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aconflagrationofmyown · 8 months

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Patch It Up Baby

A Sarge and lil Mama fic

Summary: It’s 1977 and Jesse Presley has never loved his family more or had more chances to prove it. When America’s last dynasty implodes, it‘s up to the Presley heir to mend and rebuild what’s left. His first and least glamorous commission is to take his little sister Daisy Mae to rehab in Texas after she embraced their daddy’s rock n’ roll lifestyle a little too thoroughly. In the great game-plan of getting mama and daddy back together, keeping up appearances and bolstering up his siblings’ spirits, what Jesse doesn’t expect is Donna. Just…Donna.

Warnings: mentions of past hard drug use, mentions of withdrawls, a brief but recounted callous comment encouraging death, children dealing with parent’s divorce, publicity of said divorce, paparazzi stalking, a panic attack, Jesse being a bit hardcore like his father to a stalker and mentions of his previous violence, brief sexual scene and occasional mentions of sex.

My thanks to all the dears who helped me so much with this, who added their lines to this and aided in the plot, @prompted-wordsmith @elvisabutler @stylespresleyhearted @ab4eva @butlersxbirdy @eliseinmemphis to mention a wee few

NOTE: In this chapter the baby that is referenced as growing inside Elaine was conceived during Elvis and Elaine’s divorce, and ends up being Danny. Jesse refers to his upcoming sibling as a “last” and “surprise” baby, which he was. However he was neither the last nor the only surprise for Elaine and Elvis. Danny came and a few years later was followed by Shiloh. So uh, that means better times must be around the bend, right? But of course, Jesse wouldn’t know that. ;)

2nd Generation Refresher: as this is out of order and missing many key pieces, I understand it may not make perfect sense yet but I hope y’all enjoy getting a glimpse into the family later on. You’ll meet Elvis and Elaine over the phone and the older kids as they grow into their maturity. Everyone is a bit spread out in their different pursuits in this one compared to the last one shot when it was all young, familial domestic chaos, but there’s little updates in here I think y’all will enjoy. Xoxo

Jesse’s long and ringed forefinger pecks peevishly at the Rehab Center’s grimy rotary dial. He waits for the phone connection to be made with studied nonchalance, leaning casually against the bleach white wall in a tiny alcove, checking like a studied dandy for dirt under his nails. It’s a photogenic sorta lean, one boot crossed over the other and bell bottoms flaring in a way that naturally carries the eye to the belt buckle at his tapered waist.

Daddy taught him well enough how to cut a figure, and daddy was the reason why Jesse had any need to pretend nonchalance when calling home.

Home, he wants to scoff.

Not Graceland while this fiasco lasted.

Graceland was too storied and way too watched. Home was Palm Springs and warm weather and privacy to figure out what the hell the rest of them were gonna do with their lives and if mama and daddy could still make it. Together.

Home, where mama could cook this last little one that precious few in the outside world knew was coming, home where daddy could eat crow and stay sober.

Jesse’s teeth ache from the way he grinds them in his stress, he rubs at his cheek and wills the tenseness away, if he answered with clenched teeth mama would be able to tell. And mama would worry. And mama had done enough worrying to nearly cost her her life.

“Hello?” came through the receiver.

Jesse felt guilty for one brief second at his immense relief that she’d been the one to answer, not daddy, but then a flood of very legitimate grievances against one Elvis Presley came flooding in and he shrugged it off. “Hey mama.” he kept his voice down but he couldn’t help the smile that lifted his tone at just hearing her sound so soft and rested. “How’re you doin’?” he ventured, keeping an eye at the nurses and patients passing nearby, always aware of potential eavesdroppers.

“I’m good baby, I’m real good, how’re you holdin’ up?”

Jesse listens for any trace of a fib in her tone but for once she doesn’t sound strained when she says she’s good. He’ll take it that physically she must be finally good for the first time this whole pregnancy. “Thas good.” he whispers, cupping the receiver closer, “He takin’ care of you, mama? He’s being gentle a-and he’s -he bein’ respectful?”

Of her space and her nerves and her whole taken for granted self. He’s picked a cuticle till it’s bleeding on him, wincing he sticks it into his mouth, full lips curling around it, something his mama gave him in a face strikingly similar to his father’s. The scowl he sends at a lurking relation of some inmate in this druggie bedlam is entirely his father’s and he’s grateful for that one singular legacy. It’s come in real handy as folks come up to him and pepper him with questions on the football field like:

-is your dad strung out on coke or heroin these days? is it true what happened to your sister, man? did your daddy force himself or is your mama so pathetic she couldn’t say no to a man she was divorcin? got anythin’ I can trade off ya, Presley?-

Benign, regular family questions. Sorta questions most 20 year olds have gotta answer, for sure. He sucks harder and tastes copper round his finger.

“Oh yes. Really darling, I’m fine. We’re fine, in fact.” Mama’s talking again. That’s a bold statement. To refer to them as “we” and to say they’re fine. She’s not mean enough to lie to him now, not now it’s all crashed and crumbled and they’re trying to pick up the pieces together. His little cupcake world of happy families is sorta shot to hell by this point, anyways. Least Mama can do is be truthful about it, and learning from his daddy’s mistakes, Jesse chooses to believe her when she says she’s well.

That they’re good.

“Ok, good.” he breathes for what he realizes must be the first time in awhile, his fingers are numb and his lips feel tingly, he’s gotta stop doing that, he’s gonna pass out one day, he can feel it. “The baby?”

“Fine. We’re all fine, Butnin, I asked how you were.” she reminds him gently.

“I’m fine, mama.” he is, now that he’s back to breathing. Breathing is good for one’s health. He’s gonna keep it up. “Daisy is settling in alright, too.” he beats Mama to the question, glossing over some of the more queasy aspects of heroin rehabilitation. “T-the nurse here, uh, D-Donna, she uh, she said we oughta be over the worst of it. The uh, initial withdrawls and such.”

“Was it bad, Jesse?” poor mama, how’d it come to this that she has to ask it.

“Yeah, fairly.” he admits, recalling his baby sister’s foaming mouth and dilated eyes and seizing throat. Holding her as she scratched at herself like a maniac, forced her to tear at him instead. Donna, the nurse, has got him fixed up with plasters all up and down his forearms and hands. “But that part’s worn off.” he assumes mama knows what he means, if she hasn’t dealt with it directly with daddy she at least knows of it, even if his were all prescribed. “She’s just real sleepy now. Sleeps all day and most the night. I try to keep her talking and singing and playing stuff so, uh, so that she’s tired, ya know? So she’ll sleep heavy. She’ll get better quicker. That’s what Donna says, the more she sleeps the faster she’ll detox.”

“My sweet boy.” Mama murmurs and that’s compensation enough for how little sleep he’s gotten this past week and everything else.

“Happy to do it.” he mumbles, and he means it.

“I know,” she answers earnestly, “and we’re grateful.” they both let that lie and after a minute she speaks up again, a saucy undercurrent to her tone that throws him for a loop. It's been such ages since he heard it: “So, this Donna, you’ve mentioned her last time and before that, too. Is she an experienced nurse, dear?”

Jesse groans into his hand only to realize it’s amplifying the sound through the speaker. In his loneliness here he may have forgotten how obvious it is that he’s latched on like a limpet to the one genuine human who’ll give him something besides canned answers when his sister aspirates on her own spit in the bathroom floor.

“I-I-I lost one sister this way already.” he’d gasped to sweet little Donna and her baby cheeked self as they peeled Daisy off the floor and got her on a stretcher, “Jo, Jo died from this.”

Not a drug withdrawal, of course. Jo had drowned inside mama. But still.

-Aspirating.

It held a bizarre terror for him, that fancy word, his whole childhood and the whole nine months of waiting for Marie to come out healthy. He’d never forget asking his daddy one day at table how they could be sure this new baby wouldn’t drown, too. Daddy had gotten so angry before bursting into tears at the head of the table. Nobody had ever seen anything like it before or since. All that grief just stored up, and him scared as any of them for a repeat and no kid’s tactless inquiry and it all surface. “We don’t know.” Mama had said and daddy cut her off harshly, “No, Elaine!” he’d near yelled, “No, don’t even say it. This one’s gonna live, I'm demandin’ it.” Mama had bit her lip and replied softly, “Then we’d better start praying so.”

And that’s what they did every night for eight months, Daddy led them all in laying their hands on mama's growing belly and prayed and prayed until Marie came screaming into the world with clear lungs. And so Jesse got himself on the floor and beat at Daisy’s back while praying and Donna did it too, right with him.

“Uh, Donna’s pretty young but she’s capable.” he answers mama’s question.

“How old?” there’s nothing sly in her tone now, just genuine concern for the quality of her daughter’s care takers.

“She’s nineteen, mama,” Jesse admits with a wince, “she’s my age.”

“Ah.” and a long pause follows.

“There’s others too, but she’s the most eager, most -caring.”

“That’s good. Thank God he sent someone for y’all. I knew He would.”

“Yeah, she’s, she’s real sweet mama.” he assures.

“Oh is she?” there’s a smirk in her tone now.

“Nineteen and sweet.” that’s daddy’s voice coming through the phone from a distance and Jesse starts to stiffen. “Does this Donna happen to be pretty, too, son?”

Jesse is back to grinding his teeth and it sends a spark of pain up to his temple.

“Elvis!” His mama honest to god titters and it’s been such a while since Jesse heard that sound he suddenly feels like forgiving his daddy a few things just for that. Just for bringing that back. It makes his eyes sting.

Donna has hair the color of mamas but with a touch more red in it and it curls and fans in such a messy and unstudied way as to remind him of an artist, all while smashed beneath a nurse's cap. And her smile is sunshine incarnate and her eyes are as blue as his and her lips as plump as strawberries and she’s the first person he feels like he can trust in ages. Not that he’s trusted her with much besides showing he’s at the end of his rope with exhaustion and emotion. But she never missed a beat.

“I-I-I don’t mean to keep mentioning her it’s just-“ he bites his lip harshly before deciding to be frank, “it’s hard to trust anyone. Even here everyone is gossiping about us, they think I can’t hear ‘em but I do and it’s all the time and I ain’t going up to one of those tongue wags and asking them to help Daisy when she’s that vulnerable. I just can’t. So -so it’s Donna.” he explains.

It’s dead silent on the other end for a length of time that oughta be uncomfortable but instead it soothes something in Jesse’s soul to think that he got his point across enough to shut his smartass father up for a whole minute.

“I’m sorry this is so damn hard for you, son,” it comes in a deep rumble and bitter as he is, Jesse feels his hands sweat and his cheeks too, or else that sting has overflowed and he’s crying. In public. “I’m sorry you’re havin’ to pay for my sins.”

“I-I-I’m just glad you’re back.” he croaks and looks about the place frantically to make sure he’s unobserved.

It had been so good that day daddy walked through the threshold at Graceland looking twenty pounds lighter and stone cold sober, there to sort out his children, there to intervene for Daisy. The day mama’s body gave out on her and she puddled like so much water on Graceland’s foyer floor, as if her body trusted Elvis to take care of her family even if her mind wasn’t sure he’d forgiven her for the divorce. Daddy had been perfect that day, picked mama up like a baby and took her to the hospital, made press statements like a ordinary human sayin simply that he’d “jacked it all up and was here to make amends.”

Mama and him tucked off to California to grow that baby that made her faint and Jesse was charged with Daisy and bringing her here to Dallas. It had felt like old times, Sergeant Presley and all that famous stage presence ordering them all to battle stations.

It wasn’t till later that Jesse wondered how the hell the man had the gall to show up and demand respect. Turns out mama had kept that fire going bright enough all the kids just fell in line like nothing had ever been askew. Jesse wonders if now he can go back to being nineteen again. He’s a little scared to hope. That’s the worst of it, he’s not bitter, he’s scared.

Twenty year olds have futures with little nurses named Donna. For now Jesse is not a normal almost-twenty year old.

“I’m glad you’re back.” he repeats to his daddy, “Please…stay…back.”

It’s what he begs Daisy when she tries to bribe him to sneak her illegal shit next morning.

“Enough of that, you’re nearly sober and you’re gonna stay sober. Please stay good, f’me! Please.” he begs and weedles until her big blue eyes go from watery to scornful and she has fun at his pathetic expense but Jesse doesn’t mind. It gives her something to do, teasing him for being a blubbering softy over her. It distracts her. It assures Daisy she’s wanted, that somebody -more than one in fact- would be devastated if she didn’t win this fight.

She’s become a skeleton as the detox racks her. Hospital food tasting bad on a good appetite, it’s ever worse on a poor one and Jesse tears out clumps of his now shaggy black hair in desperation to have her stay nourished. He’s not supposed to be sleeping there overnight but Donna fibs for him. He’s not supposed to sneak shit into the clinic but Donna takes him back to her house, lets him use her stove to cook pancakes -Daisy’s favorite- and helps him smuggle them in under his leather jacket. All for the price of a motorcycle ride.

Jesse’s belly burned for nights after where her little hands had overlocked to hold onto him during the ride, burning him and cooking his guts hot and wanting even beneath the leather and the layers.

“Donna’s got the same spatulas you use, mama.” He’s reporting by the third week.

“The baby’s the size of an cantelope.” she reports back.

“What’ve y’all been doin?” he tries to make conversation and even to his own ears he sounds suspicious. When did he start to sound like Jack? How much more could daddy possibly screw this up? Knock his ex-wife up doubly? Like a cat? Jesse snorts and covers with a cough.

“Talkin’ mostly, floatin in the pool.” he can hear her shrug from here, “It’s terribly hot.”

“Mmm.” he sympathizes.

“We got a marriage license yesterday.” Daddy pipes up and Jesse lets out a stifled sob of relief. The gang is back together, it would seem.

“Cool.” he rasps before Donna passes and then approaches in concern for his blotchy face.

“You ok?” she asks gently.

“Yeah, yeah fine,” Jesse scrambles, “hay fever. Killer.”

“Who’s that, Butnin?” mama asks.

“Uh, umm nobo-“

“Is that Donna?” she guesses and he winces for the umpteenth time at this damn phone.

“Mamaaaa.” he begs.

“Can I talk to her? Please, please!” she begs in turn.

“Mama no!” Jesse pleads right back and Donna backs away with that keen sense of intruding while unable to suppress her fond smile at this cute, boyish side to such a burdened young man.

By week four Donna and him have taken to walking Daisy along the corridors, getting her strength back and making her move, her always lanky frame a featherweight between them now. They all share a laugh at how Daisy towers over Donna’s tiny self, has to hunch to use the petite nurse’s shoulder while Jesse’s height makes her strain to reach. They can use a laugh, the stares they get as Daisy’s famous face gets hauled past in pajamas and socks makes Jesse lose all appetite afterwards, his fingers going cold and his lips numb. He’d like to punch something but everything here is breakable, his sister and his family’s reputation, most of all.

It’s not fair to her and it’s more work for her but this loss of appetite worries Donna and by the end of their long day’s shift they’re together again as she force feeds Jesse tacos from a nearby stand, as they walk around the old part of the city and inadvertently become friends. He may have sucked some mango salsa from her fingers, but neither of them mention it. Too busy watching the others' faces as the sun dies out and eventually he drives her home, her body tucked behind his on his bike, wind whipping her hair that’s escaped his offered helmet.

By the fifth night of this routine he steals a kiss. It’s not hard fought, she leans into him eagerly and for the first time in his life there’s nothing about conquest in the act for him, it’s just…nice. So nice he tries it the next night while they’re sat on his bike, parked by a dance hall. It’s less nice and more like licking fire this time, suddenly his sweet intentions for her are a burning mass of need and that night Jesse goes back to his dinky motel alone and engages in wasteful practices in the shower. Donna had asked where he was staying and when he told her she’d been aghast.

“I just prefer something more -normal.” he’d said.

“Sure but -but that place is dangerous, Jesse.” she’d been so concerned for him and he gobbled it up like a starved man. “Normal folks don’t stay there even.”

“Maybe I’m not normal.” he’d quipped and Donna thought about his mother and her mafia connections, the ones with the dirt that sank Colonel Parker during the divorce, she thought of the bike clubs that Jesse is seen frequenting in the magazines, she thinks about how far the Presley’s might go to reconnect with normal folks -she holds her tongue. “Don’t worry ‘bout me, lil, I can handle myself.” he’d assured her as he thumbed out her frown.

“I know.” Donna had replied, “I mean, I’ve read about how you handle yourself.” and she’d run an admiring hand down his bicep before kissing him again.

That was another thing he liked about Donna, she didn’t play stupid about his family and she also didn’t pry. She’d read about him and Jack bustin’ those guys asses for what they did to Rosalee and she mentioned it. And left it at that. Jesse liked that maybe most of all. He also liked how everything he’d trusted her with never got related by anyone else. No nursing staff gossip or a sweet insider tip for a newspaper. Donna took his trust and tucked it tight inside her chest, right in that tender heart of her’s. He liked that about her, right next to her sweet smile and her warm nature and the feel of her breasts smashed to his back on a long ride.

“You’re in love.” Daisy goaded him the next day as she scribbled in the journal he had gotten her. They encouraged writing here and Daisy’s material had gradually shifted from juvenile doodles and giant block letters proclaiming “JESSE IS AN ASSHOLE” to something that looked alarmingly like stanzas as he snooped over the top of the pages.

Jesse colored brightly at her goad and adamantly refuted it. “That’s the drugs talkin’.” he joked.

“So you’re just passin’ time with her.”

“I-I-I dunno, Daisy.” he spluttered, “It’s not exactly hoppin’ here when you’re out cold. Can only call mama so many times a day. Gotta talk to someone.”

“Does mama hate me?” she asked suddenly and he stopped cold in the middle of tuning her guitar to stare at her dumbly. “I mean -I deserve it I just…”

“No she don’t hate you!” he found his voice, “Don’t be an idiot. That self pityin’ mope don’t help the beauty of those dark circles none. She’s just wore out.”

“I wore her out.”

“Mm well, we all had a hand.” Jesse fudges.

“Ella told me to just get on with dyin.” she reveals, and Jesse puts his pick down for good this time, taking a deep breath and trying to listen coolly. “When mama was taken to the hospital and layin’ there unresponsive, Ella said I’d brought her to that, said if I was so intent on killin’ myself that I should get on with it and spare mama the suspense.”

“Well,” Jesse tries for a moderate tone, “that was a shitty thing to say.” he concedes, “And you -don’t pay Ella no attention. She’s worried and scared to death half times that Johnny won’t come back from ‘Nam. And now she’s takin’ care of Marie on top of her own baby. She’s just a little vinegary, thas all, pregnancy hormones. Took it out on you.”

“I think she’s scared the guy she married in such a rush is gonna come back.” Daisy growled. She crossed out a line angrily and Jesse was really starting to worry about those scribbles.

Jesse let her finish before he asked, “Why’s that?” It’s not like he got much thinking done lately between the court hearings and getting his head knocked about on the turf.

“She don’t love him.” Daisy rolled her eyes heavenward in an action that mama would have looked on with annoyance. Jesse glared at Daisy in her stead.

“People love in different ways, Daisy.” he sighed even as he had no bullets to fight her argument, Ella had left in uncharacteristically rash fashion, seemingly unable to take the atmosphere at home anymore. “And she says John’s a good man.”

“All that means is he don’t beat her.” Daisy snarked.

“Well, that’s a step towards romance.” Jesse joked back and they let the subject lie.

Each day Daisy gets stronger and writes more and more in that little book. Not that Jesse sees her at it most times, it’s just the pen she wedges in to keep her place gets closer and closer to the middle, and then towards the back. Snooping isn’t an option but he imagines they’ve got a lotta heartbreak on those pages, maybe bled out like lyrics.

Now days he makes the walk with her without Nurse Donna, and it’s both sad and a victory in one. Now that she’s strong enough to notice the stares Daisy takes delight in feebly flipping off her voyeurs and that’s a fight Jesse doesn't have it in him to win. If it makes her grin, he allows it, that stupid, crooked little boy grin that his daddy plopped right onto a young girl’s face. She’s perfect, she’s perfect and getting healthy and the stares don’t matter much. Not till he hears a voice he’s become very attuned to, snap at some idling nurses:

“Haven’t you got any work to do?”

And his head spins like a top on his neck and sure enough, that was Donna, temper snapping for what might be the first time in her sweet life, and Jesse feels his tingly gratitude down to his very toes.

“She’s alright, that one.” Daisy smirks beside him and little does he know her enthusiasm stems partly from last night when Daisy gave a little sisterly admonition to Miss Donna that her brother liked her and if she didn’t treat his soft heart gentle like, then Daisy was gonna unstring her guitar and end her with a metal cord.

“How ya doin, mama?” he asks her on a Tuesday and even to himself his voice sounds better. He may be far more tired than he was when he first came in here but his relief at Daisy’s progress colors his tone in hope.

“Doing good Butnin, real good.” she sounds good alright, more than good and Jesse uncurls his fist and let’s himself relax a little as he gives his daily report on Daisy. And Donna.

“Rosalee told me she’s gonna pop in and see y’all.” Mama informs him.

“Good time for it,” Jesse hums, “Mae Mae’s better enough to chat but she could use the encouragement.”

“I bet.” Mama sounds sad again. That won’t do.

Jesse lip curls up in mischief as he asks next, “Jack been by to see ya?” he inquires about that little sea creature hybrid he’s been missing and must call brother, “Brought any dolphins home to meet ya yet?”

“Oh Jesse! Stop!” she laughs a sweet peal of laughter and Jesse smugly twirls the phone cord round and round at his success, “He’s coming to dinner tonight, he has been too caught up before, he’s been out on the ocean for six weeks! I’m scared to see the state of his skin!”

“Welllll,” Jesse drawls, “No way the sun could burn that dimple off so, he’ll be fine.”

“He actually saved someone’s life, uh, day before yesterday.” Daddy’s voice rumbles through the receiver and Jesse’s eyes roll backwards a little at the way he’s never caught his parents separate on this trip, not even once. He can picture the patio phone and its loungers and its umbrellas right now, and imagines that daddy is probably cradling mama’s belly like he can push that magic healing through the skin and make that baby the healthiest infant California’s ever seen.

“Did he now?” Jesse admires, “Makin’ us proud, ain’t he?”

“Yeah, hauled someone who’d been adrift for ages, right up into his boat.” Daddy elaborates without a hint of mockery in his proud tone and Jesse smiles to himself.

“Bout time he put those muscles to use, s’not like he uses them when carrying snails around.” he teases back because having a serious and admiring conversations about Jackson might be a step too far in the healing process. Not this early, mama resting and then getting remarried and cooking a baby is plenty for the plate. Conceding that Jack isn’t a walking disaster is a little too much too soon. Heroics aside.

By week six at the Center they’re into behavioral shit and Jesse can freely admit this isn't the Presley family’s strong suit, but he’s gotta hand it to his sister that she is less preoccupied during it than he is. Out of respect for Rosalee’s interest in the same profession, Daisy pays a decent amount of attention to the therapist’s counsel. Jesse would be more attentive if the first fifty pages of Red West’s freshly published tell-all of his family’s secrets wasn’t banging around in his head. Somehow, somehow it’s not even the dirt that gets to him, makes him stagger out into the hall after a while and crumple against a cart and let the world go dim.

It’s the sweet stuff, the gentle stuff, the stuff that was only ever supposed to be theirs as a family and that fuckers like Red West were goddamn privlidged to be witnesses to, spilled out for all the world to pick apart and psycho-analyze. He hasn’t told Daisy and now she’s asleep and as he’s on the floor in the deserted hall he finds there’s really nothing stopping him from doing what he wants. So he panics and lets himself work up to a dim eyed fury and only the cool shock of a wet rag against his neck brings him back from it.

“Just breathe for me, honey.” That little Texan ascent is saying as he gulps into a brown bag with the embarrassed realization he’s had a panic attack. Sure Daddy had them at his age, too, but that was to go perform in front of hundreds of folks. This is just from reading Red Fuckin’ West’s bad prose. He can hear himself laughing, hiccuping little laughs of derision at himself and it, and Donna cooing all the while.

“You can’t drive your bike like that.” she points to his still shaky hands half an hour later.

It’s comforting watching Donna shut the place down, not that it’s totally abandoned at night, not at all, but just watching her finish up her duties and stash away her papers and arrange her workspace feels as if the heart of the place, the vitality if it, is turning in for the night. And he’s going with it.

He follows Donna like a lost puppy and she doesn’t mind it, he’s sweet and soft spoken and no matter what she does she only gets weak chuckles from him.

His boisterous charm and tired joviality is threadbare and she feels like it’s the right thing to do to slip her hand into the crook of Jesse’s elbow, to gently tow him out of the Center’s fluorescent lit maze and out into the night. He giggles at her guiding him into the passenger side, a soft little noise of trusting gentleness that is bizarrely attractive in such a capable man. He folds his long limbs into her dinky car and waits patiently for her to get into her side.

“What?!” Donna asks him as Jesse keeps gazing at her with big blue eyes and droopy pink lips as she turns the key and fidgets with the windows to get some air flow, “Am I gonna have to buckle you in?” she teases at the way he’s just melted into the seat, head leaned against the headrest and long limbs folded where they first flopped.

“Mmmmmaybeee.” Jesse drags it out and giggles again -and she knows it is common to be a little drunk, a little silly, a little loopy after a panic attack as severe as the one she found him having, but she’s never heard of it or seen it be so cute. Against her better judgment to coddle a grown man, Donna leans over the small console between them and reaches across Jesse for the seatbelt, getting the strongest whiff of his natural musk and spicy cologne she’s ever gotten, it makes the musty cab of the car feel ten times hotter than it was moments ago and she fumbles in her haste to hurry up and distance herself.

It’s silly, Donna thinks, she’s being silly to find this procedure of bucking him in a intimate thing when they’ve done far more, when they’ve kissed heatedly on his bike and danced wildly to that new Elton John record in her off time. They’ve been more forward than this but somehow his pliant and drowsy magnetism has her heart thudding and her body responding in ways not even his glorious kissing could produce. But the way his breath puffs from his lips and the way he looks at her as if she’s everything he wants in this moment makes it hard to brush this interaction off as a nurse with her patient. Or a friend helping a friend. Donna brought Jesse in because he was physically unfit to drive, she is being kind because he’s obviously had an awful day, he’s loose and pliant because of exhaustion -these are familiar things to Donna, they are integral to her vocation and her expertise.

And yet there’s those eyes of his, soft and burning all at once, catching her skin on fire and soothing it right after.

It does nothing to make her breathing calm as she drags the buckle across his soft yet lean belly, down the taper of his waist, so willowy and elegant that it makes her want to cry in envy, sliding it to latch at his hip.

“Donna.” he rasps before she can pull away, his hand shakily coming up to touch her cheek and she stalls, feeling as scared as a kid for what he’ll say next, “You take the sunshine with ya, everywhere you go. M’sorry for those poor suckers we’ve left.” he jerks his head towards the blazing ball of light that is the Center amidst the dark parking lot and Donna blinks at the compliment, absorbing it slowly as his fingers on her cheek do their best to wipe her mind blank.

“Daisy is gonna be fine.” Donna assures, scrambling to order her reassurances for maximum comfort, “She’s getting stronger and she’ll be asleep the whole time we’re gone. A-and we gotta take care of you, ok? Can’t have you going down too, can we?”

“Okay.” he whispers and she realizes her hand is still pressed to his belly. “I-I’ve had a bad day.” he admits, and it’s the first self focused thing she’s ever heard out of this forever uncomplaining boy.

“Let’s uh, let’s get you home -rested. Let’s get you rested.” she propels herself back over to her side of the car and jerks the gear more forcefully than needed before driving them out. She’s not sure they actually talked about it or that it was agreed to verbally but they somehow both know they’re headed to her rented house, the place with the ratty sofa and the duck taped windows and the malfunctioning stove that Jesse cajoled into working long enough to make Daisy batch after batch of fluffy pancakes. She had nearly sprung on him back then, taken him down to the floor and ravished him for being such a nice human being.

The bar might be low for men, but since that day, Donna had learned that Jesse Presley was more than lean legs, a nice ass, a gorgeous face and an earnest desire to please. Jesse Presley was a good man. And so Donna felt no qualms about taking him to her house, plopping him down on the sofa after fetching sheets, and letting his grabby hands tug her down atop him for a goodnight kiss. A kiss that lasted, and lasted, and lasted. Lasted until he was kissing between her breasts, the neck of her tshirt tugged down in a way that would deform its shape forever as she was idiotically scrambling to undo his clunky belt, eager to see the expanse of perfect, golden skin that his face and neck promised.

Donna had never gone this far with a man before but some inner voice told her it was a once in a lifetime chance, not to sleep with a Presley, but to ease a boy who needs so much comfort right now he literally can’t breathe. Jesse’s kisses don’t stop and she doesn’t try to make them, he’s inexorable while being slow, and it’s a combination she’d never witnessed before. Perhaps if he’d rushed her, or made an outright pass, she’d have had time to consider, to deny. But he just kissed her and kissed her as his hands mapped and worshiped her, caressing her all the way from his allotted couch to her bed until she was beneath him, accepting him inside her body like she had let him in her heart.

Idly Donna wondered how many girls his father took and left with the same good intentions, winders if the generations will just keep at it, on and on. It doesn’t feel trite though, she’s not sure if it’s because it’s her first time or because of how intensely tender he is, or the way he cries partway through the act.

“Hay fever, sorry.” Jesse insists weakly.

“Killer this time of year.” Donna agrees, stroking down the sweaty muscles of his rippling back, “For me it’s the cedar.”

She feels trusted with his tears, cherished by his revenant kisses, and never once does he give her cause to regret it, to panic. It’s slow and needy, strong but kind, the whole way through -just like him. Donna’s eyes sting at the realization he’s giving her such a sweet first time, even if he doesn’t know it. She finds herself sniffling with him over the thought that it might be the only time.

“Thank you, thank you.” he gushes, sweet as anything in a thin whisper, after he scrambles out of her and she adds her hand to his to finish him off. He had dexterously snagged a pillow case off one of her pillows and after it had served its purpose, he dropped the sodden thing to the ground.

There’s nothing trite about the way they lay in sweet silence afterwards, the way he doesn’t even try to collect his autonomy but instead winds those long limbs around her and keeps his face on her sweaty chest. “You’re a rare one Donna.” he praises, sleepy and gentle over her heart.

Donna struggled against sleep for the next hour, desperate to engrave the feeling of him laying melted on her in peaceful slumber and the pounding ache between her legs that had finally known a man. Something like virginity that she simply hadn’t gotten around to tossing away, was suddenly something very dear and painfully sentimental to her now it was gone. Now it was now wrapped up in soft kisses, large hands entwining hers to the sheets and raspy endearments. She fell asleep propped against the pillow with his head on her belly, repeating to herself at the rhythm of her pulse down there -it’s just a fling, it’s just a fling, don’t expect more, you hopeful idiot.

Cold sheets, or the sound of the door shutting from his exit or the scratchy presence of a note the next morning were conspicuously absent when Donna woke up.

Instead she heard the sound of gentle babbling, like the way a person might talk to a pet and combined with the gentle wriggling she sensed beneath the sheets, Donna engaged briefly in a time warp and wondered when she got a puppy and who was talking to it. But there was no puppy here, instead, as cognisense fully set in she frantically sat up and beat at the wriggly sheets, Donna found Jesse, still long and lean and naked as she hazily recalled from the dimness last night, wedged between her legs and chatting with her muff, placing chaste kisses to it that barely parted her outer lips.

“No way.” she said her foggy morning thoughts aloud at the sight of this beautiful boy still with her in the daylight and more pressingly -face to face with her used and unwashed and unshaven privates. “Oh what are you going to do?” she wailed as that mortifying relaxation sunk in. “Why’re you down there, you nut?“

“Good Mornin’ to you too, miss.” Jesse laughed and his breath tickled her core that was feeling strangely achy and happy all at once. “I’m gonna lick your wounds, silly.” he slapped her thigh gently as he went on as if to reprimand her while tugging up a mildly bloody sheet corner as evidence for his displeasure, “Donna, ya shoulda said, dear.”

“Oh it’s not a big deal.” she insisted in a bit of a panic to get him away from her vagina and in an attempt to convince herself it didn’t mean much. “You were so good. Don’t worry about it.”

“But you shoulda told me.” he insisted gently.

“There wasn’t much time for talking.” she cringed as soon as she said it but he took that in stride after realizing she was not insinuating any wrongdoing on his part.

“Are you hurtin’ much?” he asked gently and he was still down there, broad and smooth shoulders wedged between her stubbled thighs, tapering down to his tiny waist and that peachy butt and then those legs that were hanging off the edge of her bed like so much lumber. “Donna?” he asked with laughter in his voice as her eyes glazed over in review of him.

“No, not much, you were very nice. It felt great.” she insisted truthfully and ended with a little hiss as he ran his knuckles along her petals. “I mean, I-I’m honestly not sure I’m up for more activities right this minute but it’s not bad. It’s not hurting. Please don’t worry about it.”

“Did you even…peak?” he asked and his face flushed red like he was most ashamed of not being sure of that.

“No I-I was mostly just soaking up the whole…experience.” she admitted because it was true and didn’t strike her as deplorable at all. He had been big and she was new and it wasn’t quite comfortable enough to get there. Which hadn’t diminished the experience or changed the point of their tryst anyway. “That wasn’t the point of it all anyway.” she said softly while reaching to push his hair out of his eyes. It had grown inches since she first met him. “Not for me.”

Jesse’s face softened quickly at that. Like she had struck a nerve and soothed him all at once. “Yeah,” he nodded, “it wasn’t for me either.” and it feels like a far larger confession that it is for both of them, “Which is rich comin’ from the man who got to come.” he laughed at himself right after and she did too. “Now spread these legs so hims can do a lil community service on hers poor widdle clam shell.”

Donna never would have thought such babyish, almost infantilizing gibberish could be so authoritative but the potency of its endearing qualities, with his skilled tongue and earnest desire to please, ensured her cooperation so that they didn’t leave the bed for hours yet. Donna soon forgot her unshaved legs, her need for a glass of water and the fact she’d forgotten to set an alarm -and then when she recalled that detail in a lull of his caresses, she recalled that it was Saturday and she was off. And then he wiped her mind blank again.

It wasn’t till halfway through the radio blasting Dancing Queen and Jesse discoing in jeans and nothing else while flipping an omelet that it seemed to occur to him there was a life outside Donna’s little place and Donna’s fluffy hair and Donna’s ratty rented flat, and Donna’s sunshiny smile. She watched as reality intruded on his creaseless features, an instant pucker and burdened eyes clouding that ethereally sweet face as the outside crashed in.

A world outside Donna. It felt as good to see how well she’d helped him to escape as it was painful to watch it all come back down on him, weighing like a mantle on those strong shoulders.

“Shi-eeet!” he slid to a screeching stop of his jiving in his sock feet across her linoleum floor. “I was gonna call mama, see how they’re takin’ the book release stuff.”

Donna had vaguely heard gossip about what she supposed was the book in question. A dirty little tattle tale by a fired employee is all it sounded like to her. “It’s bad then?” she asked.

“Shitty enough grammar to make me puke.” he joked bashfully and she supposed that it was his way of asking to drop it. “What’re you doin’ with your weekend? Like today? What else ya doin?”

“Not much.” she admitted, crossing her arms over the baggy shirt she’d donned to watch him cook her breakfast. “Um, I suppose I should get more groceries-“

“-I’ll make ya a list and we can go.”

“-and, oh. Ok. Yeah. And umm, well, I need to check on my dad. I usually spend my Saturday dinners with him.”

“Oh.” Jesse bit his lip, “I-I can go…you wouldn’t mind me taggin’ along for the groceries bit?” he asked.

“Of course not!” she tried to laugh off her butterflies, “Are you worried I’ll buy the wrong flour?”

“No, I’m worried you’ll buy margarine instead of good wholesome butter.” he growled gravely as he looped his arms around her waist and tugged her to him, laying his chin on the top of her head like she was dear to him and the butterflies went rogue in her belly against all her attempts to stay untangled. “I just wanna be with ya.” he admitted and she shuddered, winding her arms around his willowy waist and clinging on.

“I’d like that.” she admitted.

“Lemme just call my Mama real quick?” he asked.

Donna cringed before admitting, “I don’t have a working landline.”

“What?” Jesse pulled away just enough to look her in the eye, his own wide in protest, “Good lord darlin’, that won’t do. Livin’ alone and no phone for me to hear if you’re alright. Well, lemme grab my shirt and- help yourself to the omelet, baby. And remind me to get ya a damn phone!” he was already disappearing down her hall and she stared at the egg and ham concoction before her, wishing the terrible anxiety she felt over much she liked him would calm so she could taste it.

They ended up swinging by the Center first as Jesse acted like he’d committed a murder when noon rolled around and he hadn’t checked on Daisy yet. Donna felt for him and recalled the feel of his tongue too clearly to a fuss as she flicked her blinker to turn left, away from groceries and phones, and back towards her workplace. Some little part of her hoped he’d forget his promise to buy her one, it was extravagant and a little embarrassing.

The thumping beat of Springsteen’s Thunder Road filled her car with verve that matched the muggy exhaust tainted breeze that whipped through the windows and the noonday sun that glinted off Jesse’s rings as his hand wind surfed out the window.

“I got to play bass on this one.” Jesse murmured like someone might mention they had a hand in scoring a strike in their local bowling championships.

“What?! On this? You’ve worked with Springsteen?” she cried in shocked admiration.

“S’all my mama’s doin’.” he insisted as if regretting he’d made a deal of it. “A-and daddy. He taught me bass.” it’s the first personal thing about his daddy he’s divulged and Donna tucks it away for safe keeping.

“Aren’t you marvelous.” Donna swears.

“Hardly,” he blushes, “S’just when your name is Presley and your mom’s got her hand on the levers -artist’s tend to let ya mess about.”

“I somehow doubt they’d let a complete dud jam on their album.” she snarks and he bites his lip and doesn't retort.

The harmonica warbles on and Jesse’s hand raps out a rhythm on the car door. “-show a little faith there’s magic in the night! You ain’t beauty but hey you're alright, and that’s alright wi’me.” he sings to her, far more melodious than Springsteen’s grit and his eyes sparkle far more than stereo light ever could.

Once parked he worries his lip between his fingers as he stares at a faintly familiar car parked by his bike. It’s probably telling enough that Jesse left the thing here and went home with someone else. Or maybe folks will assume he wandered the streets and dive bars all night. At least that would spare Donna’s reputation while at it. “How ‘bout I go in first a-and if you want you come in later or -if ya don’t mind, you could wait out here? I’ll be back! Soon, I-I won’t dawdle, I swear!” he assures.

“Jesse, take all the time you need.” she smiles at him, leveraging her chair to lay back as sunbeams bathe her in a lemony glow, “I’ll be out here working on my tan.”

His smile is so full of relief that Donna realizes he was worried she’d be offended by his distancing himself and if he weren’t so relieved then maybe she’d be tempted to be offended. But she can’t bring herself to be. It’s all a mess in her head but she figures she can not make it worse by being accepting of the fact he doesn’t want to be seen with her. It’s ok, his smile makes that ok, as does the way those long fingers unclasp his seatbelt and the way those long limbs lean over her in a mirroring of last night and she feels those plush pink lips smooch her forehead, long and devoutly.

“Sit tight, baby.” he commands with his lips barely leaving her skin and then he’s out the door and strutting across the parking lot without a seeming trace of nervousness.

Rounding the hall down towards Daisy’s room he passes by the familiar wall phone and stops in his tracks at the sight of Rosalee propping Daisy up while having the receiver wedged between their cheeks. For a flash in his mind they don’t look a day over six with their scrunched faces and contrasting hair, always so compatible while entirely opposites.

Rosalee spots him first as Daisy is busy yacking at whoever they’ve held captive on the line and her blue eyes light with sweet recognition as she teases, “Well hey loverboy, good morning. Or is it afternoon?”

That makes Daisy look up and she answers someone on the line by proclaiming, “Yeah, he juusssst nowww walked in.”

“Who is that?” Jesse mouths, his forehead a washboard of wrinkled anxiety that Rosalee can’t bear anymore so she cracks and admits,

“It’s Mama, silly.”

Jesse relaxes a little on that account, moreso for the fact Daisy has obviously gotten past her presumption of being hated by their mother, if the giggles and gumption in her talk are any clue.

“Well yeah, I think he can talk,” Daisy is saying, “I mean I dunno, I’ll ask him. He looks like he’s missing a few ounces of fluids. You still got your tongue Jess?”

“Hush up!” He begs, pink in the face at the thought of mama thinking he’s been sleeping around when he was entrusted by Daddy to take care of his sister.

Daisy sticks her tongue out at him and Jesse finds that more reassuring that she’s stone cold sober than any other behavior he’s seen from her in rehab. Checking to make sure their squabble is unwitnessed, Jesse turns back and sticks out his own.

“Eww put that away, where’s it even been this morning?” she groans and his closes his mouth so fast his sisters become convinced of what had just been a suspicion.

“Oooh…” Rosalee coos.

“Nope nope nope.” He silences them with a meaningful hand chopping motion to the throat, “I kinda had an episode last night, and uh, Miss Donna was kind enough to lemme ride with her since my hands were shakin’. That’s it.”

“Oh Jesse!” Mama’s concern is loud enough over the phone to blast Daisy’s eardrums and reach his own, “Are you ok? You gotta make sure you eat and sleep. Did you sleep? She taking care of you? Baby? Are you -is he there, y’all?”

Rosalee scootches aside and pats the tiny sliver of white wall between the twins in invitation and resignedly he wiggles between them as Daisy laughs and tugs on the cord to help it reach him. Tucked together like this it feels doubly absurd to Jesse to be so fretted over and also, entirely soothing. He flings a lanky arm around each girl’s shoulder and squats a little to help Daisy reach his ear as she holds the receiver for him.

“Mama I’m fine.” he insists mid giggle as Rosalee’s finger finds a way to his armpit.

“Yeah, so fine you can’t drive!” Mama retorts and it relieves him that she obviously thinks the best of him, that he was in bad enough shape to go to a random girl’s house and not that he’s behaving like an absolute horndog in a new city. Just to make her not worry, he half wishes she’d think worse of him and just be displeased.

“Alright so, maybe I snooped through Red’s book yesterday.” Jesse admits since he intended to see how daddy and she were taking it, after all. “And it’s such shitty storytelling I got a little worked up. You know how I am when folks lyrics are dry a-“

“-Red wrote a book?” Rosalee interrupts as does Daisy with a-

“-am I in it?”

Jesse purses his lips and nods, twirling the phone cord and waiting quietly for Mama to say something.

When she does it’s a droll, “Red made takin’ LSD sound boring.” And between Donna’s sweet lovin’ and mama’s superhuman ability to shrug off the most defaming shit on the planet, Jesse is left smiling and burdened with only one small anxiety.

“How’s daddy takin’ it?” he asks as his ear gets pinched from Daisy mashing her face to his, eager to overhear. Rosalee is just face watching and Jesse knows she’ll get more information from that than if she listened.

“Oh, a bit hard.” she admits, “It's just so -so- tacky. To do that to a friend!” now she sounds mad, “When did we ever hurt that narcissistic fool? If our lifestyle was so unbearable he coulda quit, he had two decades to do it.”

“Yup.” Jesse pops the word for emphasis and notices someone down the hall has a disposable camera pointed at their little huddle. He supposes they do look a little bizarre, stacked in the alcove like overly matured sardines.

“Anyone giving you trouble about it?” Mama adds in concern.

“No. You know it jus’ came out yesterday and I-I-I haven’t been out and about much today.” Jesse admits and Daisy makes suggestive hand motions at waist level that he pointedly ignores.

“He predicts that when we’re in our fifties we’ll get back together.” she murmurs.

“Spoilers!” he hisses and mama laughs as does someone in the background that could only be daddy. “A real, genuine prophet, that Red.” Jesse wheezes. “And daddy,” he hollers loudly in hopes he’ll hear, “he were wrong about me hating the damn rollercoaster. I shit my pants everytime outta joy, I swear. Don’t let nobody make ya doubt that.”

For a minute all he can hear are mama’s suppressed belly laughs before Daddy’s rings clatter on the other end and the kids can almost hear the scratch of a sideburn against the mouthpiece, “Y’all can hear me?” he rumbles through and Jesse’s face gets smashed from both sides as the girls crowd in.

“Yeah we can hear ya daddy.”

“Alright then listen to me, lil munchkins,” his voice sounds as deep and smooth as chocolate, even over a trashy phone speaker, and they all hypnotically sway in anticipation of his next word, “y��all know how much I love each of ya, that I’d happily burn down my trophy room ‘fore I let anythin’ happen to the window boxes with yer various uh, weeds and rocks and such in ‘em that Red was always mockin’ and uh, I wanna apologize to ya, from the bottom of my heart, that I hindered y’all in your quest to strap the Wests to Roman Candles that one christmas. Ya had the right idea.”

Jesse’s day gets magically better after that phone call, like one sentence from Daddy can patch up his whole life. But deep down he knows, it’s a thread of Donna running through the whole thing, buoying him up, smoothing out the creases, patching up the little cuts. It makes daddy’s voice sound richer and his promises truer and Jesse holds the receiver and smiles as Rosalee makes plans to drive back for classes and visit them while she’s at it and Daisy suggests baby names.

Things are as they should be and somehow that means he ends up walking out into the parking lot with his two sisters, one of whom was technically not released and piling into Donna’s beat up Oldsmobile and taking off for the grocery store as if that were a sane thing to do. Rosalee tries her best to meet the young woman driving them and Donna is anything but cagey, yet with Daisy’s blathering about her and Jesse’s blushing over her and Donna’s slightly overwhelmed joy at it all -they make for a chaotic entourage picking out butter and pickles and hamburger buns.

Next stop, Donna watches as Jesse and Daisy spend a solid twenty minutes weighing the value of different landlines when all Donna needs it for is to answer if she’s been murdered or not and during this analysis she learns from Rosalee that the auburn haired girl with the bashful grin is going to school at Stanford. Nearly gave her father a heart stack, she laughs when she tells it, but she wanted to study psychology and be nearer him -the subtext that Elvis was more often in Vegas than at his own home goes unsaid and Donna doesn’t bat an eye.

For what the papers have to say about this family, there’s never once been due credit given for their love and comradery. It couldn’t have been easy and maybe it was far from good at times, but the Presley’s didn’t create this much love from a vacuum. Some aching part of Donna wants to meet them all and watch them in their natural habitat, swear to them that she gets it, that she’s so starved for it herself she’d trade anything for such affectionate dysfunction.

The phone Jesse buys her has no superior merits in static or connection but it does have a zebra print handle on it that Daisy insisted was the height of chic, and he insisted in turn that Donna deserved sexy things. Looking down at her overalls and plaid shirt, Donna has to agree she’s not exactly in Jesse Presley’s league.

Before she can think on that for too long and get herself into knots about it, they’ve piled back into the car and Daisy is eagerly asking if they can get dinner -if she can eat outside of her fluorescent lit, sterile white prison. Donna feels for her and she can see Jesse trying to formulate an excuse, how now is time to let Donna be as she’s gotta go visit her dad. If she weren’t so convinced these dear kids actually liked hanging with her she’d never have the guts to suggest it but they’re too honest and forthright in their affection for her to doubt it so she hears herself suggesting:

“Y’all could come meet my dad? H-he loves your dad’s music. Learned drums awhile back just to match Fontana. I know he’d love y’all to bits.” Rosalee and Daisy raise a chorus of agreement in the backseat but Jesse hesitates and Dona refuses to be hurt by it. He’s obviously the more cautious of them, and he’s got reason to be. Donna thinks she saw someone taking photographs of them all as they came out of the market.

There’s also the unspoken worry about putting Daisy out in public so soon with surroundings teaming with alcohol and other temptations. It makes Donna clarify, haltingly, “It would be somewhere quiet, wholesome. My dad he’s um, he’s a recovering alcoholic, see? That’s how I got into nursing, mama left to go get more from life and I stayed to take care of him. He’s been clean for a good bit now but -he could use the friendship.”

Daisy looks like she’s about to take offense at being considered only fit for friendships with washed up drunks and Donna gets it, that it’s touchy but it needed to be said if they’re going to meet him. Rosalee intervenes instead with a soft,

“Sounds good to me, we’d love to meet him. For my schedule it works, doesn't it Jesse?” she asks, “I mean, as long as it’s somewhere quiet? Maybe out of the city proper?”

“Yeah,” Donna agrees, already having a joint in mind, “we’ll get out of the city. Maybe out by Plano? They’ve got good barbecue at this one place.”

“Jess?” Rosalee asks again, softer this time.

Jesse just turns around in his seat, long arm bracing himself and his bulging forearm stretched across the console and Donna’s mouth waters at the popping veins and nimble fingers as she watches him stare a mute Daisy down. “Can I take you for barbecue with Miss Donna and her daddy and trust you to behave yourself?”

“Oh for fu-“

“Daisy?” Jesse cuts her off, dead serious and so easily authoritative that Donna’s legs rub closed despite the inappropriate context. He’s not all sweet boy and needy young heir and it gives her shivers. “I mean I don’t want even a raised middle finger outta ya, you hear me? Just imagine whatever you do is gonna be plastered everywhere, think about that and we’ll go. We got a deal?”

Daisy seems to weigh her anger at her brother’s bossiness with the dire need for something besides hospital food and after twenty tense seconds of belligerence she gives in with a hoarse, “Deal. Gosh it’s not such a big thing, relax.”

That night Donna’s love for them gets cemented. They’re only licking their fingers of sticky sauce and ordering five different smoked briskets to try but the kids make conversation like they’ve learned a bit of everything from everywhere. Which in retrospect, Donna assumes that maybe they have, exposed as they were to the best and the worst, but she didn’t expect it to be so natural and kind, so outwardly focused where Jesse pulled anecdotes about the Korean War from her dad she’d never heard and a mention or two of Ma from happier times after one of Rosalee’s queries.

Everyone just talks, talks about the stuff they want to talk about but usually don’t. It’s cathartic and Donna hasn’t seen her daddy so recharged in ages. Jesse ends the night digging in his deep pockets for something that ends up being a guitar pick.

“I-it’s my d-daddy’s, sir,” he stammers as he puts it in Donna’s father’s weather palm, “wish he were here to swap stories but I-I-I thought maybe you’d like it. Till you can m-meet him.”

Her daddy takes it gratefully and thumbs over it with a fondness Jesse has seen a lot of folks show for the man he knows too well and they love more than seems possible for strangers. It never fails to humble him and reignite some apprecIation of his own for Elvis’ warmth that’s made it all the way into the heart of a middle aged vet from Waxahachie Texas.

“I’d sure like to meet the man someday.” Her daddy admits. “And thank ya for dinner, young Presley.”

“I hope you will meet him, I think ya will.” Jesse stammers and can’t bear to meet Donna’s surprised gaze, “We owe your Donna a heap, sir. Mama is about ready to come down here and eat her up she’s so grateful. And I uh, I intend to not lose touch.” he mutters the last bit and it makes Donna feel close to faint with hope that her father misheard as they go on to talk about how the press has treated Elaine Presley and eventually say their good nights. Jesse won’t meet her eye, just tucks her into his armpit like her short height mandates for a hug and says goodnight. After the heat of last night she thinks she’ll waste away from such propriety.

As she gets in the car to drive her dad home, working the shift, a bright light slices across their windshield and after the sparks clear from Donna’s dazzled eyes she realizes someone, probably with a professional grade flash, just snapped a photo of them. They’re ordinary people who had barbeque with the kids of a famous man and now they’re being stalked. It’s not fair to them or the Presley’s and her dad rages against the unfairness of it and how nice those kids were all the way back to his place. It keeps Donna from crying over the notion that Jesse went through all those motions this morning to make her think he liked her more than just a lay, and now it’s a sideways hug and a terse “goodnight.”

Jesse’s heart hurts as he drives the girls back to the center in Rosalee’s car, smiling softly as he listens to their protests against his ratty motel and noticing the car behind trailing their every turn. He knew that the rehabilitation was wrapping up and he knew they were getting sloppy at laying low. There’s been a countdown in his head that’s kept him going, after all, and they’re so close now to the finish line that he had burned out and fallen into Donna’s arms for the last leg. The fact it is the last leg makes him jittery with a thousand thoughts at once. The chief one is how unfair it all is.

For her mainly.

But if there’s one thing Donna taught him last night, it was to take a little time to hurt for himself. By the time he sneaks Daisy back into the Center under a cloak of darkness and drives Rosalee to a hotel fit for housing a nice girl like his sister is, his heart just about wants to burst with hurt. He sends Rosalee up to her room with a kiss to the forehead and plans to have her car back in time for her to drive back tomorrow. He goes cback out to the parking lot and making a beeline for the beater Mercedes’ parked three rows down from his ride. He raps on the window and it doesn’t even take the gun in his boot to freak the unexpecting and nosy little bastard in the driver seat.

“Hey, brother.” Jesse greets as the guy actually rolls the window down in his panic on being confronted, “You like my route?” he asks congenially but there’s an edge to his voice that isn’t false bravado, “I noticed ya liked the barbecue, too. Wanna come up to my room and watch me sleep? Or were you gonna wait till I leave and try that with my sister? Hmm?”

The guy, like most guys in the nation, knows what Jesse did to the last fella who tried something with Rosalee, how his brother Jack and his friend Sam and the whole of Sam’s squad from the Memphis police just sipped bourbon while Jesse drug the fucker by the balls down S. Riverside Dr. It makes the smirking boy at his window a lot more imposing than his decent stature, hippy length hair and strong hands seem on first impression. “N-no man I’m here- I’m here to- uh-“

“Just hand me the damn film rolls and we’ll part ways, ok?” Jesse holds out his hand expectantly and the guy hesitates a bit. Sighing heavily, Jesse reaches into his back pocket for the persuasive shit and he can see the man’s panic show in his eyes again as Jesse reaches, only for it to be replaced by confusion as he’s presented with a badge of sorts. “This here badge was given to me by President Nixon himself, alright? Back when he asked to meet my daddy in the Oval Office, and he gave me this badge and it’s got the authority to demand such private property as photographs of my face and my sisters’ faces, ya understand? I wouldn’t wanna get you into trouble none by writing a damn reportc a. Just -hand ‘em over, k?”

The guy still hesitates, doubtful he’ll get off so easily and wary to give in and still get his ass handed to him. To be perfectly honest he doesn’t care much about some badge that some impeached President gave a rockstar’s fifteen year old kid . “Really, dude, I’m just here to meet a-“

“You really wanna see what my daddy gave me for my birthday last year?” Jesse asks with burdened patience and somehow, without it even being said, the man knows that birthday gift was a gun. Elvis Presley has been downright insane for some time now, it just fits. Jesse Presley, lanky frame bent to wedge into his low window like a looming specter in the dark doesn't look much more stable. He fumbles in the passenger seat and grabs the priceless rolls containing an excellent shot of that girl he’s been hanging out with, in her car with her dad as she pulls out of the barbecue place. It hurts the guy deeply to watch them go but he comforts himself with the thought of all the earlier snaps he’d managed to drop at the publishers earlier.

“Here, Jeeze.” the guy plops them in Jesse’s large palm and Jesse’s fingers curl over them elegantly while his pointer finger beckons still.

“Gimme the one in the camera, c’mon now. I’m not stupid.”

“You can’t shoot me-“

“No, I can do way worse, believe me. The roll, give it here!” Jesse’s ringed fingers make a gimme-gimme motion and the guy notices that those rings would make a mean and gaudy sort of brass knuckle if tested. His nose hurts at just the thought.

He hands over his camera and despite expecting the kid to drop the precious thing and stomp on it or something, all Jesse does is pop the lid and take out the roll. Adding it to the others in his back pocket along with that stupid and sentimental badge that belongs in an era back when his famous daddy still had the nation’s respect.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” Jesse murmurs as he hands back the neutered camera, “and I hope you understand that if I ever catch you at this again, for myself or my friends, you’re gonna have more audits and subpoenas than you do donuts in that gut. Am I understood? I’ll bury your ass.”

It’s freaky getting threatened so effectively by a teenager. Like he’s old inside and knows that paperwork is scarier than a knife when you’re tired and broke. Most of these Presley’s belong in the loony bin or the MET, with Elaine Presley being the latter and the rest of her family the former. Either way, all of them need to be under lock and key, except they're too rich for that. And they’re certainly rich enough to make the guy’s

I life a living hell. Or very rich if he were to sell pictures of Jesse Presley necking a rehab nurse on his bike.

“Yeah ok, can I go?” the guy asks, exasperated.

“By all means, get the hell away from my family!” Jesse smiles and backs away, patting at the back of the guy’s car in farewell before the man hears a screeching sound of metal ripping off.

He frantically looks behind him only to find Jesse innocuously sauntering back to his bike in the dark parking lot. Suspicious of what the kid did, and suspecting a poked tire but too scared to get out and investigate while he’s still on the prowl, the guy waits and watches as the kid’s bike revs to life. Sure enough Presley steers the thing right past his window while waving the guy’s license plate like a giant metal envelope in his hand.

“Have fun without this, man, lotta bored cops on the lookout tonight!”

Feeling very good and very angry, Jesse waits at the red light, full aware the guy is watching him and when the fucker doenst get the hint to leave the parking lot ahead of him, Jesse revs his motor and bekons the guy over like a gentlman ushering a lady through the door first. Exhaust fumes have never smelt so sweet to him as he takes a turn trailing the guy until he’s well out of Dallas and nearing Arlington, well away from Daisy and Rosalee.

And Donna. Jesse’s blood boils and the hot summer air clings to his neck as he peels off into the dark of night and heads back to his motel with its greasy bedspread and its mildew shower where he’s gunked up the drain with his fervor for her large lips and sweet eyes and eyebrows that are like busy caterpillars dancing across her forehead. He wants her so badly it’s painful and now he knows what it’s like to be with her and held by her and accepted so readily, so selflessly, so sweetly -it’s worse than before. He can’t even bear to think of settling for shower steam and his fist. He falls into bed and rolls onto his belly, pulling open the bedside drawer before placing the license plate next to the complementary motel Bible. It makes him smile, Donna’s got a phone and he’s got a license plate. He keeps staring at his tin trophy knowing fully well tonight’s slumber is merely metaphorical. He’ll not be sleeping a wink.

He’ll be thinking of her. And how he’s gotta be a bastard for a little longer to keep her safe. And how mama’s about to have a baby and daddy’s about to remarry her and Rosalee just started to sleep herself after the attack and how Daisy will be out and testing herself and how John will be coming home to Ella and their baby and -he really outta visit Ella while he’s here in Texas. And while she’s got Marie staying with her. Marie could use to see another face. There’s so much ahead and none of it needs to involve Jesse fending off reporters so he can go make professions of premature love to a little Texan with a penchant for his pancakes and clitoris nibbles.

Like the planner his mama taught him to be, he steadies himself with a hand to the bridge of his nose and lines all these frantic responsibilities into a tidy row. And to the side are his wants. For a few years now those have gotten a little dusty and he doesn’t begrudge that, not really. But right now he makes another column to this mental checklist.

His needs.

Which comprise Donna and more Donna and Donna forever. It’s so simple, the roses ahead that may take years but it is simple nonetheless.

Go get the girl, that’s what they all say. Daddy had done just that.

Jesse thinks about that phone he got her this afternoon, assuming she’s hauled it out of the trunk by now. He’s already arranged for someone to hook it up by next weekend.

Step one accomplished. He wants to laugh at his own impatience. Step one, already done. Before the end of the week he can be calling her and she’ll be wrapping her fingers around the phone like he wishes she would somewhere else and he can make comments about how nice the barbecue was and she can ask about Daisy’s progress once released.

And they can keep that up. Till he finds a time to marry her. Hopefully not in some red letter year that involves his parents remarrying or making a surprise child.

Hope y’all enjoyed! Your “bugging” and “screaming” is music to my ears, fuel to my fire and keeps me writing, please never hold back -this is a safe space for feral little Elvis loving rodents…like you and me.

If you’d like to be tagged in this particular series please drop a note below. I’ll admit I’m disorganized and have trouble keeping all the requests sorted when they’re scattered, what I do check regularly are the requests in the notes for chapters -and I do manage to get those added. So, if you’ve put in a request and I’ve failed ya, or if you’re new and would like to be added, please pop a note below. Xoxo

@paradsol000

@eliseinmemphis

@prompted-wordsmith

@ab4eva

@foreverdolly

@powerofelvis

@butlersxbirdy

@crash-and-cure

@elvisabutler

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@stylespresleyhearted

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@myradiaz

@ash-omalley

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@lookingforrainbows

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@coolgirl462

@kingdomforapony

@18lkpeters

@richardslady121

@from-memphis-with-love

@lillypink

@artlover8992

@pennyroyalcreep

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@ellie-24

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@waiting4brucewayne2adoptme

@presleyenterprise

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@60svintage

#elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #austin butler fanfiction #Austin butler #elvis austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin x reader #austin butler elvis #austin butler smut #elvis the king #elvis fanfic #elvis imagine #elvis x reader #elvis #sarge and lil mama #sarge: 2nd gen

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phillippadgettwrites · 2 years

Text

Lapis

Rated X \ 1913 words \ posted on AO3

It’s a Sunday. She’s post Mass and brunch with her mother, still in her church dress as she putters around her apartment. Lapis blue, the sales girl had called it, paired with a white cotton bra and panties. Good, modest church clothes. Her mother had said she looked lovely.

She’s almost called him half a dozen times, even picked up the receiver once or twice before setting it back down. It’s been less than twelve hours since she slipped out of his apartment under the cover of darkness, her lips swollen from his kisses and the insides of her thighs stinging from the scrape of his stubble. The gusset of her panties is still damp from the trickle of his cum, and yet it’s all she can think about. His mouth, his tongue, his fingers. The steely press of his erection against her belly when he pulls her close. She’s overwhelmed by how desperately she wants him, how persistently.

She’d intended on taking things slow, wading incrementally from the bone-dry shore of their carefully platonic relationship into deeper waters. Toes, and then ankles, and then knees. Pausing to adjust, to decide whether to continue out further. She remembers the first brush of water over her skin in the form of a searing kiss, and her surprise that there was no shock of cold to recoil from. Suddenly she found herself submerged, drowning in the smell of his skin and the feeling of his weight on top of her. She doesn’t know which end is up, in which direction she should swim to break through the surface for air. But even more concerning is the fact that she can’t even bring herself to try.

She picks up the phone again, her finger poised over speed dial 1. She feels her heart beating between her thighs, a hunger that can’t be satiated by food or drink. She presses the button and brings the phone to her ear, closing her eyes against her own shame.

This is Fox Mulder, leave a message and I’ll try to get back—

She hangs up, her cheeks flaming with relief that he hadn’t answered. She’s not even sure what she would have said if he’d picked up.

Hi Mulder, I was just wondering if you could swing by on your way home from the gym and fuck me, if you’re not terribly busy.

Mulder, it’s me. I know you made me come twice last night, but apparently I’m insatiable, so could I trouble you for one more before the work week starts?

Pathetic.

She decides that her vibrator will have to suffice. She strips off her panties and lies down on her bed, letting the dress pool around her hips as she switches it on. It rumbles to life, rattling against her fingertips and mocking her with its rubbery exterior. She thinks of the smooth, velvety skin of Mulder’s cock, and the thought alone is enough to send her hand between her thighs. She sighs and wriggles, finding the sweet spot while her mind wanders over the handful of encounters they’ve had thus far. Straddling him on his couch, the stretch of his cock nearly splitting her in two as she lowered herself onto him. Slipping her hand down the front of his sweatpants while they pretended to watch a movie at her apartment. His mouth on her cunt, the stuttering flick of his tongue making her breath catch in her throat. She arches up off the bed, frustrated at how insufficient this is. In all the years she touched herself while imagining it was him, she never had the real thing to compare it to. Now that she does, she wonders if she’ll ever truly enjoy masturbating again.

The phone rings, but she ignores it.

This is Dana Scully, I’m not here right now, please leave a—

The caller hangs up without leaving a message. Within seconds, her cell phone begins to ring from the kitchen. She groans in frustration and turns off the vibrator, leaving it on the bed as she rushes out to catch the call before it goes to voicemail.

Incoming call from Fox Mulder.

Her heart leaps, and she feels a bit like she’s been caught in the act. She clears her throat and answers, attempting to put on an entirely neutral, casual tone.

“Scully.”

“Hey, Scully, it’s me.”

She smiles reflexively at the sound of his voice, leaning against the kitchen counter with both hands cupped around the phone like it’s midnight and her mother might hear her.

“Hey, Mulder, what’s up?”

He sighs.

“Nothing. Just wondering what you were up to.”

Her eyes flash towards her open bedroom door.

“Um, nothing. Just…running errands,” she lies.

“Sounds like you’re busy,” he says, disappointment in his voice. “Sorry to bug you, I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

“I’m not busy,” she says quickly, straightening up. “Did you need something?”

There’s a heavy pause. She can feel the weight of what he’s not saying coming through the line, and she presses the phone more firmly against her ear as though she can make it out if she just listens hard enough.

“I was just—” he starts, then a frustrated sigh hisses in her ear.

“What is it?” she asks, on the edge of her metaphorical seat.

She hears a soft thunk against her front door, and a half a second later a matching one sounds gently through the phone.

“It’s nothing, nevermind,” he tells her, and her eyes widen as she recognizes the muffled sound of his voice in her hallway.

Holding the phone to her ear with one hand, she walks to the door and quickly disengages the deadbolt, then pulls it open. Mulder stumbles forward head first, dropping his cell and nearly knocking her over as he attempts to regain his balance. Scully steps around him and closes the door, then leans against it, watching him intently.

He’s sheepish, his mouth smiling while his eyes give away the embarrassed cringe behind it. She takes in his fitted jeans, snug white T-shirt, freshly showered hair. She pulls in a deep breath, catching hints of his deodorant.

“I thought you were running errands?” he asks, quirking his head.

Her mouth falls open and her face grows hot, and she looks at the floor.

She hears his footsteps as he approaches, and she lifts her head to look at him. He’s smiling shyly, and she can’t help but return it. He touches her waist and her hands go to his shoulders reflexively.

“I just wanted to see you,” he admits. “But I don’t want you to think I’m crazy.” She lifts her eyebrows, and he chuckles. “Crazier than you already thought, anyway.”

She nods, licks her lips. She could just leave it there, let him think that he’s the only one who’s been hovering by the phone all day. But she’s already seen a sliver of what it looks like to truly open herself up to him, and it’s only made her crave more of it.

“I picked up the phone to call you about a dozen times today,” she says bashfully, twisting her mouth to the side.

Mulder shakes his head slowly back and forth, his smile becoming playful. Impish. Confident.

“What have we gotten ourselves into?” he asks, his hands sliding down to her hips.

She leans into him, pushing up on to her tiptoes as he cranes down and their lips connect. She sighs with relief, humming and sucking at his mouth, arching her back when his hands run down the sides of her thighs. He finds the hem of her dress, gathering it in his fists until his palms are on her bare ass cheeks, squeezing and pulling her close.

“No panties?” he asks breathlessly, stooping down and hoisting her up into his arms.

Her legs wrap around his hips, her hands in his hair as he carries her to the bedroom. He lays her down on top of the comforter and pushes her dress up to her waist, meeting her eye briefly to ask for consent before he drops to his knees and buries his face in her cunt.

She whimpers, scratching at his scalp and biting her lip in an attempt to hold back. He stuffs his tongue inside her then drags it up over her clit, and she could cry over how good it feels. She’s lost again, swept along the ocean floor by the push and pull of impossibly strong currents, no longer resisting. She feels his fingers digging into the flesh of her thighs, the rough scrape of his chin against her perineum when he opens his jaw. The intimacy of it all—the full light of afternoon, her legs spread open wide, his eyes flashing up to look at her face when a moan escapes her lips—feels terrifying and exhilarating. When he slips two fingers inside, she breaks.

All her carefully curated restraint falls away as the bright light of orgasm blinds her to self-consciousness. She cries out, clamping her thighs against his ears and cradling the back of his head in her hands. The most willing prisoner, he continues to lick and suck and finger her steadily, slowing only when she does. Crashing waves become powerful swells, fading to the gentle lap of dopamine and oxytocin that leaves her sated and sleepy.

When time and space come back to her, he is dropping soft kisses along the creases of her legs, the insides of her thighs, the smooth skin of her lower belly. A flood of emotion swells in her chest, making her eyes burn. It’s not that she’s missed this, in all those years of inadvertent celibacy, but that she’s never known it at all. To be so adored, so doted upon, her pleasure the top priority rather than a begrudging afterthought. He’s far from perfect, but sometimes he gets it so right she can’t help but be grateful that somehow they found their way to one another.

She touches his shoulder and he looks up, returning her smile. She beckons him to her with the slightest tilt of her head, and he crawls up the bed to lay beside her. He tugs the skirt of her dress down, smoothing the fabric over her belly, and his hand finally comes to rest on her waist.

“I like this dress,” he says, his eyes wandering up to her face. “You look nice.”

She smiles, amused by their persistently odd order of operations. Trusting each other before they’d even had a chance to become friends. Falling in love before they shared their first kiss. The slick of her pussy is still glistening on his lips, and he’s just getting around to complimenting her outfit.

“Thanks,” she says demurely, then follows his eye up to the head of the bed.

There sits her abandoned vibrator, just beneath her pillow. Somehow, she manages to feel embarrassed, even in light of what they’ve just done.

He gives her a questioning look, and she shrugs.

“Guess you got here just in time,” she says bashfully, and his smile broadens.

She reaches for his belt, though she knows that he’s not expecting reciprocation. It’s the lack of obligation, the knowledge that he drove across town and made her come because he wanted to, not as a means to an end, that makes him so endlessly desirable.

He peels her dress off over her head, lapis blue fluttering to the floor.

tagging @today-in-fic

#the x files #x files fanfic #xf fanfic #xf fic

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no-not-without-you-blog · 1 year

Text

Baby's First Christmas

Summary: It's Christmas Eve and you get an early Christmas present.

Warnings: None. Discussion of contractions. Brief and non-graphic description of childbirth.

Divider Graphics by @firefly-graphics

Your breath clouded in front of you as you walked down the sidewalk on the cold Christmas Eve. Honestly, the cold felt great as you felt like you were currently running at the same temperature as a furnace. You were hot, swollen, crabby, and uncomfortable. Exactly what you wanted to be at Christmastime. To be fair, you would take all of that for this. You were currently 38 weeks pregnant and, despite the aches, pains, and frustrations of being this late into your pregnancy, you loved being pregnant.

You and Steve had been married for almost two years when you told him that you were pregnant. At first, he hadn’t believed you, thinking that you were playing a prank on him. But after reassuring him that it was real, he was speechless. The look on his face was one that you would never forget. It was as if the sun was radiating from his face as the smile spread wide. He pulled you close to him and the kiss he gave you was searing. When he pulled away to allow you both to catch your breath, there were tears clouding his eyes. You gently wiped them away and smiled at him. Since that moment, he had been the best partner you could have asked for. Always attentive and caring, maybe too much at times. There were times that you had had to remind him that you weren’t ill, just pregnant. He would just smile and nod and then go right back to it. You laughed, knowing that helping was just Steve’s way and he was an eternal “mother hen”.

You were grateful for the semi-alone time you got to have now. Steve was busy last minute Christmas shopping with Sam and Bucky and you had been determined to get the last of your shopping done as well. He didn’t like you going out this close to your due date without him, but you assured him that you were perfectly capable. Plus, you weren’t going alone. Natasha and Wanda were joining you and they had Steve on speed dial in case anything happened. Their presence helped Steve to relax a bit.

You had been shopping for an hour or so and had gotten quite uncomfortable, some Braxton Hicks causing some pain. However, you hadn’t said anything to anyone because you didn’t want your time out cut short and you didn’t want them calling Steve and him rushing back. You needed this time with your girls. Wanda had been eyeing you some but hadn’t said anything yet. Natasha was comparing two seemingly identical sets of knives, deciding in the end to get them both, one for her and one for Bucky. Gift shopping with this group was always interesting.

An hour later, you had all wandered into a baby store and were perusing the tiny clothes. “Are you sure? I couldn’t handle not knowing.” Natasha said to you incredulously. You just smiled and shook your head.

“We both don’t really care. We have a few names floating around but we are waiting until they’re here to decide fully.’ You paused for a moment, allowing the contraction to pass. You did your best to not show any outward signs of discomfort but were seemingly unsuccessful. You looked back up and saw them both looking at each other. “Please…” You said slightly panicky, “don’t say anything to him. They aren’t real yet, these are just practice ones. If you tell him, he’ll rush us straight home or worse to the hospital when we don’t need to yet. I promise, when it happens, if it happens, you can call him. But please, I just want to spend time with you guys.” They both looked at you seriously and then each other before agreeing.

“Okay.” Wanda spoke up. “But if I feel like we are getting serious here, I won’t wait for you to say something. I know you and I know that you will try to hold out as long as possible without telling anyone.” She stared at you firmly. She was right of course, you were annoyingly stubborn and hated for others to see you in pain. You nodded in acceptance of her terms.

Another hour passed and Wanda and Natasha became increasingly concerned. You were still walking and talking, but it seemed like the practice contractions were now anything but that. Natasha had been silently timing them and they were running about 8 minutes apart. You didn’t seem to be showing much pain, but you would have to stop walking or talking every now and again to take a deep breath. You were silently grateful when Wanda suggested you guys stop for lunch. To be able to sit down seemed like a great idea.

You were wrong. Sitting down had been a terrible idea. When you were up and moving, you had been able to almost put the constricting pain out of your mind. But sitting here, trying to eat your food really highlighted the severity of the discomfort you were feeling. Both Wanda and Natasha were talking to you about any number of things, but you found it hard to follow along with the conversation. About three quarters of the way through lunch, Natasha folded her napkin and forcefully set it on the table.

“Okay, that’s it, Y/N. I love you and want to respect your wishes, but it’s time we call the boys. You’ve barely been able to eat your food and your “Not contractions” are running about 6 minutes apart now. Why we are still sitting here is beyond me.” She seemed frustrated, but more so at hating seeing you in pain and not being able to do anything about it.

You were breathing through the pain, stubbornly shaking your head no. “It’s not time. I still have two weeks. I can’t do this today. It’s Christmas Eve. We’re supposed to have two more weeks.” You had started to tear up, your words repeating softly as your two best friends saw the fear in your eyes, finally understanding what was going on.

Wanda reached over and grabbed your hand. “Sweetheart. It’s time. I know you’re scared, but this baby is coming whether you admit it or not. It’s better to get home to Steve and get you two off to the hospital than to deliver in the restaurant or, worse, on the sidewalk.” The soft, encouraging smile on her face washed over you. You squeezed her hand in thanks. You were terrified, but you knew you weren’t alone and that was the most important thing.

You took a deep, shaky breath as you nodded your head. Natasha quickly jumped into action, paying the bill and grabbing her phone. She dialed Bucky, knowing that Steve would be so nervous he wouldn’t listen well, and waited for him to answer. You only heard one side, but that was honestly enough.

“Hey B, you’re still with Steve right?” She paused as she waited for his response.

“Okay good, you guys need to get back to the house. We are headed there as well. Y/N has been having contractions and it’s about time for them to head to the hospital.” At that point she pulled the phone away from her ear as the volume on the other end increased exponentially. Apparently she was on speaker and Steve had heard. You could plainly hear his yelling without the phone on speaker. He was going on and on about how he can’t believe he let you out of his sight and he should be with you right now. He was yelling louder and louder which surprisingly made you burst out in laughter. He heard you through Natasha’s phone and yelled again.

“Is she fucking laughing? My god, this goddamned woman will be the death of me! I swear to God Natasha, if you don’t get her home safe to me, I will hunt you down.” Natasha rolled her eyes at his comment, knowing that he would do no such thing.

Still laughing slightly but also feeling another contraction growing you muttered out through your teeth. “Tell him I said to calm his fucking tits.” Both Natasha and Wanda looked at you like a crazy person and Natasha hesitated at relaying the message. “I said… to tell him… to calm… his fucking tits. Natasha was confused but relayed the message to him and you could hear him cursing while Bucky and Sam laughed and saying something about his “Tits of Justice”. As Natasha hung up the phone, Wanda helped you into your coat and the three of you slowly but steadily made your way back to your brownstone.

By the time you had gotten back to the house, Steve was sitting on the stoop waiting for you. He already had your hospital bag packed in the car and luckily the car seat had been installed since last week. When you guys rounded the block and came into view he shot up off the steps. If you weren’t in pain currently, you would have found the whole situation hilarious. A whole team of superheroes were frantically moving around you, making sure that you were safely in the car and comfortable. Wanda and Sam quickly ran your shopping bags up into the house and said they would meet everyone at the hospital. Bucky and Nat hopped in a car and followed behind. Steve must have made a phone call before you got back home because as you pulled into the hospital, there was a whole team of people standing by, ready to assist, including what appeared to be a whole security team.

You sent him a glare and he willfully ignored you. This had been an argument between the two of you for months now. You didn’t want any special treatment, just because of who you were and who he was. You were just Steve and Y/N having your baby. And Steve would probably have agreed with that about anything else in your life, but this was your’s and his child's health and safety and he wasn’t about to fuck around with that. You knew he was coming from a place of love and concern but you needed to make sure you set some boundaries before things got too out of control.

As they got you settled into a laboring room you pulled the doctor and nurses over, along with the head of the security and Steve.

Waiting for a contraction to pass before you addressed them. “I am going to be very blunt and direct and this will be the last time we will discuss this. I understand Steve’s desire to be extra prepared for any and all eventualities. However, I will not be allowing any additional staff in unless they are medically necessary and any security will have to wait outside. Do you all understand?” They all nodded and you turned your head to Steve who hadn’t acknowledged his agreement. “Steven?” You sternly looked at him, waiting for his response. You knew he was just trying to protect you, but you needed him to be on board with you here.

He stared at you for a moment, trying to wrestle with his need to protect and his desire to honor your wishes. He let go a deep breath and nodded his head. “I understand, sweetheart.” You knew that this was a large concession for him to relinquish control and you smiled up at him. “Thank you.” At that moment, a contraction took hold and you gripped his arm and held on to him for support as you breathed through it. He rubbed your lower back, adding pressure to your hips. He had learned about that from the numerous books he had read cover to cover and from the birthing class he had signed you both up for. He was as prepared as he could have been.

Two hours later and Steve was certain he had heard every curse word there was and then a few extra he was sure you had made up. He ran his hands through his disheveled hair. He couldn’t remember a time of more stress and anxiety in his life and yet, in this moment, it was all worth it. Not twenty minutes ago, he had been moving your hair off your sweaty face as you pushed your child into the world. One moment you were moaning in such intense pain and the next a breath of relief whooshed out of you. The half second of silence seemed to last for an eternity until he heard what had to be the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. His child was here and boy, they were loud. They were quickly placed on your chest and you turned to Steve with tears in your eyes while you laughed. He joined you in a tearful laugh, all the emotions of the day overwhelming you both.

He walked down the hall to the small but cozy waiting room. The crowd of patient onlookers had grown and he saw the whole team waiting for any update. When they saw him walk in, they all stood and a hush fell over the group. He smiled at them, with tears in his eyes.

“I have a daughter…” was all he was able to get out before the group burst into celebration and he was embraced and congratulated. He told the team they could come back and see you and the baby a few at a time, but that he wanted to start with Natasha and Bucky.

As they walked into the room, Natasha instantly went to your side, giving you a soft head kiss and resting her forehead against yours. “I’m so proud of you.” Bucky was standing a ways back, giving you two your moment. He had his arm around Steve’s shoulder, looking at the now three women who meant the world to him. You were so grateful for their love and friendship. A soft hush fell over the room as they stared at the child in your arms. “Well? Are ya gonna make us ask? What’s her name?” Bucky finally spoke up and asked.

You and Steve looked at each other and smiled and Steve spoke up. “Well, we thought it was only fitting because of her birthday, but this is Eve Rogers.”

“Eve Natalia Rogers.” You interjected. Natasha’s eyes went wide in shock.

“Wait. Really?” She asked, not fully believing it.

“Of course, why wouldn’t we name her after her godmother. It’s not like we could name her after her godfather. Eve Bucky just doesn’t flow so well.” Steve said, playfully nudging Bucky.

They both smiled and the look of gratefulness and love on both their faces was one you would never forget. You couldn’t have asked for better friends and godparents for your child. You could see that Bucky was slightly emotional over it all but he quickly blinked it away and smiled warmly at the two of you. “She looks so much like you Y/N. Thank God she’s more you than this punk.” You all laughed but you looked down and compared your daughter to your husband. She definitely did look like you, her little nose and the cupid’s bow of her soft lips, but there were hints of Steve as well. Her hair was the same blonde and when her eyes were open, they were the exact shade of his.

A few hours later and you and Steve were finally alone with your daughter tucked safely into the bassinet beside you. You both just stared lovingly at her as you watched her sleep. Her little lip moved as she slept. Neither of you said a word, but so much was communicated in that moment. Contentment, relaxation, and love beyond describing. Neither of you could imagine ever wanting to be anywhere but in this moment. Your perfect Christmas.

Taglist:

@annasrefuge @chrisevansdaughter @animegirlgeeky @aami98 @moonstruckbirdie @thecaptainsdoll @bbooks-and-teas @crazyunsexycool @writing-for-marvel @patzammit

#marvel #captain america #captain america x you #captain america x reader #captain america x y/n #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x wife!reader #dad!steve rogers #husband!steve rogers #chris evans

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alarrytale · 3 months

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Marte, have you seen this?

https://64.media.tumblr.com/abcb672bab2d7f237981852bb6ecf032/fffed1cdbd1b6015-3c/s1280x1920/e31fe1a6eb9afb702b12cb7954f795b3c30211e7.jpg

What is your opinion? I send it to my bf without any context (he´s barely aware of larry and he doesn´t know anything about their stunts and everything around) because I was curious about an objective opinion and he was like "what the f*ck is this?" (his first reaction) and then he wrote "This looks like an old rich man and young woman who´s using him for money". I mean, it´s bit cringe to be 29 years old and be this old to 52 years old man who can easily be her father. But also the context when she got her V*gue interview saying something along how she´s waiting for right director. I mean, he´s a director and probably the only one who´s willing to make movies and give her main roles. And also it´s even weirder when we get into the context how Timmy C dropped her like a hot potato as soon as the their movie didn´t need any more propagation and it looks like he´s done with her at all (if we f.e. compare his friendship with Florence Pugh while they played together in multiple movies now). You know, she´s been choosen to stunt with H for her unproblematic and basically unknown past but honestly after seeing these photos and knowing she hanged out with L*ca multiple times last year, my mind immediatelly went if her stunt with H isn´t good for her to cover this weird relationship? But maybe it´s a big reach and me seeing thing which I want to see oops.

Hi, anon!

Link. When i first read this i was like, but isn't Luca gay???? So i googled and google tells me he is gay/queer and has been with his male partner since 2009. I think both Luca and TR are tactile people and since he's gay and older she might feel safe and not objectified around him. Hence these pics. He might cast her, but he mostly make gay films lol. Maybe she can be cast to play a beard?

TR and Timmy was a PR relationship to promote the film they did together. It's just business, they're not friends. From what i have observed castmates that are just castmates are often closer and on better terms than those who stunt for PR together. So she should dial down on the stunting and maybe then she'll make some celebrity friends who're not a 52 year old gay man.

#number 35 #luca guadagnino #stunting

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withallthingslove · 1 year

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The Phantom of the Opera Broadway Thoughts/Review - March 9, 2023

This marked my fifth time seeing Phantom on Broadway, and I went with my friend who was seeing it for the first time. The Phantom was Ben Crawford, Raoul was Paul A. Schaefer, and Christine was played by both Emilie Kouatchou and Kanisha Marie Feliciano. Kanisha replaced Emilie during Il Muto.

compared to when I saw it in December, the audience was not as loud during songs and was more enthralled/not taking a breath

From the start, Paul’s Raoul seemed stronger than the last time I saw him. It was also a vocally strong performance all around for everyone.

While going down to the lair during the title song, Ben’s Phantom caressed Christine’s arm as she passed him at the end of the travelator

During STYDI, Emilie and Ben had a lot of tension when she decided to hand his mask back. And the way Ben hovered over her before grabbing her arm made me sjdjsk

Ben and Emilie were not seen coming up the trap door after the lair and the part where the ballerinas would spot the Phantom and Christine was cut. Instead the ballerinas just screamed after Magical Lasso and exited instead of pointing toward the Phantom and Christine so something felt off there

Kanisha came on during Il Muto instead of Emilie and it was my first time ever seeing an emergency cover happen in a show. During Il Muto I thought Kanisha’s confusion played well, but in All I Ask of You she seemed a bit overwhelmed. Paul really took over All I Ask of You and increased his energy in a really reassuring way.

When Ben appeared in the angel my friend went “oh fuck oh fuck” so it’s cool how surprising the angel still is to people who haven’t seen it

Ben also timed his hand coming up over the angel to the music so well it made it feel really gothic and creepy

Nehal Joshi as Andre really brought a ton of physical comedy and had dialed it up a bunch since I saw it in December. He walked through the ballerinas performing in Hannibal and bumped into more ballerinas during Il Muto. He also was more exaggerated with Firmin.

Ok so we have to talk about Paul in act II... the first time I have seen him have consistent stage presence all the way through. He had so many cute moments with Kanisha and was appearing so protective instead of just standing there. I can’t even begin to recount the number of little reassuring touches he did that just added so much to his relationship with Christine. My friend commented that she thought she would be bored of Raoul based on the beginning but was obsessed with him in act II so she also noticed it

Kanisha has such a beautiful voice, but I think it took until Wishing for her to settle into the character. Her Wishing was really beautiful!

When Ben appeared in the graveyard my friend went “not this fucker again.”

It was the best Wandering Child trio I’ve seen (and I do not like the trio in the song I prefer how it used to be from years ago). But the trio actually worked here. It was really cool to see Ben’s characterization change with Kanisha compared to how he would be with Emilie. With Kanisha he was immediately more paternal with her and this made the lyrics “wandering child” and “fathering gaze” that much more impactful.

Paul was bringING it during Wandering Child and since Kanisha and Ben were too, the sequence of Christine walking in a trance to the Phantom to Raoul stopping her, to the Phantom yelling at them while Chrisitne tries to stop Raoul while Raoul tries to protect Chrisitne just all ~ came together ~

Ben sounded really good in PONR. The new blocking I think this time I interpreted that Christine was just trying to force the Phantom to finish the choreography and then once she unveiled it as him she was maybe going to try and find a way to help the situation without the Phantom needing to die. And then he proposed to her and she was SHOCKED

During the final lair Ben was a bit more scary and physical than when I saw him in December and this made Paul louder and more protective. Kanisha’s “tears of hate” line was very defiant.

After the kiss for a second it looked like Kanisha’s Christine maybe felt something for the Phantom but a bit unclear on what that feeling was. She definitely stopped hating him after the kiss though and was looking at him almost perplexed and even after he let Roaul go, she still seemed to be trying to figure out what he was doing and what she felt

Ben broke my heart because when Christine came back to return the ring he leapt up and seemed to be thinking she was going to stay. Then Kanisha took a huge step back and stiffly outstretched her arm and it dawned on him that she wasn’t staying.

He sang “I love you” once, and once she left he said it again but more in a pitiful way to himself. So he wasn’t trying to convince her to stay like he did when I saw him with Emilie.

I don’t get the 100% vibe that Ben’s Phantom goes after Kanisha’s Christine. He seems to have sadly accepted it and I see more of like a 25% he considers trying to find her but doesn’t go through with it

I cried multiple times during the show and when I got home I sobbed at the thought of that being my last time seeing Phantom, so I bought one more ticket for April. My credit card and friends and family are probably unsurprised yet exasperated, but I think need one more time to say goodbye. This show in particular was pretty much perfect vocally, and it was so cool to compare the different acting interpretations and how they changed once Kanisha came onstage.

But it was super chaotic and a roller coaster of emotions from hoping Emilie is OK, wondering what happened, being disappointed Emilie wasn’t on anymore, loving that I got to see Kanisha, and then being disappointed I couldn’t have seen Kanisha at the beginning while still wishing I got to see Emilie all the way through. By the time Ben was singing at the end of the Final Lair, I realized my emotions had been so all over the place and I had so much adrenaline that I didn’t get to use the show the way I originally intended and hadn’t been able to just sit back and appreciate it one last time.

So I guess I’m going back again

#phantom of the opera #poto #phantom broadway #ben crawford #paul a schaefer #emilie kouatchou #kanisha marie feliciano #nehal joshi #phantom bway #poto broadway #phantom #broadway #phantom of the opera broadway #majestic theatre #broadway review #musical theatre #mine

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dropintomanga · 1 year

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What If I Was Born in a Different Time Period?

Around November last year, I hit the big 40. It was a big deal and there were good people who acknowledged my birthday. As an anime/manga fan for about 30 years now, it’s been amazing to see how much anime and manga have become mainstays in nerd pop culture. Yet as I continue to grow older, I can’t help but wonder about my place among a genre that continues to mostly captivate the young.

I say this because while I still love a lot of series that target youth, there’s things I can’t keep up with anymore or aged out of. That’s mostly due to fan enthusiasm and desire to talk with other fans. I do research and become passionate about other things, but I don’t really talk about them in great detail online. As Ogiue Maniax once wrote, social media discourse has become the main flavor in getting attention.

Also, recently, among the Discord groups I’m a part of, I sometimes feel like I don’t belong despite physically being there. I see the many folks in their ‘20s-’30s all going out and having fun. I’ve been dealing with constant health problems ever since I hit 40. Even when I do feel better, another setback occurs. It feels like it never ends. My mom did tell me that the older you get, the harder it is to recover from health ailments.

I had the grand thought of thinking “What I was in my ‘20s right now?” I thought this because of all the various platforms and outlets to find people with similar nerd interests to you today compared to when I was in my ‘20s. When I was younger, I didn’t really have many people to talk to about my hobbies. They weren’t as mainstream. I used to have a group of friends in high school who I thought were cool, but it felt like they never respected my hobbies and/or I pushed my interests too hard on them. Maybe it just wasn’t a good fit. I started to ask myself “If I were in my 20s’ right now, maybe I wouldn’t be diagnosed with clinical depression due to nerd culture being mainstream. Maybe I wouldn’t feel very lonely at times. I would have the energy to keep up with fans.”

Anyway, in some ways, I’m a bit jealous at the younger generations right now. But I think back to something my sister once told me about education. She told me that she’s worried about people growing up in U.S. schools today due to how bad it is compared to now. There’s just so much pressure to achieve in order to gain a “better life” and parents are forced to be part of a vicious cycle of hearing that they’re not good enough despite trying their best. The high suicide rates among the youth are also alarming. So maybe I’ll have to dial down my jealousy quite a bit.

I went back to a book I once read from someone living with mental illness and he talked about turning 40 while having bipolar disorder. He felt that everyone outgrew him during their ‘20s while he was trying to figure his life out for the longest time. He said that even though he’s 40, he feels more like someone in his ‘30s and has an easier time getting along with 25-year olds than people his age.

In some cases, this is true with me. I feel like I’m FINALLY starting to figure things out and mental illness took a good amount of time from me. When I was at Anime NYC and also with my local mahjong group, I had a fun time talking to and being around people younger than me. I think that’s due to my super-prolonged adolescence and delayed adulthood.

I can say “What if..” all I want and yet, I’ve felt content with where I’m at for now. I do want to do better things, but I now have some wisdom to say “it’s okay to be average” in a world where everyone is told that they’re “special” while not realizing that it can lead you to compare yourself to others in an unhealthy manner. I don’t think I would ever have that kind of knowledge if I was 15-20 years younger.

Sometimes, I’m still sad because of my age since things have definitely gotten a bit harder. It’s fine. I got reminders of what still makes me valuable. A much younger co-worker of mine once told me that I inspired him to keep up with his hobbies due to me being outspoken about them at work. When I told my mahjong group about how they helped me get through some very personal drama and discussed briefly my potential suicide attempt in 2016, their leader said “I’m so glad you made it through!”

So I’ll try to make the most of what I have right now even with all the feelings I feel. I’m actually glad that I managed to live a life so far where I haven’t been numbed to a huge degree. It’s not the “best” for most people, but I don’t think I could become a thoughtful person who’s cognizant of the things around me. There’s obviously things I could have done better and I’m still working on them. I’ll also be fighting ageist stereotypes as best I can.

I'll always ponder about being born in a different period of time. And I’ll try to make this time period different in a way I know that will work for me.

#age #aging #fandom #mental health #generation gap #young at heart

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l-e-morgan-author · 13 days

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Writing Newsletter #3: May 2024

Still not figured out website hosting, so this is still on here. I also haven't edited the two stories I plan to provide as a signup gift, so that's not ready yet. Anyway, if you want to be on the taglist for this monthly newsletter, say the word and I'll add you.

Writing update

As of yesterday, I finished drafting Patience, Changing. I wrote Hannah's death and it was hard, but I think what I have, while not particularly good, is a building block for the next draft. It's been a lot of fun, and now I'm putting away the project as a whole, ideally for at least a month. I have a lot of fragments as well as the main draft and novellas; they'll need some tidying, and various bits will probably be worked into longer pieces, but I want to give myself a break from the whole project. Word count wise, the novel itself clocks in at 84k (was planned to be 81k), and the total word count is 144k, having added around 29k since last month.

I had originally intended to go back to Metamorphosis of a Girl (Hadassah's story) once I was done with this, but there's a whump challenge I want to write for and the only one that will satisfy that is Hands Made for Gentleness. I'm considering making that my main project, at least for now, and also starting to work on To Kindle a Flame in the background again. I had conversations the other day that made me reread a scene; I unexpectedly really liked what I had, and the writing wasn't as clunky as I'd expected. I'm considering scrapping the 2020 draft completely and working solely from the 2021 draft and the notes I've made since.

I have worked a little (to the tune of 3k) on Hands Made for Gentleness this month. Looking back at my statistics, I actually wrote the most I've written for it so far in February 2023, when I wrote just shy of 10k. I always think I've written more for it than I have, partly because of how important every single word is to it. I need to write more downtime between them, I think; it's always so intense, and while that's kind of necessary to the kind of book it is, it's in its present state not something I personally would sit down and read in one sitting. I think I need to dial the intensity back just a little, so that the moments that are intense can really hit the spot. That's probably a revising-me point, though. I'm missing so much from this draft that will need to be added in later drafts; indeed I'm starting to be slightly nervous about the idea of tackling it, because of the sheer number of notes I've left for myself already, and I'm only 33k into the draft (plus a few thousand of assorted other stuff, including the prequel I want to revise at some point.... it takes it up to a combined total of 41k).

Reading update

I've been reading a handful of memoirs this month. First I read A Grief Observed (reread, specifically for handling Hannah's death in Patience, Changing), then Bones: Anorexia, OCD and Me (first time read, and I won't be rereading it: I don't recommend it), Girl, Interrupted (not as good as its popularity would suggest to me), and As I Disappear... (a very short poetry thing). There were also a few that didn't get onto my goodreads because I gave up on reading them before I actually bought them (all ED focused). I'm currently reading the same books as I was reading last month (Cry of the Raven, The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, and Walking on Water) as well as starting a reread of Pat of Silver Bush. Thinking of rereading Pride and Prejudice presently.

Ramble

Oh uh. I note that last time I wrote that my mental health has been comparatively amazing lately, which is... still true? Which is Impressive? I still need to work out motivation and that kind of thing which I'm not very good at still, but oh well. I guess I'm still as forgetful as I was. I realised recently I haven't been posting on my website all year. I need to do that more.

Drabble

As We Sail Into Hell

“I’ll go anywhere you go, so that makes us equal.”

“‘You are a gentleman, I am a gentleman’s daughter, so far we are equal,’” she misquoted cheerfully. “The fact that we’ll follow each other into—well, anywhere—doesn’t negate the fact that you have to choose where we’re walking right now.”

Nathan sighed. “I wanted you to make a decision,” he complained.

“I know. I shan’t. I know your tricks.”

“At this rate we’ll never get married because neither of us will ask the other.”

She grinned. “That’s your job. If you really want it.” But her expression was merry.

Photo

A collage from yesterday's walk. Ignore that I shared it on my main yesterday. The weird beastie in the bottom left is a wombat.

Fun fact

I title all my drabbles by either writing them off a song directly or by thinking of a lyric from a song. This one's from Durham Town, by Roger Whittaker.

#writing newsletter #my writing #writers on tumblr

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cheriedies · 6 months

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Fame is Forever

Valerie

Driving home from the second casting call of the week, I was thinking about all the names I was going to call my agent once I got to my house phone. “Another useless side character! How long does this moron think I have until I sink down to the D list”. I suddenly pushed the breaks of my Chevy when I noticed I was about to run a red light. As if to punish whatever external force was keeping me from moving on, I started aggressively honking into nowhere. “That’s it, something’s gotta change”.

In my room, I covered all windows with the velvety curtains as if to conceal what I was about to do. What if this is not fair? Were there any rules written to begin with? I abandoned my plans to call the agent and made a call to the local library instead. It’s not every day that they receive a request for references on occult rituals, but I managed to convince the librarian that I was with UCLA’s anthropology research team. Valerie’s still got it.

Sat atop a pile of unwashed clothes in the corner, I lit a cigarette but never actually smoked it. I fidgeted the Lucky Strike in between my fingers for a bit until the butt burnt my thumb. This seemed to snap me back to reality and I crawled back to the telephone; that way I could carry some of the clothes with me to use as cushioning. Having dialed Maria’s number I sunk back into the remnants of the pile.

“If it isn’t my favorite transplant,” the East coast accent teased me from the other end of the line.

“Same goes to you.”

“You back from Grapestein’s already?”

“Well what do you think? Marty keeps shoving me these minor roles. Actually calling this crap a role is too generous. Already forgot what the plot was even about”

“Aren’t you being a little harsh on him?”

“Marty? Only reason I’m still with his agency is cos I owe him money.”

“Not him, Grapestein.”

“What do you care defending the old fuck? Oh that’s right, that’s how you ended up in his last picture.”

“At least he’s predictable.”

“I don’t think there’s much my 27 years of getting around could do for me, Maria. Not compared to the thrill he’d get from a debutante. You know, we’ve been there.”

“Val, you can be so bitter sometimes. You really should fight for something good. You said it yourself, we’re getting old. Me, I’m thinking of tying the knot to get some peace of mind.”

“You didn’t tell me you were seeing someone.”

“Of course I’m not. But I really should find me some producer, they have the upper hand anyways. Directors can be so pissy.”

“That’s a noble quest you’re embarking on. I’ll be at mine, tying cherry knots instead.”

“Well, call me when you have some news alright? Love you.”

“Right, love you.”

Maria always cut the conversation short when she felt that I was getting depressive. She didn’t like being sidetracked by negativity, though she still always made sure to check up on me. This made her a real friend. “Can’t keep the line busy for too long anyways,” I murmured to myself “the library could call back any time now”. This, of course, was a lie – it would take at least 2 business days until they could put together a list of the requested references.

The next couple of days had a motion blur filter applied to them. Any post production department would kill to be able to edit the way I saw my hallways spiral with colors that weren’t even on my wallpaper. I measured time in wine bottles, turning the proseccos and rosés into sparkling hourglasses. Time passes much faster when it’s made out of grapes than sand. As much as I was burning with anticipation (or alcohol) for the phone call, I was ultimately more anxious about having a somewhat tangible solution to my suffering.

As I was taking the last gulp from the bottle, the telephone rang like a stubborn messenger, and the message was clear. I was out of time.

I slid down the wall with my notepad clutched against my chest, smiling crookedly. The only thing I’d written down was a number with Dr. Marmont next to it. Though I must have already heard about him, it wasn’t that long ago that he got kicked out of my faculty, the library person reminded me. Bingo. An old guy with a hurt ego is exactly what I need to get all the information. I was too out of it to note the books and their excerpts that followed, and quite frankly reading all of that would require much more effort than getting to the source himself. In a surge of newfound purpose I reached back for the phone and put it next to me on the mauve carpet floor, and a couple of “THE Valerie Laliberte from Belladonna of Madness?”s later, I was set to meet Dr. Marmont at midnight.

Touching myself up in front of the gold rimmed mirror I slid my cat eye sunglasses on. It wasn’t a matter of hiding from the paparazzi, Maria and I got ourselves in enough trouble in our early days that a suspicious meeting with a stranger would phase absolutely no one. It was more about feeling protected. At any moment, I could disconnect myself and retreat behind the black lens. I locked the door behind me and set my fate in motion.

Dr. Marmont was waiting for me outside his beat up Toyota Starlet. The white paint corrupted with rust. To make sure I didn’t look too desperate I lit a cigarette and made my way slowly to him, one heel in front of the other, like a pantheress approaching her pray. The pray in this case was too stunned to bolt away. And when I blew my smoke in his face, he had no choice but to submit.

I left the scene with a flask of ayahuasca infusion and a crumpled paper with directions in my snakeskin clutch, stories of Amazonian women in my mind. Dr. Marmont, or just Lawrence for me, spent most of his career trying to prove that the Amazons used a particular ritual to climb the ranks of their tribes, involving the psychedelic concoction to invoke spiritual help. Generations of women gained undisputed admiration and devotion by means of this well-kept secret, and I was up next. The Hollywood tribe was about to succumb to its next supreme.

Wane

The air was still moist from today’s rain, the rocks glimmering deceivingly under the barely visible moon. When Marmont mentioned how my predecessors climbed up hills to ask for help from above, I knew which would be the right one for my goal. I drove up to the Griffith Observatory on the last night of a waning moon, the purse unmoved from under my seat from the night I met with the professor. The thought of bringing it into my home made me uncomfortable down to the bone, and, quite frankly, I didn’t want to think about it until the very last moment.

I unfolded the instructions on the hood of my burgundy Chevy; a present from the studio after my first, and last, commercial success 8 years ago. I mentally went through every point stressed by the shaky handwriting. Waning moon: check, ayahuasca: check, mantra: …I paused. Despite going through all this trouble I hadn’t thought about what I was going to ask for. This, I had to be particularly careful with. I could not afford to flunk my last chance. I took out my lipstick and wrote it on my arm for the moon to see. I am fame. Fame is forever. It’s not temporary popularity that I was after, I didn’t want for the generations to come to walk all over my star-held name on the boulevard – I wanted to be seen in the night sky. Shine so bright to make the entire city fall to their knees, not just my current cult following. As I was, I had but a group of researchers at an observatory. I was thirsting for the whole world. I dropped my heels on the gravel and watched the paper get swept by the wind. I gulped down the flask and looked up to my destination, my eyes set on the Hollywood sign.

I carefully took a few steps towards the trail. It would be a long climb but the end justified the means. I forced my feet into the ground, the mud spreading like warrior paint on top of my glossy pedicure. “I am fame. Fame is forever”, I whispered to myself and began marching towards the 9 white letters.

Little shrubs sat like solemn guards on either side of the trail, steering travelers in the right direction. I felt the elderberry trees hugging my periphery, the black pearls sending my mind back to caviar sandwiches on my mother’s New Years eve table. My ribs suddenly turned to bricks and I folded in half. I heard her raspy voice scratching at the back of my skull – “Valeriya”. No, why was this coming back to me now? I had freed myself from the chains of my past the moment I came of age and became Valerie. Truth is, I wasn’t just an east coast girl chasing stardom in the western hills. I was running away from a place much more eastern, and a generation of migrants was chasing after me. I couldn’t let it catch up to me. I needed the freedom to forge my own destiny without my mother’s sickle around my throat, and fame was my way to do so. Fuck the damn shrubs.

I ran off the trail, frantically waving my arms to push away the branches and to lose my mother’s face with them. My satin dress clung onto my body, the sweat binding it to my skin. In the distance, a silhouette of a rabbit formed at a clearing. All alone, it turned its little head towards me and we locked eyes. I wanted to tell it all about me and how hard I’d worked to become the right me and how I wasn’t even the ultimate me and how me, I, was going to do all it takes to become her. I opened my mouth and before I could tell it anything, it was gone. Snatched by the neck by a coyote, just like that. A small puddle of blood reflected the c of the moon. I shrieked and sprinted away from the killing ground. The pine needles above my head were certainly going to plummet down and stab me if I stopped for even a split second. I covered my head with my hands and ran. No matter how many times I fell down and ripped layers of skin off my knees, I ran, ran, ran.

As the hill got steeper I kept losing my balance. I got on all fours and clawed my French tips into the all-American dirt to climb towards the sky. Every time I pulled my body up, my arms shook under the weight of my entire being, more so my internal baggage rather than my meagre frame. The dress got caught on something but it was too dark to figure out what it was and how to get it off and damnit I was already close to a flat spot on this forsaken hill so I gave myself a final lift and let it tear. I sat down for a moment. My intense heartbeat drowned out the noises of the night. It has been years since I last allowed myself to hear my own weakness and fear so loud and clear. I repeated the chant over each beat. I am fame. Fame is forever. Louder every time. I am fame. Fame is forever. My voice steadily grew into a howl. I am fame. Fame is forever. I shook the flask to see if there was any magical brew left. I thought if I drank some more in that instant it would surely cement my request. Empty. I angrily tossed it behind my back but still turned to collect it. I had to pick up every stitch, no evidence could be left behind. As I crawled closer to the edge the silver flicker had landed on, I slowly found myself towering over a man-made construction that contrasted the dusty browns of the hills. My powers came back to me with every breath I took.

I was not only at my goal, but I was above it. All the years of misery and rejection flashed in a supercut before my eyes. The embarrassing auditions I went to only to find out the role had been assigned to somebody else all along. The degrading parties I could only get through when I made it snow in the bathroom stall. The countless drunken nights on my bedroom floor. Marty. Fucking Marty. “Need to find me a new agent when I hit it big. Find? They’ll be crawling to me when they realize who they’re dealing with,” I said to myself. At that point I began laughing frantically. The idea of me standing on a podium while every important person in Hollywood, the size of a bug relative to me of course, crawled, pleading in a high-pitched voice to get my attention made me roar. I looked down on Los Angeles. “You hear that? I am Fame. And Fame is-”.

Valerie made a miscalculated step forward and tumbled down the cliff. She could not stop laughing as she rolled in the dirt and let the little rocks scratch her skin. She felt invincible. She closed her eyes and flung her arms up and pretended she was receiving the praise of a devoted crowd. She was laughing in their faces. Suddenly, she gained more momentum that sent her flying into the sign. She cracked her skull on the H and the lights went out. The metal carcass pierced her palms. She was crucified.

As the sun rose and the new moon was beginning to take form somewhere, Valerie’s lifeless body hung above the City of Angels, waiting to be noticed. And when they’d come to collect her, her final words would be stamped there, waiting to be read off the back of the H of the Hollywood sign. “FOREVER”.

#short story #hollywood #writing #this is a short thing i wrote a while back c:

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2022iagcroptour · 2 years

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August 23, 2022. Day 2 of the 11th annual IAG Crop Tour is in the books. Today we traveled in 3 states, 530.5 miles which took us about 13 hours at an average speed of 42.1 mph! We did 8 crop stops today. We crossed some of the most dense and productive cropland in the US from west-central Illinois, along the eastern half of I-80 in Iowa, west-central and northwestern Iowa, and finally are hunkered down in Worthington, MN which is the most northwest we are going this year. The maps above show our actual tracked route and our route drawn on a map showing this year’s crops derived from satellite data from the USDA and NASA.

We saw a wide variety of crops today. First, most of the corn is either in early or full dent. In western Illinois and east-central Iowa, the corn crop is doing well. There is still plenty of moisture for beans to fill out and yields should not be disappointing. However, once we got west of Des Moines, Iowa the situation changed. Soil moisture levels were not as strong and while yields checks showed the crop was OK, that is all it was…just OK. The corn crop in the region is not as good as last year. Instead, it is probably more along the line of average to below average. Populations seem to be about normal or maybe a bit below normal but we did not see any other major signs of farmers pulling back on inputs. In fact, what we saw would suggest farmers are dialed in on what best works for their fields, especially on nitrogen applications. In the western half of Iowa, we got the impression that the crop suffered from early moisture stress as ear sizes were unimpressive and inconsistent (but we need to get home and crunch the data on this to see if the ears from the region were smaller than our previous observations to make any definitive statements.) Our last stop in southwestern Minnesota was also our biggest yield estimate for corn and it is obvious that area was less stressed as the ears were more uniform.

As for soybeans, obviously yields are very difficult to judge but we continue to see plants laden with pods, especially on the lower half of the plant. We can see the effects of the August precipitation with added pods and longer stem towards the top of the plant. Fill is coming along nicely, especially compared to last year at this time. Many of the big soybean producing areas have enough moisture in the ground to finish the crop (although a nice piece of rain across western Iowa would be welcome!)

Tomorrow, we will travel the from southern Minnesota across northeastern Iowa and into southern Wisconsin. As we have mentioned before, we designed the route to visit some of the hard-hit areas (which we think we saw today) and some areas we suspect may look like a garden (which we hope will be tomorrow!)

This is the IAG Crop Tour, signing off. And for those that are curious, our ‘corn grenade’ skills are red hot!

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profeyandere · 2 years

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𝐃𝐖𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐒. ─── ☾ 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓

Masterlist || The Office Masterlist || Wattpad

Word Count: 3.7k

Pairing: Dwight Schrute x Fem!Reader

Warning: Spoilers for The Office (from different seasons until the last one, especially the last one)

English is not my native language, so I apologize for any mistake and if you can help me improve it, I will greatly appreciate it. I hope you enjoy it :D

You knew something was going on at the office, something that was strangely making you feel really bad, and it had nothing to do with you having a nice batch of pancakes at IHOP with a certain colleague during your lunch hour for dessert, but rather you noticed around you, through the different looks you had received from some of the employees, your colleagues and friends at Dunder Mifflin that something wanted to tell you, but you were not able to put your finger on exactly what it was; It had seemed strange to you that even Stanley was looking at you in such a strange way, and instead of asking them what was wrong with them, you simply remained silent and frowned with whom you exchanged glances.

You were so confused that you even wanted to dial Michael's number to get some advice, but you knew that sooner or later they would end up giving you an explanation.

Or at least that's what you hoped.

Because of the different looks mentioned above, you sneaked into the meeting room so you could pick up everything used at the party for Darryl and keep your mind off the situation a bit.

Regarding that man, you couldn't imagine that he was going to leave the office and leave the paper company to continue working in the new one that Jim had created a few months ago with some old friends, surprising you with the wonderful idea he had had, but the sudden departure without goodbye of the former warehouseman had made everyone in the office feel insulted and forced him to spend one last hour with them before he left hence all the employees of the Scranton branch danced for an hour with him to the sound of a list of music to everyone's taste.

The people there were very different today compared to when the filming of the documentary began.

Some had left, others had stayed, many had gotten better and others were much worse than at the beginning, but that did not stop the feeling of nostalgia from hitting you and, in some way, you were considering starting somewhere else, mainly because nothing in your life had changed compared to eight years ago.

A sigh of yours was heard in the closed room, but once you felt a light blow on the back of something that had been thrown at you, you couldn't help but turn almost like the girl from the Exorcist, seeing a serious Schrute staring at you, noticing the tension in his shoulders from his rigid posture.

"You know I'm not your assistant regional director. It's Jim," you pointed out, before bending down and picking up the blue colour chart he had thrown at you. "I think he's in the break room if you need him."

You heard Dwight sigh, getting your attention again and this time making you care how tired and frustrated he seemed to be, so you walked over to him to return the colour chart, but all you got was his intense gaze on yours waiting for you to attend to him, although the only thing that caused it was the fact that you felt your stomach tingle because of the feelings you had towards him.

Oh, of course, there was an important detail in the relationship that you had with Dwight and that is that you had romantic feelings towards him.

You loved Dwight, a lot.

"I need female advice, if your advice doesn't help me much in what I have in mind then I'll go looking for Jim, but first of all, I need the female hand for this matter," he commented carefully taking the colour chart, feeling the tip on your hand of his fingers gently caress your palm.

"Okay," you agreed. "What does my regional director need?"

Your playful, slightly flirtatious tone of voice made Dwight smile, and he shook his head at your good mood in the afternoon when you usually used to be pretty touchy and bored, even though it had to be the job of cleaning up all the party knickknacks what should have made you so happy because otherwise, he didn't understand it.

"I would prefer to discuss this matter with you in private, in my office," he indicated, then causing you to tense up.

When you were talking to Dwight, after he had been promoted to regional branch manager, he had never called you into his office for anything, not even when he gave you the wonderful news of his promotion or when you were small talk, so that now, the fact that he told you that he wanted to talk with you in a more closed way, made you worry; you were afraid that it was some dismissal, something about one you had heard around the office a few weeks later that he was your boss, but from his small smile you wanted to understand that it didn't mean anything bad to you.

You accompanied him, you had no other choice, and, once you were both in his office and he sat down in his new chair, you heard a strange laugh coming from him that you thought could denote nervousness and indecision, assuming that it was referring to the topic that I wanted to comment on.

"I was thinking of proposing to Esther today."

And that's when everything for you came crashing down.

You did not know what to say to him and you assumed that the expression of surprise on your face could not help to give an image of tranquillity in you because, honestly, you had not even expected that this could happen for the short time in which both had been together; It was overnight that they started dating and you didn't even know the reason for it because as soon as you were both at a Schrute family reunion to honour his aunt's memory by singing a song from the beet family, as soon as Dwight's sister told you that the action he had done with some raven beaks by throwing them at Esther had given him the option of courting her almost in the old way.

You never understood the reason why he wanted to court her, I mean, the woman was gorgeous and a sweet person from what you had been able to experience first-hand, but the reason he made that decision so hastily was what he didn't you came to understand, mainly because he hadn't given himself time to grieve over the topic of Angela and the boy who was supposed to be his son or over the topic of his recently deceased aunt.

"You have left me without words," you confessed, releasing the air that you seemed to have held for so long and then feeling a rather distressing pinch in your chest, "but congratulations, I mean, I didn't expect it but I'm glad you want to get married."

A vile lie was what came out of your mouth, but you couldn't help but blurt it out so as not to worry him.

"She has a lot of qualities," he said. "She's young, pretty, genes so pure I can lick them off,” he mentioned. "Her family looks up to mine and mine tolerates hers, a lot of the people are the same because we're third cousins."

"So, it's incest," you interrupted while you smiled slightly to remove the tension you felt. "I knew you were kind of weird, but I didn't expect that fetish of yours."

"No, no," he intervened quickly. "We hardly touch the same blood, but as far as it goes it's great for the lineage and we're not family," he commented quickly while looking at your confused and slightly disgusted face. "Please, (Y / N), don't look at me like that."

"It's just that it's weird, sorry because I see it a bit strange and not as normal as you," you apologized, raising your hands to try to see yourself innocent. "Go on, it still seems like you have a lot to tell me."

"In her lot comes a cold room full of frozen semen from top quality cattle, she also weaves coloured blankets and rugs," he continued. "They are all advantages."

Even though he was excited and happy to be able to tell you all the good things that farm girl could provide him, you noticed that there was something that was not quite right and not only did the incomplete sentence show it but also his dejected eyes that seemed to reflect the thought going to a very different one who was the counterpart and the real reason Dwight seemed to be asking you for advice; there was something much more important in his head that prevented him from doing such a simple action as proposing to the woman who would give him an affirmation in response.

"And what is the problem?" You questioned, tilting your head slightly to the left.

"Angela."

How not? Your heart broke.

You felt your whole body, suddenly and without being aware of it, turn cold and your hands, previously warm while you kept them out of your jacket or pants pockets, began to go numb as your fingertips took a strong reddish colour, like the tip of your nose, almost reaching the point of feeling slightly sick from the horrible feeling that had suddenly besieged you; you hadn't had time to get to say anything to Dwight but, hell, it hurt like a thousand daggers in the heart what he had said to you.

"Angela?" You asked as you kept your eyes on his, trying not to avoid his anguished gaze.

"An hour or so ago, she confessed to me that Phyllip is my son," Dwight commented, causing you to widen your eyes even more in surprise at his new statement. "According to Schrute lore, since Phyllip is my son, he must inherit everything that belongs to me and be raised in our traditions, and as a reward, Angela must marry me and live on the farm."

You wanted to tell him so many things at that moment, you wanted to tell him everything that was causing you that you almost felt like you could take the step to do it, but seeing his incredible blue eyes look at you like a wounded deer in desperate search of help, you knew you couldn't do it.

You wouldn't be able to tell him how you felt even if it made him doubt the decision he would make later.

This moment was for him, not for you.

"And why are you telling me, Dwight?" Asked. "I mean, it's okay that you don't want to talk about it with Erin because you guys aren't that close, but you have Jim and he's more capable of these things than I am."

"I need your advice, you have always been by my side when I needed it," he answered as he turned the ring on his right-hand several times, thinking over and over again about the options he had offered you. "What should I do?"

You sighed, trying to weigh the pros and cons of each woman, though the answer was simpler than he could imagine and you just had to remember the very reason you ultimately chose Dwight over all the men you've ever had once you had met in your life and they had accompanied you for most of your adulthood; there was only one way to correctly choose the person you wanted to be with.

You walked slowly until you were next to him, squatting as he slowly turned his chair to face you, later feeling how you took one of his hands in yours to give him more confidence to express your opinion because, after all, you were going to open your heart to him.

"You must do what makes you happy," you murmured. "We are not talking about you are going to choose a car to drive or a brand of paper to use for some books, we are talking about your life and that person with whom you are going to spend the rest of your days until you die."

"Unless we achieve immortality," he interrupted, making you clear your throat exaggeratedly so that he noticed your anger at intervening in your talk. "Sorry."

"As I was saying," you continued, "you are going to marry a person who is going to be with you through thick and thin, in sickness and in health, in wealth and poverty and all that talk," you said, skipping some parts well known that used to be heard from the priests to the bride and groom on their wedding day, "but at the end of the day you will be with a specific person, with whom you will form a family, who will make your days the most wonderful of your life with just seeing her smile, who will be your most trusted companion and with whom you will make your life meaningful," you continued. "That person will make you happy, it will make you feel anxious and angry, but she will be the person who completes you," you murmured, looking into his eyes with intensity. "That person will make you forget everything you know rationally and she will make you always bring out the best in you."

"And how do I know who that person is?" He asked quietly, gently squeezing your hands and allowing you to feel the shape of the ring on your right palm.

A simple action was what marked everything because, with your single hand, you guided the one that was still holding the ring towards his chest, specifically to the place where the wonderful organ of life was.

"Follow your heart," you advised. "He will never fail you and will guide you in this difficult decision."

You brushed your hand away from his before standing up and gently squeezing his knees in encouragement, exchanging a small smile that he gladly returned.

"Thank you very much," he said as he saw how you made a slight gesture with your hand to downplay what you had done.

"It's nothing, man, that's what friends are for," you spoke. "With your permission, I'm going to keep putting away all the pots and pans we've used for the party, otherwise, at this rate I see myself coming home at seven."

You didn't allow Dwight to say anything more to you, and it would be very selfish, but you knew that if you were one minute closer to him you would end up ruining the future proposal and your friendship with him.

When you left his office you did not notice the few people who were still in the office, who looked at you sadly when they saw your reddish face from the tears you had endured until you were in the boardroom, closing all the blinds to avoid seeing the looks of sadness and sorrow that all your companions would have if they saw you, but it was already too late to do anything.

Dwight was proposing to one of the two most important women in his life right now, and you had no say in the decision he would make.

You still wondered how you might have ended up having those feelings for him after all the years of pranks and pranks you had played on him with Jim, but you supposed that it was those moments when he returned them to you that your friendship was strengthened by the security that he should have with you, besides that the moments in which he had been weak had made you see him from another perspective.

You were, along with Jim, the person who encouraged Dwight to move on after his breakup with Angela, even having to be the one to control the hours he played in Second Life so that he didn't end up upset.

You were the one who kept the affair the beet grower and the accountant had a secret behind Andy's back when Phyllis told the whole office, having to support all three parties so they don't feel so guilty about what they did, even though you had a more than serious talk with Dwight and Angela regarding cheating couples and how disgusting you thought it was; you were a good person, but you were not going to support something so horrible.

You were the only person Dwight went to after he found out that Angela had broken the contract to have babies, which you thought was too strange, but you didn't want to question either.

You, on the trip to Tallahassee, had to hide Jim and Dwight in your room because of the women who wanted to sleep with them, and on the same trip, you talked some sense into Dwight by saving him from losing his job because of what the company wanted to do with him once the store project had failed.

You, when Dwight had called you saying that he had taken the faeces of Angela's child to a laboratory to discover if it was his son, you were the only person who was by his side to be able to receive the news that he had taken the wrong diaper and that it was obvious when they denied the relationship between the two DNA tests; you ended up grossed out the rest of the day by the vomit that almost spilt on you.

You were there to help Schrute with his aunt in the last days of his life, also accompanying him in the duel that meant the loss of the woman who had been like his own mother and becoming quite close to the brothers and very few cousins of the beet grower who they were curious to see that the woman who tormented him so much at work was there to support him.

And you were the first person to congratulate him when the news broke that he was going to be a regional director, and actually, you were never happier for him.

While you remembered those moments you couldn't help but smile because, honestly, they were the situations that made you see Dwight with different eyes and, for obvious reasons, the ones that caused you to fall in love with him, but if he needed you again to take that guy of decisions in which you had to sacrifice part of your happiness, you would, and if he needed you tomorrow at his wedding, you would still be there for him.

You loved him, there was no other explanation.

The boardroom door swung open, drawing your attention to the way he had scared you, and when you saw Dwight you couldn't help but miss him, plus his chest seemed to move in an agitated manner due to his quick response to breathing.

"Take it easy, what's wrong with you?" You asked with a small crooked smile, seeing the seriousness on his face and getting scared when he didn't answer you. "Dwight, are you okay?"

Schrute didn't hesitate to close the door but instead strode toward you before wrapping his long, strong arms around your shoulders, causing you to take a step back to keep from falling to the ground from the sudden weight he'd put on you, but surrounding him in a more doubtful and confused way as you did not understand the sudden show of affection he had towards you.

Noticing his strong grip on you, you couldn't help but worry, even more so when you heard that he was muttering something that you couldn't understand because his head was resting on your shoulder and he didn't seem to want to detach himself from it.

"Dwight, I don't understand you," you confessed, slowly sliding your hands around his waist as he pulled away and released you from his grasp, only to find to your surprise that his cheeks were slightly flushed and the tips of his ears were a strong reddish hue. "Are you okay? You are super red."

"I love you."

Those two words left you cold you felt as if your soul had left your body.

"What?" You asked, wanting him to repeat himself so you could make sure that what he had said was real.

Schrute's hands left your shoulders and settled on either side of your face, cupping it gently as his bright blue eyes regard you with more than just adoration; Dwight was looking at you in a way that not even your former partners or the people closest to you had ever looked at you.

"I love you."

Those two words were accompanied by a sweet kiss that, although you didn't expect it at first, you knew how to continue when you noticed the soft movements that he made so much with his hands by keeping one on your cheek and the other sliding up to your neck, slightly securing the grabbed so you wouldn't pull away, assuming you didn't want to pull away because of how you seemed to kiss him back.

If you could describe the kiss in one word it would be "magical".

Maybe it was because it was with the man you liked that you were having this romantic encounter, but it was magical.

He had an innate knack for these things, and even if his lips were slightly dry, you didn't care exactly because it was him.

It was Dwight.

When he ended that kiss, he separated slightly from you so that he could see your eyes and observe your reaction, causing you to slowly open your eyes without realizing that you had closed them at first, but you marvelled at it. see his oceanic gaze observe you with such attention; you were delighted.

"First of all," you murmured, barely believing that you could speak normally, but still making Dwight smile at you, "I want to tell you that you kiss very well, that is, super well."

"Thank you, you too," he whispered as he moved his hands to your waist, cornering you against the living room table and placing his forehead a few inches from yours, "anything else?"

"I'm going to kill you for not having told me how you felt before, you have martyred me in your office," you confessed as you began to laugh and small tears began to come out of your eyes. "And I'm very happy, okay? Not sad."

"I love you," he repeated for the third time, making you laugh a little harder.

"I love you too," you said in response, quickly surrounding him to enjoy the warmth of his body and to make you believe that all that was real.

You couldn't help but be happier.

#dwight schrute #dwight #schrute #dwight schrute x reader #dwight schrute x you #dwight schrute x oc #reader #oc #you #rainn wilson #dwight schrute imagine #rainn wilson imagine #the office

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absolutepokemontrash · 3 years

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MC’s half Demon, and they look AWFULLY familiar...

‘Kay guys, I got a different kind of stupid Headcanon to throw at you. Get ready!

Part 2 Lessons 1-5 Part 2.5 Group Retreat Lessons 10-12 Lessons 13-15 Part 3 Part 4

*ahem* picture if you will, it’s the day the exchange program is set to start. The student council (nix Mr. Kill All Humans, Weeb-supreme, and our Scummy Sweetheart) have assembled to welcome the new human student. All is going according to schedule, the portal opens up at eight am sharp, they hear the pitiful screams of the selected human who was not given a heads up about the whole thing, and the poor little human falls straight onto the marble floor.

There’s something a tad... off about this human don’t you think? After they’ve peeled their sorry ass off the floor they observed the assembled student council with an air of sophistication and self importance that no one expected. Their posture was perfect, their eyes sharp and calculating... they bared a striking resemblance to-

“Lucifer,” Diavolo looked to his right hand man, then back to the human. “The human kind of looks like you!”

And out popped four pitch black wings from the human’s back and two small horns out of the sides of their head, one horn was a bit bigger than the other. They even still had some of their down feathers! How cute!

((Content warning: Swearing (I have a potty mouth, forgive me), but that’s it.))

Luci-dad

So, the MC is Lucifer’s kid! Of course Mr. Prideypants immediately tries to recall exactly what little romp in the human world uh... spawned this half-human half-demon child of his. Good thing MC’s got the other parent on speed-dial.

“Please note, MC,” Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose upon hearing Asmo take even more pictures of his newly discovered hellspawn. “I was not aware of your existence, if I was I’d-”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m not upset.”

Lucifer blinked a few times in surprise. “P...pardon? You aren’t upset?”

“No, my parent told me that my father was a high ranking demon, and they bare no ill will against you. Though, I am looking forward to this whole... exchange program thing.”

Oh wow, that was easier than Lucifer thought. Damn. Well, he was a father... (let’s be real, he’s been parenting his brothers for thousands of years, and a good chunk of you sinners call him daddy)

MC is probably the most protected student at RAD, despite the fact that they have no visible security detail whatsoever. They didn’t want to be seen as... weak and pathetic.

Something about this human just... set the lesser demons on edge. Any talk of eating them was stamped out on the first day when they walked by. It’s like Lucifer himself was staring at them, daring the demons to try and bother the human. MC’s powerful presence kept them protected and feared.

...at least until dear uncle Asmo decided to do their hair one morning. All those ribbons may have looked adorable but they kind of ruined the intimidation factor.

MC loved to mess with the other students, keeping their lineage a secret for the first little while just made it so much funnier when the other demons tried to scramble out of MC’s way without looking like they were running from the ‘weak little human exchange student’.

Oh wow, what a sadist. Like father like child

Flying lessons are a must. Poor MC isn’t terribly good at controlling their wings, and their horns are still growing in so when they pop into their demon form the first thing they get is a sore skull. Ow... it sucks that Lucifer isn’t outwardly very sympathetic.

“Ow!” MC crashed face first into the grass in the backyard of the House of Lamentation. “Father! My wings are cramping! Can’t we practice this tomorrow?”

The sight of seeing his dear child crash face first into the ground had lost its hilarity after the first three times. Lucifer slowly lowered himself to the ground and crossed his arms as he stood over his incredibly grass-stained kid.

“MC, we’ve been ‘practicing this tomorrow’ for the past month. If you want to learn to fly you’re going to have to actually manage to stay in the air for more than three minutes.”

MC shot Lucifer a withering glare that only preteens were capable of, Lucifer matched it with his own much more sophisticated glare.

“You’ve been flying for over a thousand years! Don’t you have any tips that can actually help other than ‘don’t panic, you’ll look ridiculous’?”

Lucifer dragged a gloved hand down his face and looked around, the two were alone as far as he could see.

“MC,” Lucifer began. “When I was a young angel, I needed to learn how to fly with someone else.”

MC perked up. “Who?”

“Michael. The smug bastard picked up flying quicker than I did.”

“What’d you do?!”

Lucifer smiled at his child’s intense investment. “I practiced flying every day for five extra hours until I could do everything that Michael could do, just better.”

MC’s starry eyed interest died almost instantly upon hearing about the extra five hours of practice. “Humph, I bet I could outfly younger you and Michael with only two hours of practice a day.”

“Really now?”

“Yes! Watch!” MC shook off their wings and took off in a running start before shakily making it into the air. Their form was decent enough, and they weren’t shaking as much as the previous attempts. “SEE?!”

“Yes MC,” Lucifer smiled. “I can see.”

You know what else Lucifer could see? MC crashing right into a tree.

“Ouch...”

Okay... maybe they could halt practice a little early and order a treat from Madame Scream’s. A little sugar to refuel is needed when the end goal is crushing a mutual rival beneath their heels. Just some good old fashioned father/child bonding time!

MC has a smaller seat right next to Lucifer’s seat in the Assembly Hall. I will not compromise on this one.

For all your fluff needs, I give you: Lucifer teaching MC how to play the piano. He has a proud little smile on his face when his kid finally starts getting it. That’s all. Enjoy the image.

That one Uncle who gives you Alcohol at Family Gatherings (Mammon)

Yeah, when Mammon burst in late to the party and whining about everyone’s spamming him with texts to haul his scummy ass to the Assembly Hall, the last thing he expected was to see a mini-Lucifer.

“What the fuck am I lookin’ at?!”

The glare the two Lucifers gave the poor Avatar of Greed was enough to make him want to turn tail (uh, wing) and book it down the hall.

“Mammon, this is MC. They’re my child.”

“Hello.”

“...whaaaa..?” Mammon looked between the two, same glare, same intimidating aura, same annoyingly good posture.

Mammon scratched the back of his neck and looked over at his older brother. “Do I uh... still gotta babysit em’ if they’re not human?”

“The lake of Cocytus will melt the day I let you babysit without supervision.” Lucifer grumbled.

“I don’t need a babysitter!”

Despite Lucifer’s initial denial, Mammon and MC ended up spending a lot of time hanging out when Lucifer was busy with paperwork. Of course Mammon’s first thought was ‘how do I profit off this situation?’

MC is now Mammon’s designated babysitter after they caught him picking up their feathers that had fallen off with the intention of painting them white and claiming they were Lucifer’s from back in the Celestial Realm.

Mammon does end up spoiling MC a little. Just a smidge. They’re the kid of his totally not his favourite brother after all! How could he not? Whether or not these gifts are obtained legally or are legal at all is subject to scrutiny.

“Mammon, I can’t drink this!” MC placed the bottle of Demonus back on the counter of the kitchen.

“Why not? That’s a bottle of the good stuff! We gotta celebrate you gettin’ an A on that test somehow!”

“I’m underage! Incredibly underage. I’m not legally allowed to drink.”

Mammon wordlessly plopped a silly straw into the bottle. “...does that help?”

“No.” MC then inclined their head to the bottle. “And I don’t want to get hung from the ceiling, that bottle was in my father’s study yesterday, I’m above theft.”

“How old are you s’posed to be anyway? Never mind... uh...” Mammon wracked his brain for something else he could do for MC that didn’t cost anything (don’t judge him, the poor bastard was flat broke!). “I could... teach you to drive!”

“Driving?”

“Yeah! Drivin’ is awesome! We can take my car!”

The bills for the damages done to the car and the Devildom were mailed to Lucifer the next day, and MC and Mammon got to keep each other company as they hung from the ceiling. Ah well! At least MC wasn’t upside down!

Mammon wasn’t that good of a flight teacher either, he also crashed into a tree (the same tree MC crashed into, actually) when he was cheering for MC. They were finally able to do a loopdy loop! He was proud and distracted! Okay?! Lucifer! Stop smirkin’ at him! It’s not that funny!

At least the vantage point from the tree was decent and the branches didn’t scratch him up too badly. Oh hey... that person walking by was wearing a very nice watch... he’d be right back-

That Uncle That is Always Absent From Family Gatherings and When He is Present He Leaves Early (Levi)

He missed everything. That is not an exaggeration. He was in the middle of an online raid battle and couldn’t look at his phone! No Lucifer he can’t pause an online game! That’s not how it works!

Okay, the human exchange student is half demon? WOAH! THAT’S JUST LIKE THAT ONE ANIME- W A I T. THE LITTLE NORMIE IS LUCIFER’S KID?!

Okie doke, he was fully convinced that MC just had to be an anime protagonist.

They binged every series that Levi compared them to. Sure MC might have missed a few assignments because of late night anime binges, but they were too good for this school crap anyway, right?

Nope. Lucifer put a ban on the two watching anime until both their grades improved. Surviving that hell brought the two together.

“Ugh!”

The sound of a pencil case being haphazardly thrown across the room made Levi peek out of his bed-tub. If his figurines got knocked over so HELP HIM-

“This is stupid!!I shouldn’t have to catch up with this!” MC crossed their arms and gave their Demonology textbook their best disapproving glare.

Lucifer Lite (tm) was having a hell of a time trying to claw through their missed work, and Levi sympathized, he really did, it’s just... he was playing Animal Crossing-

Levi paused the game to placate his anime-buddy when their wings popped out and he feared for his rare merch’s safety.

“H-hey, MC? Do you need help?” Levi’s offer was met with a bone chilling glare that lived rent free in his nightmares ever since. He had pulled a Mammon and forgotten he was talking to Lucifer’s child. Lucifer’s allergy to help must have passed down to MC.

“No! I don’t! It’s just... dumb!” MC hissed, she turned and looked over at the fish tank. “Right Henry 2.0?”

Henry 2.0 did not respond.

“MC, you need to finish your homework or we can’t watch anything together,” Levi sighed, he had finished his work over an hour earlier. He had mastered the art of all night anime binges and managing to do most of his work in the fifteen minutes between the time he woke up and the time school was supposed to begin. “We haven’t even binged all of volume 4 of TSL yet!”

“Mmm...” MC grumbled. “Fine...”

MC picked up their pencil case and began continued their work. Levi breathed a sigh of relief and went back to Animal Crossing.

The tiny normie did in fact finish their work, only after they caved and asked Levi for help. Swore him to secrecy, they did... very intimidating, they were.

Just saying, he most definitely sent that one Keanu Reeves meme with big Keanu and little Keanu but with Lucifer and MC to the wrong group chat. Poor bastard.

Flying lessons? No. Levi hadn’t flown since his time in the Celestial Realm, he had no advice to give other than: “Flap your wings!”

“THAT’S WHAT I’M DOING YOU-”

MC didn’t get to finish that thought, they lost their balance and fell right into RAD’s fountain. Ah well, Levi had a head start on running for his life that he squandered by laughing at MC. RIP.

The Uncle/brother/whatever the fuck that Starts a Fight With Your Dad at the Family Reunion. (Satan)

Oh... another Lucifer? Eugh. Gross.

Satan gave the kid a wide berth when they first met. Everything the kid said or did ticked him off. “Tsk. Look at MC. Making an omelette. So annoying.” “Oh wow, MC vacuumed? Roll out the red carpet, we need to celebrate their existence!” “Look at them. Breathing. Disgusting.”

MC’s pride wouldn’t ever let them admit it but... they knew Satan didn’t like them, and it hurt their feelings.

“Shhhh,” Satan whispered into his backpack.

“Meow.” The backpack replied.

“I said shhhhh.”

The backpack did not reply after that, which was a good thing considering the little princet of the HOL was nearby.

“Satan?” They asked. “Who are you talking to?”

Satan coldly brushed past them as he made his way to his room. “No one you need to concern yourself with.”

When the little calico kitten was safe in his room, Satan quickly realized a mistake in his foolproof ‘sneak a cat into the house’ plan. He didn’t have any toys for the kitten, and he didn’t want his books getting scratched...

It was alright, he’d just rush out to the a store that sold cat things and rush back! Five minute trip tops!

Well when Satan got back the cat was no longer in the room. Oh dear. He discreetly tore apart the house looking for the poor little thing until he ended up finding it in the library, happily chasing around a loose feather being held up by MC.

“Oh, hello Satan.” MC chirped as the kitten batted it’s adorable little paws at the feather.

“My... my door was closed. Did you let the cat out?”

MC shrugged. “I heard meowing.”

Satan ran a hand through his hair and grumbled. Stupid smaller Lucifer. Stupid original Lucifer. Everyone sucked.

“Let me guess, you’re going to run to Lucifer and tell him all about the meowing and the rule breaking.”

MC shook their head and glared at Satan. “Of course not. I’ve already gotten way too attached to this little guy anyway. We’re co-parenting this kitten like mature adults.”

With some coaxing, Satan did sit down and play with the kitten, maybe MC wasn’t... so terrible.

The two watch Unsolved Mysteries together, that’s their show. “This guy did it.” “Satan, we’re two minutes into the episode-” “Trust me.”

Thirty minutes later.

“He did it.” “See MC, what’d I tell you?”

Lucifer did find out about the cat, but with enough pleading, MC and Satan managed to warm up the cold spot in Lucifer’s chest where his heart should have been. The cat’s name is Detective Toe Beans (or just Bean).

Satan can’t fly, he has a tail, but he did read up on wing anatomy and how flight actually works in demons, his advice would be good in theory, but it’s full of so much technical jargon that MC can’t understand it.

At least MC didn’t crash into something, they barrel rolled through one of the HOL’s windows. Good thing it was the window to their room. The broken arm still hurt like hell.

The Best Dressed Bitch Who Brings The Booze to The Reunion. (Asmo)

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Lucifer’s kid was SO CUTE! A thousand pictures commemorating that adorable moment needed to be taken! Wait- Lucifer- GIVE BACK THE PHONE-

Asmo, surprise surprise, absolutely adores little MC! So cute! So small! He was just so excited to announce to all his Devilgram followers that Lucifer was finally a certified DILF.

That post disappeared five minutes after it was made but the damage had already been done.

Asmo made sure MC looked their best at all times, if they needed help talking to anyone? Asmo’s got their back!

Sure, maybe he’s a little pushy, but pushy’s a good thing sometimes, right?

“Asmodeus-”

“No, these shoes wouldn’t fit you...”

“Asmo-”

“No, not these ones either...”

“ASMODEUS.”

Asmo squeaked and jumped upwards, Geez Louise... little MC’s voice could sure be scary when they wanted it to be...

“I don’t need any fancy new shoes.” MC huffed, sitting up straighter in one of the chairs in Asmo’s room. “I thought this was supposed to be a sleepover.”

“Hmmm...” Asmo pouted. “Makeovers are an essential part of sleepovers... what’d you do with your human friends up in the human world that could possibly be better than a make-over?!”

MC began to list things off. “Ordered junk food, talked about people we hated, watched movies,”

“Greasy food is so bad for your skin...” Asmo cringed and shook his head violently. “But I’m totally down to watch a movie and bitch about people I hate!”

“Ah yes, human sleepovers, a tradition I never quite had the chance to enjoy.” Solomon said from Asmo’s bed. “Who are we bitching about?”

“Remind me what Solomon is doing here.” MC muttered as they sat down in front of Asmo’s TV.

“Because, I wanted to hang out with my two favourite humans.” Asmo cooed, reaching over and trying to pinch MC’s cheek, which they awkwardly dodged.

“Can we watch The Exorcist?” Solomon asked, propping his head up with his hands.

“Ew, no.” Asmo made a face at him. “That scene with the vomit? Hell NO.”

“Mm.” MC mumbled. Asmo turned to look at them.

“MC? Are you doing okay? You don’t look like you’re having any fun...”

“I’m fine.” MC grumbled.

Asmo pursed his lips, as much as it made his little narcissistic heart break, he nudged MC. “Why don’t you pick the movie, sweetie. I’m sure Solomon and I will like anything you pick!”

MC noticeably brightened. “Let’s watch Scream!”

The strangled noise that came from Asmo was... concerning, but to his credit, The Avatar of Lust held his tongue about his distaste for the movie, and the three slumber-party goers had quite the lovely time.

After the movie ended, MC went back to their room, sure it was a sleepover but their bed was right down the hall.

Good for Asmo and Solomon. Horny fuckers. We stan.

Asmo just claps and tries to cheer MC on when it comes to their flying lessons. (The idea that Asmo came up with to wear his cheerleader costume from the previous Halloween was immediately shot down by Lucifer)

“You’re doing wonderful, MC- WATCH OUT FOR THE POWER LINE!”

MC didn’t hit the power line, but Asmo’s scream of terror caused them to fall butt-first into a dumpster. Their injured tailbone served as a tragic memory of the incident.

Oh well, good thing Asmo had nice smelling soap to give that could mask dumpster-stink.

The Uncle that eats everything and tells you to eat your veggies while you angrily pick at your broccoli at the kid’s table. (Beel)

Lucifer... has a kid?! Beel choked on the cheetos he had snuck into the Assembly Hall when the kid’s wings popped out.

Oh wow, that’s nice :) maybe they can eat together. Belphie would probably like them.

Wait what is the gender neutral term for Niece or Nephew?

...Nibling? Uh... let’s not say that around Beel. We don’t need him to get hungrier and begin associating MC with nibbling on things.

The Underground Tomb incident probably went a little differently, but after all that nonsense, the two are closer than two peas in a pod!

Mmm... peas...

“Beel?” MC stepped into the Avatar of Gluttony’s room.

“Hi MC.” Beel was doing push-ups in the middle of the room, on the ground right beneath his head was a massive bowl of spaghetti that he bit into every time he completed a push-up. “Can you come stand on my back? I need the extra weight.”

“On your back?” MC padded closer. “Are you sure? It’s not going to hurt?”

“No, it’ll be okay.” Beel assured them. “Belphie and I did this all the time. Except Belphie is normally asleep.”

MC tentatively stepped onto Beel’s back. It was a balancing act to say the least, they eventually gave up on standing and ended up sitting cross legged between Beel’s shoulder blades.

“You did this with Belphegor?” MC asked.

“Yeah,” Beel sighed. “He was always too tired to exercise, but he’d let me bench press him sometimes...”

MC frowned and hugged their knees to their chest. Knowing full well that Beel’s twin wasn’t in the human world like Lucifer said was absolutely ripping them apart from the inside. Guilt felt just as rotten as their pride did when they were being belittled...

“Maybe you’ll see him again sometime soon.” MC whispered. “Maybe my father’ll come to his senses and let him come back down to the Devildom.”

Beel paused his push-ups for a brief moment, then nodded and went back to his eating exercising combo. “I hope so. He’ll like you, MC. I’m sure of it.”

MC nodded. “I... hope so.”

Beel’s a pretty decent flight teacher, but his wings are just so different from MC’s that it renders any tips he had next to useless.

“MC, maybe your wings aren’t flapping fast enough.”

“Beel, I appreciate the thought, but I’m not a hummingbird. Or a fly. I don’t need to flap my wings a million times a minute to stay afloat.”

Ah well, MC tried to take some of Beel’s advice, but their lower right wing cramped up and they ended up flying in circles until Beel was able to catch them. Ah well, better than the dumpster incident the previous week.

The Uncle That Passes Out in The Basement and You’re Not Allowed to Wake Him Up Even Though All Your Toys and Video Games Are Down There. He Also Picks a Fight With Your Dad’s New S/O Before He Passes Out. (Belphie)

Sitting in the attic was quite a drag, and this supposedly weak little human was quite the annoyance to try and call out to. It took a lot longer than expected, but when he heard little footsteps coming towards his prison, Belphegor nearly jumped with joy.

Oh... it... looked like Lucifer. Smelled like Lucifer. Stood like Lucifer. Quacked like Lucifer. Or... trilled..? Whatever sound a peacock made, this brat sounded an awful lot like Lucifer.

A... half-demon. Hmph. Belphie honestly thought Lucifer had actual standards. Not anymore, he guessed.

(Man I could fill a whole-ass fic with the Belphie betrayal thing, but for now let’s skip to post attic nonsense)

Okay so maybe MC wasn’t disgusting. They made a good nap buddy. It was cute when their wings came out when they were sleeping sometimes. Well... it was cute when they didn’t hit him in the face and make him wake up with his mouth full of feathers.

What Beel said had been true, Belphie made a good substitute when weights weren’t available, but Beel didn’t want MC to feel left out, so Belphie and MC ended up sitting on his back while he did push ups. MC once got bored and started playing Go Fish with Belphie on Beel’s back while he exercised.

Yes. MC is still a member of the Formerly-Anti-Lucifer League.

“Are you sure he’s not going to be too mad at us?” MC asked for the dozenth time that day. Detective Toe Beans was wrapped around their neck like a scarf (he had gotten so big!!!) while MC nervously sat in one of the Library chairs.

“Positive.” Belphie said with a toothy grin. “Besides, he’s like putty when it comes to you. Just give him your best puppy eyes and we’re not guilty on all charges.”

Putty..? Really..? Lucifer..? How strict was he before MC got there... they wondered.

“Sh! He’s coming!” Satan stuck his nose into a random book, it was the Oxford English Dictionary... and it was upside down.

Belphie pretended to pass out and MC decided that the best course of action was to stare deeply into their cat’s eyes. Yeah... that looked casual and not weird.

“Satan, MC, Belphie.” Lucifer nodded to the three of them as he walked towards the entrance to his study.

“Lucifer.”

“Afternoon, father.”

Belphie let out a cartoonishly loud fake snore that nearly caused both MC and Satan to break cover and start laughing.

Side note, Bean had adorable widdle eyes! That cute little face was just to die for-

“You three..!”

Belphie, Satan, and MC peeked their heads into Lucifer’s study, their handiwork was perfect. Everything was covered in red post it notes. Perfectly not harmful, but SO inconvenient!

“You’re all cleaning this up or so help me-”

“GO!” Belphie and Satan each grabbed one of MC’s arms (Satan also grabbed Bean) and sprinted out of the House of Lamentation. Maybe they’d move back there in twenty years... they hoped that Solomon and The Angels would let them crash at Purgatory Hall...

Belphie had used up his physical energy supply for the next four years. He passed out the moment they stepped into sanctuary. Time for a nap...

Flight practice? Ha. Belphie’s napping. Though, he was suspiciously awake and filming whenever MC did something stupid.

“Try not to suck so bad.”

“GO TO HELL BELPHIE!”

“I’m already there. Hell is every second I’m stuck here watching you fail.”

“YOU’RE GOING TO GET IT FOR THAT!”

Well... MC mastered the dive bomb that day. Lucifer bought them a cake.

Bonus! Your Dad’s New Husband! That Has Managed to Somehow Make Everyone Hate Him Despite the Fact That He’s A Cinnamon Roll. (Diavolo)

A mini Lucifer? A mini Lucifer!

Diavolo dotes on MC like he’d dote on his own kid. MC wants a crown? They’re getting a crown! A damn nice one too! MC wants a title? Here! MC is now... idk Ruler of the area between Majolish and Hell’s Kitchen.

Poor Uncle Mammon’s got some financial insecurity, he’s still the cool uncle... right?!

He is very much that ‘how do you do fellow kids?’ Meme.

He tries to do stereotypical ‘dad’ things but he’s not very good at them. Once he tried to host a barbecue...

Barbatos saved the day, but Mammon’s hair was still singed, Solomon’s cooking still gave Beel food poisoning (SOLOMON EATS TOXIC WASTE I SWEAR-), Luke still got hit in the face with a frisbee, and Simeon got an unhealthy dose of DAD NERVES and got so stressed everyone was almost blinded by the holy light he suddenly started blasting. We do not mention the water guns.

(Seriously whose bright idea was it to give Belphie and Satan water guns while they were in Lucifer’s presence?)

Praise Barbie. He’s too good for them.

“Um...” MC awkwardly held up the baseball, trying to look at it from all angles like it was a completely alien object. “Lord Diavolo... are you sure you want to play catch?”

Diavolo clapped his hands and bounced on the balls of his feet. “Yes! It’s a thing human fathers do with their children, correct? We must make up for lost time between you and Lucifer, right?”

Lucifer massaged his temples and nodded. “If you two would like to play catch...” Lucifer grimaced. “I will too.”

“Okay! MC, throw the ball to Lucifer!” Diavolo instructed.

Lucifer half heartedly held up his baseball glove as MC tossed him the ball. He caught it, and looked over at Diavolo, who was applauding like he just witnessed the greatest feat in sports history.

“Okay! Throw it to me!” Diavolo waved his glove in the air, Lucifer rolled his eyes and smiled. He threw the ball at Diavolo with... a lot of force. Enough force to probably dent steel... Diavolo caught it like it was nothing.

MC suddenly feared for their safety.

“Okay MC, catch!”

Diavolo threw the ball with enough force to break the god damn sound barrier. Well, maybe that was an exaggeration, but the ball sailed way over MC’s head and crashed right through a window.

“Oh my...” Diavolo put a hand on his hip and surveyed the damage to the window. “This isn’t so bad, I believe in human world TV shows this happens quite often. Look! The glass broke in a perfect circle!”

“Yay... property damage...” MC murmured.

Lucifer sighed and pulled out his DDD. “I’ll phone someone to replace the win-”

“Lucifer no! Now according to human world customs we must,” Diavolo took a deep breath, rushed forward, grabbed both Lucifer and MC’s hands and started sprinting away from the Demon Lord’s Castle. “RUN FOR IT!”

“Di- Diavolo!” Lucifer gasped.

“Who are we running from?! That’s your castle!” MC squeaked.

“I don’t know! Just run! That’s what the human TV show says to do!”

Weirdly enough, Diavolo was the best flight instructor. MC’s ability to fly increased tenfold after Diavolo found out that MC was learning to fly.

“You’re doing amazing MC! That was a perfect turn!”

“Thanks Lord Diavolo, I’m surprised I haven’t crashed into anyone or fallen yet!”

“Well, I highly doubt you’ll be crashing into anyone anymore, your flying is practically perfect now!”

Mammon proceeded to fly past them holding what looked like Lucifer’s wallet.

“M-mammon?!”

“Oh... I wonder what he’s doing. Look, MC! It’s Lucifer! Hello Lucifer dea-”

Lucifer ended up colliding with the two of them and sending them all crashing to the floor.

That was the last time MC fell during flying practice.

(We currently have a Go Fund Me set up for Mammon to get the funds necessary to flee the Devildom after that incident. Please donate to save- oh shit hi Lucifer-)

936 notes · View notes

ifmywishescametrue · 3 years

Note

omg now im jealous about all of the breaking up and making up stories!!! they're all so wonderful but is it okay to ask for a steve/tony one? i know you've made one inspired by ts (amazing) and this time, maybe they meet/bump in a coffee shop? idk angst potential but also hopeful/happy ending aahhh. your stories are amazing esp ivy!!! thank you! <3

thank you so much!! it ended up being more cute than angsty, but I hope you like it!

Steve's pencil drifts idly across the page of his sketchbook with no end vision in mind. He's killing time until Nat shows up, which could be anywhere between the next five minutes and the next two hours with her vague text that simply said running late. When he looks up to reach for his near empty coffee cup, he freezes with his hand in the middle of the air.

At first he thinks it might not even actually be him. Tony's hair was never quite this well styled before, always a tangled mop on his head that sometimes fell into his eyes. Steve used to spend hours sometimes running his fingers through those wild curls while Tony slept on his chest. It's been tamed since then, cut shorter and held into place by some type of product. The facial hair is new, too. He remembers a time when it would always come in patchy and uneven, and Tony would pout as he shaved away the latest attempt at looking older than he was. The eighteen year old boy in oversized hoodies and stained jeans he met years ago has been replaced by a man in a well-pressed, expensive looking suit with a leather briefcase, like he just stepped out of a boardroom a minute ago. From what Steve has read about his life since they broke up, he probably did.

Steve stares without fully meaning to and for much longer than he would have if it was intentional. He watches him order his drink and smiles when the barista’s eyes widen at what he knows is an overly complicated order, wondering if Tony ever did finish his quest to find that perfect combination of syrup flavors, sugar, and cream that only he would ever like.

He catches the double take when Tony notices him there, right as he’s taking his first sip of the iced drink, and the cough when he chokes on it is anything but subtle. Steve looks away with red cheeks and tries to pretend he wasn’t staring, but it’s a futile effort. He can’t say he minds, though. Not when it means Tony walks over to him and unceremoniously drops himself into the chair across from him.

His mouth forms a familiar smirk, and he says, “You seem to have a staring problem, Rogers.”

Suddenly, Steve is nineteen again, falling hopelessly in love with the boy in his introductory chemistry class. It felt sort of like fate at first when they were paired together for the final project, and Steve remembers thinking that his chances were shot to hell when Tony sat down next to him and said those exact words. He never was any good at being discreet.

Back then, for that first time, all he could manage was a stuttered apology in response. But eventually it became their thing. Something just for them that no one else could ever understand. When Steve would watch him from across the room at parties, because he knew how much Tony loved having his eyes on him, and Tony would saunter over with that same smirk and those same words, there was only ever one reply.

“Guess I just really like what I see,” Steve says, and Tony’s face splits into a grin that matches Steve’s own. He’s still beautiful, even if it’s different now. Less softness to his appearance and more defined edges and sharp lines, but heart stoppingly beautiful nonetheless. He doesn’t quite say as much, but he does comment, “You do look good, by the way. Different, but good.”

Tony’s smile softens into another familiar one. It’s his smile for compliments, when he’s thinking self-deprecating thoughts that he won’t voice. Instead he’ll turn the attention back around, shifting the spotlight.

“So do you. The good part, but not really the different part.”

Steve runs a hand through his hair, contemplating if not looking different contributes to the good or not. He should look different somehow, shouldn’t he? After two and a half years not seeing each other in person and what feels like a lifetime’s worth of heartbreak in between then and now, he should look as changed as he feels. As changed as Tony looks now, like he’s someone new entirely. He’s pretty sure the t-shirt he’s wearing now is one he owned back then.

“Thanks,” Steve says anyway, for lack of anything better.

Just before it has the chance to fall into awkward silence, Tony says, “I didn’t know you were in New York these days. I would’ve called or something if I’d known.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Would you have?”

“I don’t know, maybe. I would’ve thought about it, at least. You know, stalked you online, found your number, dialed and hung up a few times.”

Steve laughs, fiddling with the straw wrapper from earlier to give himself something to look at other than Tony. “I moved back last year. Thought about calling, but I figured you were busy. Didn’t want to waste your time.”

It’s only a partial truth. He did think about calling when he came to Brooklyn after his year-long internship in London ended, but he didn’t want to know what Tony would say if he did. If he would have some sort of transparent excuse to avoid seeing him or if it would be an outright rejection.

“I would’ve made time for you,” Tony says, so painfully sincere that Steve has to look up again to meet his eyes.

He wonders if Tony is thinking of that last fight, if it’s a purposeful or coincidental reference to some of what Steve said. It was by far the worst fight they’d ever had, all over the phone with an ocean between them and so many things that Steve still wishes he could take back. Accusations flew on both sides until the entire thing was blown so completely out of proportion, yet impossible to reel back in. He should have just hung up the phone before it went that far. Before he could tell Tony that he always felt unimportant compared to everything else in his life, which was sometimes true but entirely unfair. Before Tony could say that Steve talked about Peggy in the same way he used to talk about him, and he didn’t have to finish the thought for Steve to understand the implication.

“Are we talking about it?” Steve asks.

Tony shrugs, feigning casual, but just the corner of his lip is between his teeth in that way that means he’s nervous and trying to hide it. “I guess that depends on what this is.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we said back then that maybe it was just bad timing. You were in London, and I was in Boston until graduation, and it was always going to be a bit of a mess, but there was always that someday chance, right? So maybe this is someday, and we talk about it, and try to get it right this time,” Tony says. “Or maybe that was just something we said and didn’t mean, and I ask you about your life, and you ask about mine, and we talk and laugh and pretend that we’re friends again for the next half hour or so before we go our separate ways.”

It’s an easy choice, really. If there’s one thing that Steve’s sure of, it’s that it’s always been him and always will be.

“I don’t want to go separate ways,” Steve says. “The first time was hard enough, and I never really moved on. I got better, but I don’t think I’ve been more than just fine in a long time.”

Tony nods slowly, “I kept thinking you would call, you know. Back then. I thought you would call and tell me that it was a mistake and it would be okay again, but you never did. Although, I guess I could’ve called, too.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“For the same reason as you, probably. I couldn’t risk it if you didn’t want me again. Couldn’t risk getting back together just to break up again, either. We weren’t exactly the poster children for making long distance work.”

“We were terrible at it, weren’t we?”

Tony’s smile is tinged with the pain of the past. “It’s kind of funny because I remember thinking that it might be a good thing for us when you told me about London. Can’t get sick of somebody if they’re not always around.”

“You thought I would get sick of you? You never told me that.”

“Why would I?” Tony laughs. “Just put all my insecurities on display like that? Come on, Steve, that doesn’t sound like me, does it?”

Steve laughs with him briefly, “No, but I could’ve told you back then that it wasn’t possible. Told you that I wanted you around all the time and I missed you every second you were gone. I might’ve even stayed if you had told me. I was thinking about it, you know? I almost turned the internship down. Probably would’ve if you’d asked even once for me not to go.”

“It was your career. I never would’ve asked you to give that up for me.”

“There would have been something else. Another job somewhere closer to you.”

“I still wouldn’t have asked,” Tony says. “And I would have told you to go if you’d said you were staying.”

Steve knows that, which is why they never talked about it much before he left. Tony pretended to be happy for him, and Steve pretended to be happy for himself, when really it already felt like the beginning of the end. A year apart is longer than it seems, and it didn’t take more than a few months to realize it.

“I never…” Steve starts, trailing off when he doesn’t quite know how to finish the sentence. “There was never anyone else. Not while we were together, and never with Peggy.”

“I know. I knew back then, too, that you were never that kind of person. Jealousy’s just a real bitch sometimes.”

“There’s really not been anyone since, either,” Steve adds, and Tony’s mouth quirks into a half smile. “I mean, a couple of people here and there, but nothing like what we were.”

“There’s not a whole lot out there like what we were, is there?”

Steve smiles, leaning back in his chair, “No, there’s really not. But I do remember reading a rumor that you got engaged.”

Tony groans, and it’s so much like he used to sound when he was nine pages deep into a ten page essay at three in the morning that Steve has to laugh.

“Don’t you dare laugh. That rumor haunts me, Steven,” Tony says, belied by a grin that he seemingly can’t control. “Do you know how I found out about my supposed engagement? When my mother called and asked why I hadn’t told her I was planning on proposing.”

“So I’m still the only person you’ve ever proposed to,” Steve teases, just for the way he knows Tony will get indignant about it.

“How many times do I have to tell you that one didn’t count?”

“You were on one knee, you asked a question, and you had a ring. All the boxes are checked, sweetheart.”

“It was a blue raspberry ring pop, and you ate it,” Tony argues. “Not to mention that I actually asked you to marry me someday in the distant future. That’s not a proposal.”

Steve laughs again, thinking about that day in the middle of their living room, just a few weeks before Steve got the call that would take him to London and change everything. It was almost like a joke, and for anyone else it would have been. Not for them, though, because Steve remembers the look in Tony’s eyes when he dropped down in front of him, spur of the moment and impulsive like almost everything was back then. He remembers how it still felt like a promise, even if it wasn’t the real thing.

“But I said yes, which I think technically means we’re still engaged.”

“Absolutely not,” Tony scoffs. “It’s going to be a production when we get engaged. Elaborate and planned and romantic as hell.”

“When, huh?” Steve grins.

Tony’s cheeks pinken a touch, but he doesn’t take it back. He reaches for Steve’s hand on the table. “Yeah, when. Is that alright with you?”

Steve threads their fingers together, holding on tight. “That’s alright with me.”

#stevetony #stony #superhusbands #my writing #my fic #prompt fill

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cheri-translates · 3 years

Text

[CN] Winning the Championship Date

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 夺冠之约, which has not been released in EN! 🍒

[ Released on 28 September 2021 ]

The vibrations of my phone rouse me from the tediously long document. After looking at the caller, I answer it hurriedly.

MC: Gavin? Has your mission ended?

Gavin (on the phone): Soon. I’ll be back before the weekend. I should be able to make it in time for that café event you mentioned.

I suddenly recall how I had mentioned this event to Gavin before he left for the mission last month, but...

MC: Sob sob. I can’t go this weekend. I’m producing a new show, so I’ve been busier lately.

Gavin (on the phone): Is it a difficult show?

MC: A little bit... Come to think of it, Gavin, what type of sports shows appeal to you?

Gavin (on the phone): ...appeal to me? Competitive sports with commentators.

Just as I’m hesitating on whether to tell him about the problems I’m facing, someone on the other end of the line seems to be calling for him.

MC: Go and do your thing. I’m not facing any issues.

Gavin (on the phone): Okay. Contact me anytime if needed.

Right after hanging up, Minor knocks on the door and comes in.

Minor: Boss, I’ve made the arrangements for the collaborative filming of “Life’s Limits” with the City Sports and Culture Bureau. As per your request, I’ve selected a group of amateur racing hobbyists. The name list and materials have been sent to your e-mail.

MC: You’ve worked hard.

Minor: Boss, why don’t you take a break? Your dark circles have appeared.

MC: The company competing with us for this project is Light Media, and it’s much more experienced in producing sports shows as compared to us. We can’t let our guard down.

After more than half a month of research, I locked in my decision regarding the filming site - Hurricane Club.

This club is very well-known amongst motorcycle enthusiasts, and often organises competitions for amateurs.

This weekend, the club will be conducting a three-day training, and participants will be guided by professional coaches. There will even be a friendly race at the end.

The competition has a very novel format - it’s a three-person relay.

I intend to search for three photogenic motorists to form a small team. By following their daily experiences throughout the entire process, including their training sessions and the race, I’d produce a story about the team.

Minor: Boss, according to your request, isn’t the best choice Bro Gavin?

MC: That’s true...

During the initial planning stage, the first person I thought of was actually Gavin.

However, he doesn’t like appearing on shows, and was only willing to appear in previous shows because of me.

Moreover, he’s been away for a mission which lasted close to a month, and should get a proper rest over the weekend.

MC: In short, he... doesn’t quite fit the standard. You can leave work for now.

After sending Minor away, I re-focus on the thick stack of materials in front of me.

Before the peak hour on Friday, I head towards Hurricane Club in a rental car. While doing pre-filming checks, I answer the phone.

Minor: Boss, the three people we agreed on have set out. I’ve also found a suitable substitute. After careful selection, he’s definitely a top quality choice. I can guarantee that nothing will go wrong! You’ll get to see him once you reach the club! Boss, thanks for your hard work!

Before I have a chance to probe further, the dial tone sounds in the next second.

MC: This fellow is once again acting first before reporting afterwards... there shouldn’t be a problem, right?

Upon reaching the club, I meet up with the three team members we had contacted earlier.

Based on background research conducted by the company, they are generally outstanding, and are very enthusiastic when it comes to racing.

One of them is a young participant called Kelly, who obtained an amateur championship title in the past.

I quickly introduce the details of the shoot to them.

MC: Bro Liu, Xiao Yu, Kelly, thank you all for participating in this shoot. Afterwards, the club will be allocating you to your coaches for guidance. Even though this team was put together at short notice, I hope everyone can have faith in each other, and motivate each other. We also prepared a substitute team member...

??: Sorry I’m late.

A familiar voice drifts from behind me, and I immediately turn around.

Sunlight falls on every step Gavin takes towards me. The pair of eyes looking at me are bright and clear.

Gavin: I’m the substitute team member, Gavin. I’ve kept you waiting, Producer.

After the club assigns the coaches and enters the test run phase, I finally digest the “unexpected surprise” of Gavin’s sudden appearance.

I initially think of finding a chance to talk to him privately, but the coaches who arrive one after another leave me with no choice but to retract the gaze which keeps straying towards that figure.

I shake my head, forcing myself to focus on my current task. By the time all the filming angles are checked, most of the morning has already gone by.

Scanning my surroundings, I don’t see Gavin anywhere.

MC: ...where is he?

Walking along the racetrack and towards the vending machine, I decide to get a bottle of coffee to fill myself up before looking for Gavin.

Perhaps because I didn’t have breakfast, I suddenly feel dizzy after taking a few sips.

By the time I regain my senses, I’m carried over to a long bench by a familiar force. Meeting Gavin’s evidently frantic gaze, I quickly tug the corners of my lips upwards into a smile.

MC: Gavin, I was just about to look for you. Turns out you were here.

He doesn’t speak. Lifting his hand, he wipes away the thin sheen of sweat on my forehead lightly. Then, a breeze envelops me gently, warm and comforting.

He takes the coffee in my hand smoothly, then retrieves soya milk and a sandwich from the bag in his hand.

Gavin: Eat your breakfast.

MC: ...okay, I’ll listen to Sir Gavin.

I munch on the sandwich obediently, occasionally blinking at Gavin to convey a message which says, “I feel much better, so there’s no need to worry”.

Gavin’s slightly furrowed brows finally arch subconsciously.

Gavin: I heard from Minor that you’ve been working overnight to prepare for this show.

MC: Haha, don’t listen to his nonsense. It isn’t that exaggerated...

Gavin: I also heard that I didn’t fit the standard. What standard did you set?

MC: ...

I clench my fists in secret, condemning Minor from the bottom of my heart for his “heinous act” of betraying me.

MC: I can explain! You don’t like appearing on camera, and your identity in STF is a pretty sensitive topic...

Gavin: Mm, you’re right.

Gavin deliberately elongates his words, as though he doesn’t plan to let the matter go just like this.

Gavin: So what’s your standard?

MC: ...we hope for the motorists to have a certain level of professional competence, to be sufficiently photogenic, and most importantly, to have an enthusiastic heart. But I really didn’t mean to say that you didn’t fit this standard!

Gavin is finally unable to suppress the upward turn of his lips.

Gavin: Once you’re done today, sleep early tonight.

The training proceeds methodically, and filming goes very smoothly.

The roar of motors drift from the club’s racetrack, and motorcycles of every hue speed freely along the racetrack.

In the camera lens, two blue and white motorcycles seem to be speeding at the same pace, as though they’d break through the finish line at the same time.

Kelly: Have you ever participated in professional racing?

Gavin: Nope.

Kelly: The way you cornered the motorcycle a few times - you can’t do that with ease without a few years of experience. How did you do it?

Gavin: I just drive often.

Kelly: Let’s find a chance to ride together some time.

Kelly pats him on the shoulder before continuing the training. Gavin walks over to me, twisting open a bottle of water before taking a sip.

Gavin: Is filming going well?

MC: There’s too much footage from the training sessions. I might consider adding a special segment for interviews.

While speaking, I’m struck with an idea.

MC: Mr Gavin, why don’t you have a pre-interview with me to test out the effects?

I lift a bottle of water towards Gavin.

MC: What made you like motorcycles?

Gavin: I don’t have a precise answer. By the time I realised it, I already liked them.

MC: In that case, are there any motorcycle-related experiences which left a deep impression on you?

Gavin is silent for a moment. He seems to think of something, then chuckles softly.

Gavin: The time it overturned.

MC: Overturned? When did that happen? You can tell me in secret - this will definitely not be disclosed to the public.

Gavin looks at me, and he speaks in a volume only the both of us can hear -

Gavin: [whispers] The time when I rode on a snowmobile with the girl I like.

The snow field in my memories is cold, but the breath at my ear causes the temperature of my ear to rise.

[Note] This is a reference to Snow Mountain Date

MC: [blushing] Cough, that was...

All of a sudden, a clamour from the racetrack interrupts my words. The both of us stand up, only to discover that a motorcycle has overturned on the track.

Many people are standing at the side, and some call out for the medical staff.

Gavin: That seems to be Old Liu. Let’s go over to have a look.

Doctor: There are soft tissue injuries to your wrist and leg. Recuperate properly over this duration, and don’t engage in any intense activities.

Bro Liu: What about the competition tomorrow...

MC: Bro Liu, just recuperate. The doctor said that once your injuries are healed, you can still ride motorcycles in the future.

Bro Liu glances at Gavin.

Bro Liu: I guess I must admit that I’m getting old. It’s time to hand the baton to the young.

After contacting Minor and telling him about what happened, Gavin and I leave the hospital.

MC: Bro Liu worked so hard over the past two days. He must have really wanted to participate in tomorrow’s competition...

Gavin: In that case, we’ll work hard together with his effort. This is when the substitute steps in.

It’s the night before the competition, and I’m looking through the contents of the edited shoot over the past two days in my room.

After cutting the cornering training, I modify it into a slow-motion feature, then insert a few casual interactions between the team members as embellishments.

But no matter how I edit it, the clip is unable to convey the feelings I hoped it would.

I grab my hair in frustration, unwilling to accept my defeat. I locate the original video, watching it from the start.

The sound of the doorbell interrupts my slightly muddy train of thoughts. Opening the door, I see Gavin standing outside.

Gavin: I saw that the lights were still on in your room, so I came over to take a look. Why aren’t you sleeping?

MC: Gavin...

Hearing the gloominess in my tone, he takes my hand and pulls me over to sit down on the sofa.

Gavin: Filming didn’t go well?

Placing the notebook laptop between us, I play the recording.

MC: For this shoot, I wanted to edit it into a small unscripted story to showcase the competitiveness and fun of being a racer. As of now, the story aspect is going smoothly, and the interactions between people are interesting too. But I think it’s missing something which can grab one’s attention immediately...

Gavin looks at the screen and ponders for a moment. Then, he suddenly asks me a question.

Gavin: Want to go for a stroll? It’s too stuffy in the room. Getting some fresh air might give you new inspiration.

Likely to conserve energy for the competition tomorrow, everyone has returned to rest very early, and the racetrack is completely empty.

Gavin leaps onto the bleachers, then reaches out to me.

Gavin: Let’s go for a spin.

He takes my hand, guiding me onto the vehicle. Then, he puts on a helmet for me, teaching me how to grab the throttle and brakes.

MC: Gavin, are you sure this is okay?

Gavin: You can’t go onto the road, but we’re still within the venue. After filming for days, don’t you want to experience it yourself?

MC: I want to!

Gavin sits behind me, two arms securing me steadily in his arms.

Along with the familiar sound of the engine, the motorcycle moves. The speed is incredibly steady, and is just right for enjoying the pleasant evening breeze.

MC: Gavin, can we go a little faster?

Gavin: We can. Sit tight.

A loud roar drifts to my ears, and the motorcycle flies forward like an arrow leaving a bow.

Very soon, the most difficult part of the racetrack appears, comprising of consecutive bends. During the training sessions, many motorists faced many trials at this area.

Gavin grips my hand, loosening the throttle, causing the the motorcycle to slow down.

MC: There’s no need to step on the brakes?

Gavin: No need. Engine braking is enough to reduce the speed.

While speaking, the motorcycle tilts at an unbelievable angle at a turn. Gavin controls the direction with composure, air currents at the side keeping the motorcycle steady.

The motorcycle dangerously yet steadily completes the curved track, returning onto a straight track and picking up speed once again.

Gavin: MC, can you see where the cameras are? That’s the goal. On the racetrack, that’s the only thing in a racer’s eyes.

The sound of wind at my ears seems to quieten down. The moment we charge past the finishing line, I suddenly have a feeling that a full stop has been drawn on the racetrack.

Even after the motorcycle makes its gradual halt, I’m unable to return to my senses.

Seeming to understand my silence, Gavin doesn’t speak. He simply pushes the motorcycle that I'm on patiently, walking slowly.

MC: Gavin, I know what this story is missing. Stirring the emotions of viewers requires the most important thing which can make them seethe with excitement -

Gavin: Winning the championship.

MC: That’s right. All the effort from before is meant for the final sprint towards the goal. Winning the championship is the core of a competitive spirit, and is also what the show’s theme of “limit” is seeking after. But... Gavin, do you think we have a chance at winning the championship tomorrow?

Gavin: Yes. But while we’re improving, others are improving as well. Everyone on the racetrack will be aiming towards victory. The people you selected are very outstanding. Believe in them, and believe in yourself.

MC: Mm, everyone has already worked very hard. When it comes to winning, it’s good enough if they try their best.

Gavin parks the motorcycle properly, then carries me down from it.

Gavin: Go back and have a good sleep. You don’t have to worry too much about the competition tomorrow.

It’s finally time for the competition. Seeing the filled audience seats, I feel incredibly nervous.

Kelly: I didn't expect to see so many people.

MC: It’s a Sunday, and the club decided to open the venue to the public as publicity.

I take a deep breath to calm my emotions.

MC: Let’s enjoy the fun of racing to our heart’s content! Shall we do a pre-competition ceremony?

While speaking, I stretch out my hand. Gavin cooperates, placing his palm over the back of my hand. He gives it a gentle pinch, and it feels as though an endless stream of strength is being transmitted.

It’s a sense of security belonging only to Gavin.

MC: Safety first, the competition second. Everyone, all the best!

All the motorists have taken their places at the starting line. Based on prior suggestions by the club, I’ve arranged Kelly to take on the first battle, and Gavin will be the finale.

With the green light signalling the start of the competition, twenty motorcycles which have been waiting for action seem to sprint forward at the same time.

The sound of motor engines causes everyone’s adrenaline to spike, and the crowd becomes immersed in the competition.

I’m positioned closest to the audience seats. This is the first time I’m viewing a competition from such a close distance. Even though it’s an amateur competition, it’s sufficiently astounding.

Xiao Yu makes a few minor mistakes at the bends, causing the team to lag behind temporarily.

Carefully observing the changes on the racetrack, I don’t feel overly anxious.

Because it’d be Gavin’s turn next. With him around, I always feel exceptionally at ease.

I look at Gavin as he waits at the handover area with a helmet over his head. He seems to sense my gaze, and turns around to see my thumbs up.

In the next second, his motorcycle charges into the racetrack.

The blue and white motorcycle courses past the bends nimbly in almost “L” shape movements.

As compared to my experience last night, I can see Gavin’s cornering techniques even more clearly from the audience seats.

Although the camera is unable to capture his expression, it isn’t difficult to imagine his focused and bright eyes from underneath the helmet.

When the competition enters its final round, Gavin has already reached the second place, and there’s hardly any difference between him and the first competitor.

The audience’s emotions are stirred by this intense competition, and the sound of cheers surge forward like a tide.

I find myself being influenced as well, staring fixedly at that sprinting figure.

After the upcoming bend, the goal will not be far.

Unexpectedly, a motorcycle behind suddenly accelerates towards the bend, using its full strength to make a last effort.

However, the motorcycle tilts too much. It’s clear that the centre of gravity was not controlled properly, sending the motorist collapsing onto the track.

At this point, Gavin’s motorcycle is already over half of the bend. He controls the dip of the motorcycle, barely avoiding the fallen vehicle.

Because of this incident, some distance is pulled between himself and the motorist in first place.

On the straight road, Gavin’s motorcycle suddenly accelerates, keeping pace with the motorist in front.

In this moment, time seems to slow down. I hold my breath, feeling as though my spirit has become one with that sprinting figure.

The rustling of leaves, the flapping wings of birds, the yelling of the audience, the checkered flag waving mid-air... all of them gather into one voice-

Announcer: The first place goes to No. 07!

On the big screen, Gavin’s name is listed impressively at the top.

At the final moment, he attained first place with a 0.06 second difference, winning the championship.

Gavin did it!

The motorcycle comes to a gradual halt. Gavin removes his helmet, droplets of sweat reflecting bright rays of light beneath the sunlight.

The smile on his face is sparkling and dazzling, bringing with it the confidence belonging to a victor.

Such a result is both unexpected yet within my expectations.

Gavin turns around, looking squarely in my direction.

He shakes his head casually, which has gotten messy from his helmet, and says two words.

Gavin: We won.

The employees push the motorcycles back to the venue. Gavin heads over to the referee’s seat, lowers his head and says a few things before walking to me.

The gold medal in his hand dangles slightly, reflecting a dazzling light.

Cheers from the surroundings grow brighter as he draws closer. Separated by the bleachers, he stretches out his hand towards me -

He leans over the bleachers slightly. As he draws closer, I can detect the scent belonging only to Gavin.

Gavin hangs the medal around my neck, announcing our victory.

Gavin: The champion title - we’ve got it.

My mouth opens, but I have no idea what to say. My body reacts faster than my brain. I stretch out both arms, hugging him with all the strength in my body.

Scorching warmth and the dampness of sweat from the competition linger on him.

Gavin returns the embrace. It’s as though this hug is enough for us to understand each other’s sentiments.

Gavin: I think I heard you cheering me on.

MC: I did it so softly, but you could hear it?

Gavin: Mm, the wind told me. Everything you say - I can hear them.

MC: There’s still one thing the wind hasn’t had the time to tell you. I’ll say it myself right now.

Turning my face to the side, I bring it close to his ear.

MC: Gavin, you’ll always be the only champion in my heart.

🏍 Call and Moments: here

🏍 Art based on this date: here

🏍 Support the café by dropping by the tip jar!

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc gavin #CUTE CUTE

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apocalypticgargoyle · 3 years

Text

𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙀𝙉𝘿. ҂ 𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢

request:

Hi!! Idk if you’re taking requests rn lol but I was wondering if you can write a clay imagine? It can be smut or anything lol

pairing: dream x fm!reader

warnings: nsfw (18+ minors dni), smut, calling dream clay, cliche apocalypse au, blood, kinda sad ngl

word count: ~3000

links: ao3

a/n: Hi everyone. I have no idea what this is, but if you like it let me know! I was struggling with coming up with something for dream but here we are on a crackpot tangent. N E WAY, thank you for all your support and requests! Have a great week and happy reading ♡ ᵍᵉⁿᵉ

Soapy bubbles clung to your arms as you pressed your hands into the hot water, sighing as you reached the bottom of the sink. You didn’t care about the murky discoloration of the water from the stack of dishes you had just polished off. You attempted to let the stress of your day roll off your shoulders to mix into that same water. Call it a baptism, but the solace you got standing before the sink, pouring your emotions into the dark, louring water was comparable to nothing. The radio buzzed with slight static as the station attempted to break through the heavy interference.

That was until three long pulses echoed over the station, making your skin crawl as if an unseen force were intruding on your alone time. You stood up straighter, water dripping down your arms and splashing on the linoleum floor beneath you as you listened to the grizzled news broadcaster read from an obviously unedited announcement. The world outside of your apartment seemed to still, silence echoing through the streets where shrilling sirens lived only moments before.

“Breaking news… NASA has just verified that the mystery asteroid is, in fact, in danger of crashing into the Earth… As of this moment-” His voice cut out, your radio buzzing into static. In a panicked effort, you vaulted across your kitchen, slipping on the dishwater in the process as you tumbled to the ground. Before the pain could set in, you climbed to your feet, smacking your hand atop of the radio. It finally crackled back to life as you twisted at the dials feverishly. “... three days. To repeat, there is a countdown on the NASA website… take shelter when the time nears.”

Your ears rang alongside the three pulses to indicate the message was over. You were in denial, figuring there was no way this asteroid was actually going to obliterate the Earth. Surely, it was a joke. Everyone had been making memes of the space rock since it was picked up on NASA’s radar a month prior. Surely, this was just a test.

You waited for the city to come back to life, but everything remained still. After everything you’d all been through in the last year, an asteroid was going to be the end.

A sharp and urgent knock hammered against your door, making you jump a few feet in the air. Before you could move to see who it was, the person was already through the threshold. You peered around the corner of the kitchen and down the hall, your gaze meeting a pair of dark green irises. Clay’s towering figure stalked toward you, his eyes brimming with tears and panic. He pulled you into his embrace rather hurriedly, as if he’d been itching to wrap around you before he broke down.

The hint of cologne clouding the air around the two of you suggested that he was on his way out. As your hands followed their muscle memory to grip onto his clothes, he dug his face into the crook of your neck. It was becoming clear that even if you weren’t responding to your best friend’s need, he was going to take it from you.

He pulled away from you slightly. Your mind had gone completely silent as he looked at you, his attention struggling to focus on one part of your face. Your body felt numb and your tongue had gone dry. His gaze traveled towards the ground and he stepped back slightly, worry spreading across his features as he clamped his hand around your forearm.

“Why are you bleeding? What happened?” His voice cracked slightly as he dug into the drawer beside you to find a towel. You furrowed your brows before finally catching sight of the blood seeping from your arm and between his fingers. His hand was large enough that it nearly served as its own bandage.

He tugged you behind him towards your bathroom. “I fell…” You mumbled, your mind now racing with questions. Why couldn’t you feel the cut? Or his hands? He pushed you upwards to sit on the bathroom counter, his crimson hands shaking slightly as he rinsed them off. Your fingers tightened around the towel holding your wound together. As he focused on the task before him, he seemed to calm down ever so slightly. He rolled his head on his shoulders and took a deep breath to steady himself as fished through your First Aid kit.

“I was on my way to Nick’s and I heard the news. I’m…” He brought his arm up slightly to brush away a few tears against his shoulder. He pulled open a package with his teeth. You watched him carefully as he worked to clean you up. His blond locks hung over his eyes, curling around his ears and twisting about as he focused and you could almost hear his mother’s voice telling him he needed a haircut.

Your chest ached. “Clay, I think I’m having some kind of a breakdown,” you mumbled, your own eyes prickling with tears as he looked up at you quickly. Usually, you were the one that kept it together. It had been like that since the two of you were teenagers. Despite the fact that Clay’s tall, muscular stature gave off the appearance of an intimidating being. In actuality he always let his emotions get the best of him, leaving you in charge of being the rational one.

But as he patched up your arm and struggled not to fall apart, the reality was settling in to weigh heavily on your shoulders.

He began to talk softly to you---much like you usually did for him---making sure his touches were delicate and slow. While his hands were coarse from years of football and building decks with his dad in the summers when the two of you were younger, they were so tender when dealing with you. He cradled you as if you would break at the slightest flex of his finger.

“Why didn’t you just go to Nick’s?” You asked him once he’d finished bandaging your arm and had begun rewashing his hands. The scarlet water in the sink looked almost surreal after you’d been staring so long at the caliginous dishwater. He rested his hands on the edge of the sink, his eyes flashing up to look at himself in the mirror before chewing on the inside of his cheek.

Your hand traveled up his arm, his skin warm beneath your touch as you tugged on his bicep to bring him closer to you. He moved to wrap you in his embrace once again, his breath melding into your hair as his fingers closed around the fabric of your shirt. “I’d rather spend the end of the world with you,” he barely whispered, pressing a kiss to your shoulder softly.

You pulled away from him gently, his forehead moving to rest against your own. One of his hands moved to brush into your hair, his fingers finding purchase against your neck. The familiar smell of smoky vanilla and sage seeped into your mind at his closeness. You thought about your first kiss shared in “the name of science,” after you turned fourteen. Clay had been so awkward in his body at that time; his hair shaggy, stretch marks along his knees from his growth spurt, and a growing realization that you were in fact, a member of the opposite sex.

The Clay before you, even in his state of anguish and anxiety, stood with a cockiness that that Clay couldn’t have even dreamt of. His thumb glossed over your jaw, his eyes cast down as if his mind was wreaking havoc on his movements. Cautiously, you leaned towards him, sealing the space between the two of you as your lips pressed against his. The air of catastrophe seemed to dissipate around you as he pulled you tighter against him. The taste of mint and a faint whisper of fruit from the gum he always chewed blended against your tongue. Your arms moved to wrap around his waist, wanting him pressed to you as close as he could be.

He wrapped his hands around your thighs, pulling you up and into his arms as he made his way to your bedroom. As your back hit the mattress, Clay’s lips were back on yours, your fingers slipping beneath the hem of his shirt to tug the fabric over his head. You sighed as he hesitated before nipping at the skin of your collarbones, his tongue ghosting against any mark that formed on your skin from his teeth. You drove your hands into his hair, your fingers locking around the slight curls forming. He pushed your shirt off and you wiggled out of your sweatpants.

His hips dug into yours, the friction bringing a lazy smile to your face as you bit your lip. You tugged on his hair, making him moan into your ear to mix with his motions. “I want you, Clay,” you stated, your voice falling from your lips in a slightly deeper tone, your breathing uneven with passion. He moved to look into your eyes, pausing for a moment before his hand slid between your waistband and your hip to remove your underpants. It was clear that even as the timer clicked away the minutes the two of you had together, you wanted to savor him. If the world ended now as the two of you were in each other’s embrace, you would be fulfilled.

He smirked slightly at your words, his lips finding your neck once again. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to hear that,” he moaned, pressing a kiss behind your ear. He slunk down to press his lips against your stomach, moving slowly up your body to bury his face in your hair, grinding his hips against yours. You fought not to roll your eyes as you hooked your fingers through his belt loops, pulling his pants off. He pressed his lips against yours, humming into the kiss as you wrapped your leg around one of his. You slipped your tongue into his mouth, grinding against him.

As Clay pushed himself into you, your whole body relaxed as if he were made for you. He dug his face into the crook of your neck, letting you adjust to him. You hummed slightly, taking your bottom lip between your teeth as he began to move. He gripped the edge of the mattress beside your head as he leaned his weight on his forearm, the angle bringing your thigh to rest against his side. You wrapped your arm around his shoulder, bringing your hips up to move with his. “You’re so beautiful…” he mumbled, his lips brushing against your collarbones again as his thrusts into you became deeper.

You began to feel every inch of him in you as his hips ground against yours. Clay’s lips left yours to press against your jaw and your ear, one of his hands interlocking with yours, binding the two of you further together in the act. It was his carefulness of your forearm that sent a shock wave through your body as you were bitterly reminded that instead of a lifetime of cherishing moments like this, the two of you were cursed into his disaster arc.

His hand pressed into the mattress, fingers curling around the sheets as you pulled him down to you again, his lips melding to yours. You groaned, finding your sweet spot as he did so, making him pick up his pace. His other hand pressed against the side of your neck, bringing your skin closer to his lips as he pressed open mouth kisses to the landscape of your neck, thrusting into you and making the tension in your body tighten with pleasure. Your arms moved to wrap around Clay’s torso, pressing your lips against his shoulder as he moved. Your toes curled as you finally reached your orgasm, calling out his name and feeling him release as well, riding out your pleasure.

As you laid beside him, he played with your fingers, the quietness between the two of you nearly comforting. There was almost the question of “what now” hanging in the air.

A knock came at your door once again, your heart dropping slightly at who the person could be. You shot a look to Clay before pulling on one of the discarded shirts and your shorts from earlier. Your apartment was cold after being in bed with Clay, the air nipping at your skin and sending a shiver down your skin. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the billboard beside your window had the countdown displayed in heavy red numbers. You swallowed your uneasiness and opened your door.

Nick stood before you, his eyebrows slightly perked at---what you could only assume---your unkempt appearance. He wet his lips briefly. “Dream’s here right?” He asked, peering over your head a bit. You silently opened your door completely, letting him inside. Clay came out of your bedroom, tugging a hoodie over his head that he had previously shoved in one of your drawers. As Nick eyed him, it seemed like he’d forgotten whatever serious matter he needed Clay for. Instead of the skittish expression, Nick’s face twisted into a knowingly smug quip.

Clay ran his fingers through his hair, moving down the hallway and into your kitchen. “What’s up?” He queried Nick. You followed the two of them as Nick began to ramble about the end of the world.

Your chest tightened at his words as you took a seat at your kitchen counter. Clay uncapped a beer, leaning on the marble across from you. “There’s a bunker nearby. It belongs to some random old guy but I know some people who can get us a spot,” Nick muttered almost as if he were worried your neighbors would hear and sabotage his plans. He looked between the two of you quickly. “I think it’s worth a shot.”

You watched Clay closely as he thought, his expression nearly blank due to his somberness. You could practically hear the clock ticking away outside as the red light began to seep into your apartment. Clay chewed the inside of his cheek. “What do you think?” He asked, suddenly breaking the deafening silence and turning to you. “I wanna go where you go.” He looked almost like a child as he said this, but you were grateful he wanted to be with you in the end.

You tore your eyes from him, focusing on the ring forming in your sink from the dishwater that you hadn’t had the opportunity to drain. Your mind raced with the possibility that Nick was offering. “What’s the worst that can happen? We’re dying anyway, right?” You responded wearily.

And that’s how you found yourself packed into an underground shelter, Clay’s body pressed against yours as nameless people crowded the dense area. Nick huddled against the two of you, the asteroid’s timer serving as a foreboding heartbeat as it reminded you all that these were the last moments of your life. Clay’s arm tightened around your shoulders as you buried your face in the softness of his sweatshirt. Your legs were going numb from sitting on the ground with your knees folded to your chest, but you didn’t dare move from his grasp. Nick’s side dug into your own as he attempted to shrug away from the hysterical woman beside him whispering to herself.

Only the mumbling of prayers and lamenting sobs broke up the lulling music playing over a small Ham radio resting on a bookshelf in the corner. The tune reminded you of an eerie scene in a movie from the ‘60s. As the song faded, a newscaster began to discuss the timer, wishing that everyone was with loved ones and had spent the last of their money.

And then the final ten seconds came. Your fingers threaded with Clay’s as he pressed a lasting kiss to your forehead.

“... Nine. Eight…”

Nick leaned into you. The two of you had never really been close, but on your journey to the bunker, he'd become a companion to you just as much as he was Clay's.

“... Seven. Six…”

You let your mind travel to your past, prom in particular. When Clay shut the skirt of your dress in his passenger door by accident. You were so mad at him for finding humor in the situation.

“... Five. Four…”

You thought about the week prior when you were considering skipping a lecture because you were tired. What you wouldn’t give to go back to the simplicity of problems like that.

“... Three. Two…”

You hugged Clay tighter to you, hoping that if you both got blasted into whatever kind of eternity was waiting, you’d land at the same time.

“... One.”

Everyone seemed to hold their breath, even the newscaster. The silence was painful as you all waited.

Clay and Nick moved quickly, looking around the room. You furrowed your brows at them, your grip tightening around the front of Clay’s sweater. “Do you hear that?” Clay stated, his voice coming out rushed. Nick nodded, watching as the rest of the men in the bunker began to talk amongst themselves. You couldn’t hear anything, worry settling.

“What?” You asked, barely above a whisper.

Clay pushed himself to sit up away from the wall, dragging you up with him. “How can you not hear that?” He urged mildly. Fear began to pick at your nerves as you noticed the same reactions filling the shelter. Nick stood up, following some of the other guys who heard whatever they were talking about. Clay slipped from your grasp. “I’ll be right back,” he muttered and you grabbed his hand. His eyes flashed a different color as he looked at you.

A few of the women followed the group, attempting to get their companion’s attention before one of them opened the shelter door.

#dream x fem!reader #dream x reader #dream x you #dream smut #apocalypse #college au #dream fluff #dreamwastaken x reader #dreamwastaken scenario #dreamwastaken fluff #dreamwastaken au #tw angst

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