workings of a sinner’s soul, how their volubility makes them emminently generous because they follow boundlessly every whim of their souls, both the good and the bad, Marie Magdalene allusions, the works.
The quid of the matter here, is that Patrick’s beauty and aristocratic descent assured him protection, leading to social ascent. “Parvenir! Parvenir a tout prix”, Patrick says NOT since he is Not in a Balzac novel.
And this is where the chapter ends: we meet two characters the reader would be wise to keep an eye on: Fitz-Harris’ Patricks long estranged childhood friend, and Colonel Marquis de Villepastour...
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