#early post for my brit babies

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Trash Magic

Big Daddy Trailer Park Cop AU One Shot

Summary: it’s 2008 and it’s the pits of recession, not that the suburbs of El Paso would notice, things have been rather shit among the rows and rows of trailers for some time now. With your dad locked up for being a little too ‘entrepreneurial’, it seems your only ally in these tough times is the town‘s scary old softy, Officer Presley, and the more than professional interest he takes in your speeding and footwear. 

Era: modern but with that dumbass tumblr dusty Americana feel to it I hope?

Kudos: so many to @eliseinmemphis who was my plot guru, kept this thing alive and gave so many lines and sentences used herein.

Word count: 15k and I didn’t edit this sorry for misspells, etc

18+ and may be thematically disturbing to some please read cautions, proceed at your own risk!! More specifics below the cut

HAPPY NEW YEAR MY DARLINGS!

Specific warnings: sexual content, drug use, stripping, casual prostitution, age gap, reader isn’t a minor for such activities but only eighteen?? which is not touted as a good thing but it’s in here?? if that’s a hard no then be warned. graphic descriptions of kinda gross blowjobs and very gross blowjobs, spanking, officer Presley does take too many pills for his pain ok? driving under the influence, minors drinking, trailer trash lifestyle in general, such as I personally have had experience with, it’s rough out there folks but there’s always the good ones trying their best. Sorry I really threw Joe E under the bus. I’m not really sorry but I’m sorry you have to read about him in here. Please let me know what warnings I missed if I did. Again, could be thematically disturbing due to age, solicitation, law officers, drug use, humans not being tidy little robots.

When you were three years old you recall the smell of plastic heating in the sun, the hot smell of fresh cut grass and the cold splatter of hose water on your skin. A little paradise it seemed, that tiny kitty pool and your mama waving the hose over you with one hand, her cigarette dangling between the fingers of her other, bright warm sun and yellowing grass stretched out in large swathes between the little white shacks stacked row upon tidy row. Always the same and ready to guide you home after each little wander into the thicket behind the clearing.

That was life in the Shady Oaks trailer park. There really was only one mature oak tree and it was a live oak and the sunshine beamed right through its little leaves all seasons of the year.

By five you had a sizable jar of grasshoppers collected and had become too scared of their hoards and awful beady eyes to ever release them, fearful they would swarm you the minute you undid the lid of the mason jar and gave them freedom. You had let one out and watched it hop across the torn Hexagons of the linoleum floor before it jumped in an acrobatic feat and landed in the mac & cheese your mom was making. You never know what she did with those jars, but you were half relieved, half heartbroken at the fact they were no longer your responsibility.

By eight you knew you lived in a trailer park and spending your time collecting ants and moths for the new set of grasshoppers to eat was a peculiar and uncool pastime. As were muddy knees and torn t-shirts on a girl approaching her teenage years. But mama hadn’t been able to take the heat and the rows upon rows of mildewing trailers anymore and daddy was too busy with his “entrepreneurship” to dress you right.

By twelve you had learned that some nights daddy came home, and some nights he didn’t and you couldn’t be sure which you preferred. His drunken state was unpredictable and confusing even though he was not abusive, but his absence left you counting quarters and wondering how long your Fig Newtons would last if he stayed gone longer than a week again.

By fifteen the Dollar Store and its fluorescent bulbs leached the vitality out of you with each long day shift, school was an afterthought, and your days smelled of plastic bags and detergent. You brought that smell home to your musty trailer, seeped into the sweaty fabric of your tank top. The only thing that stayed consistent whether your daddy was home or not was the religious watching of the NASCAR races. Reruns and live, it didn’t matter, where many girls escaped into Disney or Reality TV, you did your dreaming while sitting in the ratty drivers seat of daddy’s Ford, making the engine thrum.

By seventeen, your daddy was gone for months at a time. Sometimes he’d leave the Ford and take off on the road with Benny and Gregg in Benny’s motorhome from a few rows down. Greg had the pale blue trailer with the blinds that were always smashed in the one window. He always left his damn lights on, even when he was gone and they’d glow yellow and demented between the brittle plastic. Some nights when you walked back home from town, maybe a little more plastered than you’d like to admit, you’d keep Gregg’s trailer and his silly window as a landmark to turn left in the maze of trailers.

One night the bulb burnt out. One by one the rest of them did too. The fellas, they’d all been gone so long. Next week the electricity got turned off to yours. The bill hadn’t been paid. Dollar Store wages kept peanut butter and miracle bread in your cabinets and bought you cheap tequila from Terry who lived five trailers down and didn’t care about ID’s so long as there was cash on the counter. What the wages didn’t pay for was electricity or gas money or a new car that could actually accelerate fast enough to give you that thrill you craved.

Despite your lousy education and demotivated upbringing, you had some spark of diligence and ambition residing inside you, it was stoked to a decent blaze by the awful, humid and stale air of the trailer without its swamp coolers humming at night. Not even the fridge stayed cool longer than forty eight hours and you ended up at the seven eleven eating roller dogs.

You weren’t looking for job opportunities while licking corn dog grease off your thumbs but opportunity came to you anyway. As you nibbled at the soggy fried dog and licked at the rancid oil while leaning against the auto supply shelf, you’d have to be some sorta dumb to not know that Carl was hanging around the same aisle for something besides windshield washer fluid.

Carl was a native to the outskirts of El Paso just like you, and he was a married man, married to Clarissa in fact. Clarissa who’s plastic miniature flamingo’s gracing each edge of her weedy gravel drive had a younger you thinking she was the height of trailer park sophistication. That was before Officer Presley, who lived in a spacious double wide down by Gregg’s trailer and its burnt out bulbs, got himself a Tiger figurine made outta real concrete and painted pretty as anything, its blazing feline eyes not missing a speck of paint, unlike the flamingo’s slashed ones. Officer Presley only had the one and it was assumed he was saving up for another, and he placed it by the little porch he built off his trailer door, the proximity to the structure giving it a noble sorta air that sitting statues out by the street didn’t manage.

“If you keep watchin’ me like that I’ll have to start chargin’.” you told Carl and his leering face, and took another bite, munching with the carefree manners of someone actually hungry.

“Can’t do that here.” he wheezed a laugh, then thumbed over his shoulder at the bright lights of the trucker club blazing in the dark sky through the dirty glass doors of the gas station. “But over there it’s legal.”

“You so horny you’d pay to watch a girl eat a corndog?” you were dubious, wondering just how little Miss Clarissa put out if he’d waste money on this, it wasn’t like she was busy repainting her Flamingo’s peeling eyes or nothin’.

“I’d pay for a drink for ya.” Carl offered, fidgety hands wedged in his fraying front pockets. “And you can eat another dog. You like hot dogs? They’ve got ‘em over there.”

“Nah, I need cash.” you declined, aware that you could barter for drinks and end up evicted or else make sacrifices regarding the booze and keep your tin roof over your head.

“Cash?” he repeated like a dumb parrot.

“Yeah, stupid.” you flailed your hands a little in annoyance, fully certain everyone in this run down rural suburb knew you were as broke as you are alcoholic at seventeen.

“Ok, then I’ll pay for your hot dog,” he negotiated with an oil stained finger scratching at the sore on the corner of his mouth, “And you can eat it so long as you do it how I tell ya.”

You sighed and ran your chipping nails along the plastic jugs of car oil. “So long as ya let me eat it.” you stipulate, “And you gotta pay for the show.”

“I ain’t made of money, girl!” Carl protested, “I’m buyin’ dinner, you should be thankin’ me.”

“You were plannin’ on buyin’ me a drink.” you pointed out, “Where’s that money gone?”

“Jeeze ok, ok,” Carl sighed, “I’ll pay you same as a wild Turkey would cost.”

“And a dog?”

“Yeah.”

“With chili on it?”

“Oh c’mon now-“

“-It’ll make for good slurpin.” you pointed out sagaciously

Carl groaned in annoyance and appreciation for the mental image. “Ok, a chili dog and the cost of a shot. No funny shit with the tab and you eat it how I say.”

“Does the club have air conditioning?” You asked your last stipulation.

“Course it does, it would be hot as fuck without.”

Your trailer was hot as fuck and anytime spent loitering elsewhere was greatly desired. “Ok then.” you agreed with a shrug.

By the time you’d crossed the parking lot, with Carl’s guiding hand on your lower back, you were irritable from the heat and exhaust fumes. Inside was cool and almost as dark as the parking lot except for the wild, multi-colored lights swirling around the place, highlighting the girls humping the stage floor in the middle of the establishment. One more underage addition wasn’t remotely as remarkable as the fella in the corner trying to take a bite outta a lap dancer’s boob. He got smacked on the cheek for it and nothin’ more, got his full dance anyway and as you watched her after while sitting up on the bar stool, you noticed her negotiate something similar to what you’d just done. She stayed in his lap after her dance was done and after some gesticulating and her unimpressed sighs, some agreement was reached and you watched them get up and walk to the back of the club, through the backdoor that you knew led to nothing more than miles and miles of desert.

Five minutes later a similar transaction occurred between a trucker and a pole girl. They went out back, too. Ten minutes later the first couple came back in. She went to the stage and he went out the front door Carl had brought you in by.

By that point you were slowly inserting a hot dog onto your pink tongue and swallowing a bite every three minutes or more - at least, that’s what it felt like. Carl’s directions were so slow and infuriatingly erratic that you found yourself grateful for the fact you’d already eaten a bit at the gas station, otherwise this would’ve been the cruelest tease to your belly that hadn’t had lunch and only Raisin Bran for breakfast. You chose to ignore the way his hand moved in the shadow of the bar, wiping at his jeans too many times to be passed off as sweaty palms.

A nearly fully dressed girl in cut offs eating a chili dog was hardly the most sensational thing to be watched in this seedy joint, but it was the most peculiar and no sooner had you finished the dog after a laborious thirty minutes, collected the extra drink cash and prepared to go home after declining Carl’s offer of a ride before you found yourself propositioned for the same ordeal. This big fella actually offered a drink with it and much to Carl’s betrayed horror you agreed. Carl ended up leaving, going home to Clarissa, feeling too cuckolded to continue watching someone else watch you eat meat in a casing.

In between sipping Hard Mike’s lemonade you chatted with the fella and spilled pinto beans on your bare legs from the excess. Even the bartender had stopped being annoyed, he even got a bit invested in your gig, retracting the offered napkins for the spill when another guy, a farm hand from the pecan grove down the interstate, asked to lick it off.

You charged seventeen bucks for that spit bath and felt funny as the saliva dried in the chilled bar room air. The bartender asked you if you lived in El Paso. Hesitating to give yourself away or open yourself up to a driveby, you merely agreed that you lived nearby, he didn’t need to know you lived in the Spark City suburb and walked to this tuck station grill to save fuel.

Marty, he said his name was, and Marty was pleased you lived close. In that case he asked if you’d wanna work there. You knew at the time he wasn’t offering you to bartend, your age prohibitive even in so lax an establishment. Your eyes flicked over to the long gal with her sallow skin and stringy red hair loling around the stripper pole in the glow of a green spotlight. It had to be 3:00 am by then.

“Does everybody do extra?” You asked him, plainly referencing the deals that took folks out back into the sagebrush and the backside of the club.

“You do as much as you wanna get paid for.” he admitted. “Plenty just strip.”

Just, he had said. Just strip.

Just stripping was a gross understatement for the rigorous and demoralizing ordeal of flinging your practically naked body around on stage for gaping older men to ogle each night. But it took up hours of your time not paid by the dollar store wages, and you could snooze from five am to eight when your shift began again in respectable retail. You earned a decent amount, even after having to pay Marty and the doormen a portion and even turning down a lap dance or two. The chili dog schtick kept its novelty for three nights and then you were driven to grinding against the pold like all the others, wondering if they’d all hoped to not end this way, same as you.

After a few weeks of this your piggy bank was less empty than it had been in months, hidden under the sink of your trailer behind the Comet and pulled out only to stuff in bills or else retrieve bread money, one Sunday you counted enough to pay your lease for the trailer slip. What was left would make a tiny little down payment for the electricity bill.

Or gas money for at least fifty miles or more in your gas guzzler. You weighed the bills in your hands and mournfully inspected your bruised knees. It was your off day, you contemplated going to the club in the evening as it didn’t respect the Lord’s day like the dollar store, but until then you had hours of a perfectly cloudless day to burn. Suddenly your trailer felt unbearable in its stuffy crampedness.

You tore outta your door and cranked up your daddy’s old Ford and with relief found it started with only a few tries. You tore down the road too, seeking the interstate after using that cash to top her tank off. For the first time in ages a full smile had begun to split your face. You went east, passing the last remnant of civilization that you called home and comprised El Paso’s dusty satellite cling ons. Then it was open range, nothing just mesas and tumbleweed, no one else could brag of such flat country or so wide a sky.

You floored it, the speed limit a decent 80 on its own, you went up to 120, fast as you dared push the transmission without fear of being stranded in the desert. Billboards warned of “last chance for gas, Van Horn 200 miles” followed by a possibly related: “God is coming, have you repented?”

All flew by in a unheeded blur as you cranked up the stereo and let the wind whip your hair. You covered a patrol car in a cloud of dust and saw his lights flash at you in the rearview. No chase commenced. When you leisurely drove back you noticed it was highway patrol, the sun was setting and he flashed his brights at you. You flicked them back.

“Hey officer Presley.” you murmured amused at him turning a blind eye to the speeding. Back when you had more money and made a regular habit of this amateur racing, you noticed the same benevolent light flicker and never a siren broke the still of the desert. “You ole softy.” you giggled at the thought of the middle aged officer being generous for you and only you, and wondered if he’d heard about what had become of you yet. Seems like most of the trailer park had. Favorite topic these days, right up there with when or if your daddy was ever gonna come home. Had the wives hating you during the day for the suspicion of their men wanking over you at night.

“Maybe if you could spare a single food stamp or somethin’ to help a gal in need I’d not be strippin’!” You had hollered at Ms Clarissa for all to hear and you stood by it. Buncha lousy, miserable hypocrites who did far worse behind their canvas doors.

You do go to the club that night.

You stripped down to your panties and bra and made enough to buy ice and a trip to the dentist. You packed the ice in the dead refrigerator and pampered yourself with some milk and a carton of ice cream for the filled tooth.

Next day you filled up your gas tank again and blazed a path through town, headed to the wide open and dreaming of busting your way into the male ranks of nascar drivers. You were deep into a daydream and committing a little self pity about how you hadn't been able to afford cable and were missing all the races when a siren’s blare broke your fantasy and the flicker of red lights against a pale blue sky filled your rearview. Begrudgingly you pulled to the shoulder as you cranked down your window, fiddling with the radio knobs till you could actually hear your crime when your peruser sauntered up.

“Well, well officer Presley, finally got persnickety about laws, have ya?” you observed to yourself with a grin as you watched the handsome man swagger towards you along the white line in your side mirror, tugging at his pants as he neared, trying to shimmy the article of clothing a little higher but is impeded by his belt, stopped by his sizable belly, his holster and buckle sitting under the bulge of it.

Your mouth watered. It had been close to a year since you’d seen him up close, not since last time he pulled you over, though you always took note when he was lounging outside his trailer in a lawn chair with his dog or stripped down and working under his hood. He was always built, intimidating to all the stupid rascals he kept in line along the border, but now he had become outright fat and his khaki shirt pulled apart between each button. Yet when he came up to your window, that little boy's grin was still gracing one of the most exquisite faces known to man, and his voice was tender and playful when he greeted you, just as you once recalled. You could see his sweaty hair, matted on his chest and belly between the gaps, his underarms have massive pit stains, doubly apparent thanks to the light color of his police uniform.

Your smile had something of the she-wolf in it as you greeted him, sniffing the air in hopes of catching a whiff as he leaned on your window frame, nearly crowding you from outside. “Hey Miss Lead Foot Louie,” he greeted, “you know why ya been pulled over?”

“Haven't got a clue, officer.” You stated the truth and enjoyed the way his title rolled off your tongue in a bantering way. It was easy.

Officer, officer. Somebody important and authoritative. No sir, yes sir, Officer.

His left eyebrow quirked and you wondered what he looked like at twenty five, how devastating that expression would have been before his wound and his meds and the water retention. Whatever power it may have once held, it holds nothing to that slightly bemused, slightly cynical world weariness that shows in his every expression now, that had a twitch of an eyebrow making you feel a fool in the most delicious way. “You’re goin’ seventy in a forty five, Miss.” his tone was patient even as his face suggested he’d like to tan your hide for being so reckless. “Reckless endangerment of others, and yourself,” he quoted sternly, “it ain’t no small matter and I don’t countenance it on my highway.”

Gosh, you just loved it when he laid claim to government property like highways and interstates. It helped you smile meekly at him and nod.

“Sorry officer, I got lax.” You purred, batting your eyes and you could see the heavy flap of their coal coated weight in your periphery. “I’ve seen you lettin’ me fly by on the interstate. I guess I thought…”

He leaned further into her car window, shirt gaping helpfully at his neck and allowing you a glimpse of sweaty hair, little droplets shining like rhinestone studs in the coarse curls. You leaned towards him, nipples hardening beneath your t-shirt bra as your mind started to the taste of salt. “You’re in town, miss.” he pointed out with grave disappointment for your lack of behavioral modulation, “S’one thing on the open plain, it’s another when you’re endangerin’ your fellow citizens, flyin’ through intersections, speedin’ up and threadin’ traffic when you’ve got a visible yield sign. Right there! Ain’t responsible. And I won’t countenance it.”

“Sorry officer.” you pleaded, lingering on his rank with all the sultry appreciation of a girl who lacks authority figures in her life. It made his palm itch.

He sighed and gave you a small smile, puffy, marshmallow lips set under a dark five o’clock shadow and it wasn’t even noon. “Now, how many times do I gotta pull ya over ‘fore ya start listenin’ to me?“ he asked with patient expectancy and you swallowed hard, actually feeling a small bit of guilt.

“Well,” you drew it out, biting your lip before tossing your head and beaming at him, “maybe just one last time. Like always.”

He tsked at you in reprimand but his eyes lit up with enjoyment, and that was worth whatever fine he might slap you with. It really wasn’t, not with how broke you were but gosh, you loved breaking the ice on him, reeling him in for another verbal tussle. One day you hoped those expressive hands would accidently smack you mid-wave when he was explaining something or other. You lived in hope of that day.

You watched as he straightened briefly and reviewed your vehicle, thumbing at the peeling paint on the hood near his thumb and swished at the sand on your tags. You held your breath, hoping the dust would disguise their expiration. Officer Presley just grunted and surveyed your lemoning old truck with the face of a man who appreciates nice things and doesn't see any nice things in sight. The face of a man whose patrol car was a Ford Mustang.

“You like speed.” he observed, still glancing at your tires with lip curling disdain. You wanted him to look at you like that but his face always softened when he turned back to you. It did this time as well.

“Yeah.” you breathed.

“You got a shit truck for speed, terrible drag, shit tread on your tires, bet it’s a gas guzzler, too.”

“Well yeah, officer,” you rolled your eyes at his survey, “but it’s not like I can afford much else right now so -I do this for fun. Fun’s not illegal in America yet, is it?”

He looked at you gravely then and his eyes turned sad. “Yeah I heard about the strippin’. You watch yourself now, be careful and make sure you don’t engage in no extra-curric-u-lars.” he advised sternly, peering over his tinted sunglasses at you while saying the big word, over pronouncing it with authoritative gravitas, “I’ve told Marty that means no bar tendin’ when you’re underage. And I’m tellin’ you now, that goes for solictin’, too. You understand me? Nice lil girl like you could get in a heap of trouble real fast. And I won’t countenance it.”

The rest of you perked up at the heavy handed advice, feeling smothered and also cherished that someone would give a shit, even if they were just defending laws n’ government regulations. Thinking of them as Officer Presley’s laws, as his property you were twerking on somehow ennobled your calling, made you feel like giving it a try to be good and not disappoint him. You felt grateful he hadn't chewed you out for the stripping like half the neighborhood, you’d expected some disgust.

When he finally looked at you with disdain, and you were determined that he would, it would be for something less unchangeable, a little less broke, a little more sexy.

“Yes sir, I got ya.” you acknowledged with a nervous laugh to hide your discomfort with the way he kept staring at you, reading you, it felt.

He kept at it for a few moments, chomping on that gum stick in his mouth, dexterous pink tongue lolling the stuff from one row of molars to the others and back. Most fascinating ping-pong match you’d ever seen and while he did his soul-reading, you watched his mouth.

As his jaw worked overtime, he narrowed his eyes at you, so blue they looked violet behind the tint of his lenses. “A’ight.” he decided at last and suddenly your window was bereft of his congenial bulk, you heard the rap of his knuckles on your truck roof.

“You stay outta trouble now, Missy.” he let you off with only a warning, two sharp knocks on the metal and then, “I’ll be seein’ ya.”

You watched the side mirror with investment as he meandered away, futilly hiking up his holster again as he went before he entered his squad car. He flashed his lights at you as you stayed gawking, you fumbled with the ignition and peeled out off the shoulder, moderating your acceleration upon afterthought. You’d promised to be good.

But nights at the Trucker Bar didn’t pay to be good. You had a laundry list of things you wanted and a hefty list of needs alongside it. You tried picking up a shift at the Texaco but Ashley there near tore your hair out against the beer coolers for encroaching on her shift. Everyone needed work and Spark City had never been much of a City, too little infrastructure to prosper its community in good times, much less in the pits of a recession. The Best Buy in El Paso was hiring, you read in a mail advertisement. Their wages cost as much gas it took to drive there and back.

So you got pretty good at something else, something Officer Presley wouldn’t be impressed by, or maybe he would in a moment of weakness but lord, much as you worried and panicked some times about him dropping in on the Trucker stop, meeting eyes and him just knowing you’d been doing extracurriculars, he never showed. Must not have been his scene. Not that you were sure what his scene was, you only ever saw him in his patrol car or else cleaning his guns on his trailer porch next to his Tiger figurine.

You assumed he liked blow jobs as much as the next man. But he never showed and so you got more and more lax, went out back of the bar to the Sagebrush desert and blew heavy tippers against the concrete wall, ant bites and stickers plaguing your knees. So far you hadn’t even needed to walk on over past the broken wall to the dingy motel in back and do the horizontal tango.

Moderate extracurriculars and the dancing was enough to tip your little piggy bank into having a little something to shake at the end of the day. You got yourself a haul of cereal and hot pockets that night, even splurged on milk that went rancid by the next day without refrigeration. You spent your late mornings debating how much money you had left for rent and how much you had for electricity and the viability of buying a generator instead of paying the bill. You also wanted a Blackberry phone real bad, your old flip phone a relic and on its last wheezes -maybe that’s why your dad’s calls never came through.

You were chewing off the price tag of your dollar flip flops, walking barefoot out of your daytime workplace -Dollar General- at the end of your shift when you realized there was a patrol car pulled up beside your Ford. First you cursed, then you grinned as you saw the familiar figure of Officer Presley wiping at your windshield with a bandana. Then you cursed again as you realized he was checking your expired tags.

You jogged over the burning asphalt, still tied flip flops in hand, hoping you didn’t look like shit from having taken off the Dollar Store vest without smoothing your hair afterwards. You hadn’t been good, he could be here for anything, soliciting, or for the speeding you know he caught on his radar or else the tags.

“Hey officer!” you chirped, as carefree and smiley as you could manage -and you’d gotten to be a tidy little liar at the club, insisting you couldn’t wait to have greasy, unwashed truckers in your mouth.

He turned his head slowly, hand still heavy on the windshield and observed you through those glasses again. “Don’t you ‘hey officer’ me.” he retorted, riled despite himself at the way you always said his rank like he had you locked up with frilly pink handcuffs to his waterbed. He shook his head and focused on the variety of delinquencies he had to reprimand you for. “These tags are out of date.”

“Aww,” you feigned consternation pretty decently as you really hadn’t bothered to prioritize the tags with every other dire cost pummeling you right now, “I’m sorry Elvis.” you tried a little familiarity as you drew closer, watching enthralled as a stale desert window tufted the front of his black locks of his sweaty forehead, “Things’ve been a lil tight for a while now, what with daddy leavin’. Slipped my mind.”

He pulled his hand off the windshield and his hands tried to rest on his hips but they slipped and ended up in an odd, off-kilter sorta sling on his pockets and belly, “They’re three years overdue.” his tone sounded unimpressed, you shivered despite the heat.

“Oh.” you chewed your lip and gazed at him hopefully.

“I oughta tan your hide, lettin’ you turn feral with all my concessions.” he said aloud while stippling his fingers on your rusting truck hood. His eyes dropped to the newly purchased, junk flip flops you still clutched. “Why’re you bare foot?”

“My last pair broke.” you explained, end of your shift the thong had snapped and here you were with the replacements.

“Well put ‘em on, the road’s nasty.” he grunted in aggravation, eyes dropping to your feet and widening in disgust at the welts and blisters you’d accumulated from your cheap stripper heels. “Holy shit, that’s gnarly right there.”

You felt a bit offended by that, wanting to object it was the toll of the job, sorta like fat guts came from lounging in patrol cars for a living. Figuring you were in deep deep enough shit as is without outright insulting him, you bit your tongue and chewed on the plastic connector again, trying to free your sandals.

“Oh for God’s sake, stop that.” he growled after a minute and to your bewilderment he stepped in your space and grabbed the foam footwear out of your mouth, “Gonna chip a tooth goin’ on that way, then your tips’ll go down, ya thought of that? No? No you don’t think ahead about nothin’.”

He was working himself up into a frustrated frenzy, tugging at the plastic tag, mumbling all the while about your behavior until it snapped at last and separated the flip flops. He stared dumbly at his success for a minute while you tittered. Bad move on your part, his eyes darkened and he genuinely scowled at you, something more effective than it should have been with his outdated sideburns carving lines in his cheeks.

“Turn around.” he demanded and you snapped your mouth shut, confused by his attitude and furtively eyeing your flip flops still dwarfed in his gloved hands. Who the hell wore gloves in this decade? In this century? In an El Paso suburb that was only a degree or two cooler than the surface of the sun.

You turned around.

“Hands on the hood.” he told you.

You placed them on the burning metal and wished you had gloves, angling your body away from the hot body of the truck, wincing at the heat, on tippy toes to save your feet from the asphalt. Was he gonna cuff you? He hadn’t even read you your rights and could a person even be arrested for tags? You really didn’t know and you never thought he would-

Suddenly a loud snap resounded in the empty parking lot and a white hot sting against your bottom distracted you from the pain of the hot car. You yelped in shock, hand flying to nurse the denim clad ass cheek that was burning from his smack. You glared over your shoulder at Officer Presley, ready to give him what for about him taking parental liberties until you saw his face folded into childish consternation, poofy bottom lip jutted out in remorse as he viewed the snapped flip flop in his hands.

He’d broken a shoe on you. Appreciation flared back, and you wanted to squeeze his cheeks and tell him it was ok, he could ruin the other, too.

“Aww shit, now I-I-I didn’t mean for that-“ he bemoaned, turning the ruined foam pad around and around in his hands as if there was a way to fix it when the other half was on the ground.

“It’s ok.” You heard yourself comfort the fucker who’d just spanked you in broad daylight.

“But you just finished your shift.” he muttered, and his consideration for your inconvenience touched you, “Here I-I-I’ll go buy ya another pair. Uh, yeah, c’mon.”

You skipped alongside him, trying to get him to look over at you but his face was flushed and his eyes trained on his task, picking out a hot pink pair instead of the polka dots you had chosen. “Does nothin’ for your lil sooties and brings the attention away from the polish ya got painted and instead directs the eye to the crustaceans and shit ya got goin’ on.” he referenced your calluses with a grimace and reached into his back pocket to pull out his worn wallet.

You stared at the hefty meat of his ass the entire time and almost missed it when he pulled out five dollars and put them on the register. You watched his ass and its khaki clad splendor as he returned the wallet without change and wiggled it into the tight back pocket.

At the double sliding glass doors of the front he snapped the tag there and then and squatted down with a little grunt, his knees popping audibly as he gallantly laid out your cheap slippers. You stepped into them, taking the liberty of putting a balancing hand on his sweaty shoulder.

His hand ran up your wrist and held you there a minute longer than it needed for stability. He squeezed twice and let go. You watched him heft himself up to his feet with admiration and a little pity for the stiff way he moved when he’d been stuck in one position for too long. Seemed to you so long as he was kept moving he did alright, nice and fluid and you’d seen him chase and tackle a man on foot awhile back, he’d been runnin’ like the wind then. He had it in him, just lounging in the patrol car hardly helped things.

You got the sudden and stupid urge to ask if he wanted to go swimming in the Motel 6’s pool, it would be good for his joints and your sore back and he’d be wet and maybe have his shirt off and you could-

“I got somethin’ to tell ya, it’s w-w-why I-I stopped when I saw your truck and uh, sweetie, let’s stay h-here in the cool.” he gently tugged your arm back with the pads of his pretty fingers hooked on your deltoid, pulling you back over the threshold and into the dryer sheet scented air of the Dollar General.

“What is it?” you asked him as he seemed nervous, a foreign look on him. You started to feel a little panic at the thought he might be leaving, going back to wherever he came from, done with this Podunk town and its big crime and little criminals.

“There ain’t no easy way to say this a-a-and I wanted you to hear it from me.” he chose his words carefully, eyes trained on the white and speckled tile below your feet until after a big breath he lifted his stunning eyes and gazed at you gently and in the most gallant way you’d ever been looked at before, murmuring in clear, compassionate tones, “They caught your daddy the other night -drug runnin’. Ain’t no petty marijuana charge or somethin’, it’s the big stuff. He’s gonna be put away, for a long while, in-car-cer-ated.” he specified with distinct pronunciation, “For a long while, Miss. I’m sorry to be the one t-t-to t-tell but I wanted you to know it’s true, I-I-l booked him in myself.”

“Well,” you swallowed hard, a little ashamed you’d been more alarmed at the prospect of officer Presley leaving than suspecting anything wrong with your walking disappointment of a father, “well damn.” you muttered.

“You don’t seem much surprised.” he pointed out, pulling his tinted shades down his nose to get a clear review of you, he had a red line on his nose from their weight.

“I barely know him anymore,” you admitted, “and I doubted he was gone spreading charity or something.”

“Yeah.”

“But damn -he was supposed to come back.” you felt a little angry about that part. A little childish for believing it too.

“Maybe he meant to,” he soothed, although your father’s entrenched position on the river suggested a more permanent stay, “and was doing all that sellin’ to give you somethin’ better but he was breakin’ the law and endangerin-“

“-Endangering others, I know.” you snapped at him, not because he was anything but nice, you snapped at him because he was very kind and he had a silver, shiny, sanctimonious badge on the large swell of his left peck.

The longer you stared at the badge the more you wanted to sink your dollar store acrylics into the meat of that man and try tearing -they’d probably break and it made your eyes swim with tears of frustration and you stomped out of the double glass doors into the heat of the parking lot. The sun would be going down soon and that’s when your best customers would pour into the club. You snapped your way across the asphalt on the flip flops he got you, ignoring his calls behind you as you wrenched open the squeaking truck door and hopped up into the cab.

“Really it’s fine!” you yelled at him as he came up to the window again, the concern and reproval written on his face way more heavy than you could take right then, “It’s not like I was expecting him back anytime soon anyway and -and you’ve got a job to do, ok? I get it. I get it, ok? Now I gotta go, officer.” You cranked up your engine and diesel fumes swirled around him. He batted the air in front of his face like a dainty lady would a swarm of flies and leaned heavier still on your rolled down window.

“I just wanted to let ya know.” he reaffirmed his intention, his gesticulations bringing your eyes to the gold watch around his wrist that jangled against the car metal, “Tell ya not to uh, don’t do nothin’ rash, alright? Just ‘cause he’s gone. You’re a big girl, you’ll make it. You ‘member what I said last time ‘bout extracurriculars?”

“I’d like to do you some extracurriculars.” you seethed with an angry smile and he looked taken aback, actually stepping away from the truck and his belly heaved with his offended breaths. One hand balled in a fist at his side and the other twitched, fiat palm swaying beside his thigh like he was gonna smack again. Extracurriculars -you’d like to take his no doubt chubby little cock right down to the sweaty thatched base and chew, just to earn a real spanking.

Maybe this lewd intent was written on your face but he slowly backed away from your truck like you’d gone looney, pointing his finger at you as he went, “You be good, I mean it. And that’s goes for respectin’ officers of the law.”

He was about to get into his side, looking over his car top in admonishment and you quickly made sure your truck was still in park before turning round in the seat and hanging yourself out the window, cleavage pressed against the edge to your best advantage and blew him a kiss. “I’m always a good girl, officer!” you swore adamantly and it stopped him dead in his tracks, stopped in a half crouch to his seat, that eyebrow disbelieving, “Officer Presley commissioned me to be good and I ain’t anything but!” you swore.

Took him five whole seconds to recall he was supposed to have his ass seated by then and he lowered himself the rest of the way into his car. His belly brushed the steering wheel and his legs spread themselves even in the driver's seat, it made your crushed breasts tingle. “Be-have.” he pointed that finger again and your thighs clamped shut on your seats, overwhelmed with unbidden thoughts of the long and slender digit probing inside you. How’d his fingers stay so slender when the rest of him bulked up?

You saluted as poorly as you could and watched him drive off, aggression plain in his accelerations and the way he took his turns. He shoulda stayed and spanked the other cheek, you thought, as you turned around and slumped in your seat, legs splayed and fighting a desperate urge to slip a hand down your shorts. You hoped to god he’d find some quiet shoulder of the road in the desert this evening and with a car passing every twelve minutes, tug a load out to the thought of wacking your denim booty with his belt. It would be good for his blood pressure.

Hands sticky from your own dismal release, you pulled out of the parking lot ten minutes behind him and, too scarce on time to go home first, drove straight to the club, knowing full well that you could always just strip down to your underwear.

Or less.

What with dad permanently unhelpful now, it was a fact of life that you’d have to do more than get by till he came back. You’d already accepted that awhile ago, this just confirmed it. You figured you’d need to save another stash of money, like the real professional girls did, girls like Kelcie and Shay, a little fund for renting out a motel room at night. The one a quarter mile out back of the truck stop, no harm in it except for a few bramble scratches in the dark and the odd coyote not scared off by the truckers’ loud moans out back at the blow job wall.

But for tonight you hadn’t any such stash and so after a few hours at the poll and chatting up the fellas lounging on barstools, you found the tip jar lacking and made one of those lil deals that were becoming almost as commonplace as getting your butt pinched.

This time, in the moth attracting glow of the outside light, your customer had a New York accent and while at cock level you learned from his fancy, dangling silver keychain that his buddies knew him as Joe E.

Now Joe E had a little brown cock and a small, fused ballsack under a sizable belly like most of these men in here did, and you did some of your best work on him. It was easy to do with him fitting in your mouth so easily, you pulled out every trick you’d learned at this wall, all of which he unfortunately resisted succumbing to more than the usual client. He’d pull himself out of your throat and he would grip his base, prolonging his experience and you supposed he had a right to it, he was paying money for something and he might as well do it how he liked but your jaw ached after a while. Soon your ears ached worse, exhausted and fed up with the self important monologue he kept up between the usual, self promoting stud talk that an unimpressive man in his forties likes to indulge in while paying for sex acts out back of a hole in the wall truckers club.

Joe E tasted like he hadn’t touched a fresh vegetable in years and through the overwhelming desire to puke you recognized with some pleasure that he was tipping you extra for being “like a damn vacuum down there, you pretty little dog.”

You drove home from the club, headlights on dim in the early morning and passed by Officer Presley’s double wide with intent, choosing the route you’d take if you were walking. It was dark inside but as you passed you saw he wasn’t asleep, his car was still gone.

You wondered if his doggie was in there or on patrol with him. You sighed and pulled into your own weedy drive, depressed with something you didn’t know the cause of.

You brushed your teeth, you ate cereal after remembering you hadn’t eaten, and stripped out of your clothes before crashing into bed, falling asleep in seconds despite the musty, unconditioned air inside.

It was the next morning, so near afternoon as to barely warrant it but Elvis Presley liked to take credit for any bit of effort he made and so let the record show it was still morning, when he entered the Waffle House off Moody Blvd and sat himself down in a booth and ordered his usual. It arrived at 11:56 in the morning and so it was breakfast, not lunch by any stretch of the imagination. He’d been up all night, the usual plaguing reasons and a few added to it. You, thoughts of you and tanning your hide and gripping you and you squirming over his lap made his patrols a hellish experience and he was almost glad for the distraction of the fucker without plates pulling out in front of him and making a run for it through the border checkpoint at 8:45 pm.

Now he was distracting himself with food, and if there was anything in his life to rival his appreciation of a slippery and obligin’ pussy, it was five scrambled eggs piled high on a white plate with burnt bacon to the side and waffles stacked on a companion plate. Brenda put them down with a smile and gave him a side hug that made his face brush her apron and shoulda gotten her fired by the food regulations but Elvis liked Brenda for her affectionate ways and the way he didn’t ever have to correct her about his order.

“You look tired.” she worried over him and he found a smile starting to threaten on his face, he stuck his fork in the eggs to distract himself.

“Just a busy night.” he admitted and absentmindedly rubbed at his sore knee.

“Aww you’re a treasure, keepin’ us so safe.” he patted his arm again and he fully smiled this time. “You just tell me if you need anythin’ else. I’ve got more coffee, lemme get ya more coffee, Elvis.”

“Thanks Miss Brenda.” he called to her and she giggled as she fetched the cloudy pot.

The bell over the entrance jangled and from Elvis’ chosen vantage point in a booth that faced the doors, always facing his entry that man, he saw Joe Esposito walk in, smiling like a motherfucker for a Wednesday morning and swaggering like Elvis hadn't seen the little runt do since he passed the bar back in 1980 something.

“Hey Brenda, hey EP!” Joe greeted and Elvis braced himself for a cheerful morning when all his hopes had been for some quiet and a little maple syrup glazed despondency.

“Hey Joe.” Elvis greeted his old friend, “You in town?”

“Yeah, my route’s takin’ me to Las Cruces.” Joe informed him as he helped himself to the booth across from Elvis without invitation. If he ate one of Elvis’ bacon strips, even reached for it, Elvis would be pulling out his Glock.

“How’s business?” Elvis asked as neutrally as possible, knowing that it was a sore subject for Joe who had once bragged about being destined for big things, holding it over everybody else at the high school back in Memphis. Still Elvis couldn’t help but ask, partly because it was small talk and if he could get Joe on the subject he knew the feller wouldn’t stop talking, and Elvis could then eat his eggs with minimal requirements for speech. He also took some inner consolation in the fact that all Joe’s brags had worked out about as poorly as Elvis’ dreams had.

It made for two portly middle aged men in a Waffle House booth discussing gas prices at noon.

Joe ordered just pancakes and Elvis judged the lack of meat from beneath his lavender shades and patiently asked the right questions to keep Joe smacking his breakfast with an open mouth and waxing sentimental about life on the road. It suited Joe, even if it was boringly unimportant, he was king of the road in between stops at Walmart distribution centers and out in the stretches of no man’s land the girls were cheap, far cheaper than any Times Square street walker. Joe hadn’t been to Times Square since he was sixteen but it was something he still liked to brag of and to incorporate in his life story like it was an integral part of his narrative.

“But are they fresher?” Elvis inquired, always intrigued by the subject of pussy but also harboring a deep aversion to the way most men spoke on the subject.

“Nah, not really, but that’s why ya go for the mouth.” Joe catechsied Elvis on the ways of call girls and Elvis felt his eye twitch, personally he enjoyed blow jobs as much as the next guy but to avoid the pussy all together as Joe was suggesting? It took all the joy out of the act for Elvis and he picked at his eggs morosely as he listened. He’d had such a large appetite before Joe sat down and started talking of fishy cunts and girls with throats like drainage pipes.

Joe had been to the truckers lounge, the trucker club, the strip place, whatever it was called -the place Marty ran. Elvis knew it, he tried not to react to the name, to pretend he didn’t gas up at the Texaco next door with the express intent of hoping to catch sight of you some nights. He never did, and he’d never been in. But Joe had gone in and Joe being Joe sat across from Elvis the next morning and bragged to a law officer about paying for a blow job. Which along with ruining Elvis’ appetite was offense enough for Elvis to decide to arrest the fucker, but the eloquent details of the slut who’d given it to him made Elvis see red.

Elvis didn’t really mind folks watching you, some stupid, possessive part of him was glad that all those fuckers drooled over you and couldn’t touch, same as him as he sat year after year in his lawn chair on his porch, watching you pass his trailer with longer and longer legs, prettier and prettier as the dusty days rolled by.

But to touch you? That someone else had touched you? The butter on his waffles suddenly looked wrong.

“-just fifty bucks man. Fifty bucks well spent.” Joe was bragging like he’d cheated the stock market and Elvis heard a roar in his ears that the doctors swore the pills would take care of.

You’d sucked Joe Esposita for fifty dollars right after Elvis had told you to be good and you’d blown him a kiss.

His chest hurt.

Elvis had Joe’s greasy face pressed into the syrupy plate with his hands behind his back and cuffs clanking before either the officer or the suspect even realized his intent. “Prostitution’s illegal, motherfucker, as is paying for such services in the state of Texas.”

You’d told him you’d be good. Fuck! He so badly didn’t wanna think of Joe being your first that he had to countenance speculation about you making a regular habit of this thing which was both worse and better all at once and he took out his frustration at that knowledge by trundling Joe into the back of the squad car with far more force than necessary.

It was a flimsy charge to file, Elvis knew that even before the clerk gave him the usual papers to fill out with a confused look. Wasn’t like Elvis was gonna put down your face or name, give away your crime. Without that connection the charge of paying for sex was flimsy and Joe would be released before dark. But it was nice to hear him sqealin’ and bitchin’ about his driving schedule and a buncha other ordinary begs that made Joe E sound as pathetic as Elvis knew he was.

It fortified Elvis throughout the day, kept him from going to your trailer or interrupting you at work to ask why in God’s name you would degrade yourself like that. It kept him bolstered with red hot rage until he was staked out in desert twilight on the dark side of the Texaco, headlights off and his eyes squinted as he watched patrons and girls go into the club.

This was his fault, for locking your daddy up, driving you to such lengths. He felt sick about it, shoulda known a stubborn, white trash girl like you would just reach for the next alternative this easy. Made him sick. Elvis suddenly felt nice and superior to all these men filing into the neon lit cinderblock structure, he had resisted touching himself to the fantasies that had filled his mind about you last night. Wasn’t pertinent that he had a stiffy right now, that was just the nerves and excitement of a stake out revving him up

He lit up a cigar and let Mellancamp growl over the stereo, engine off and the key turned just a little for the dash lights to stay on. He wasn’t sure when you got off work at the club, he assumed it must be some time around dawn and that suited his shit circadian rhythm just fine. He wasn’t tired as the hours went by, he was downright furious and his heart hurt and he popped a couple oxys sitting there with his busted knee throbbing and his mind a demented echo chamber.

By the time the sky was turning a sickly violet with the first promises of sunrise, Elvis had worked himself up to such a degree as to have his door flung open and one boot rhythmically tapping against the cement in his agitation, legs spread to alleviate the ache his pills had provoked in his groin even as the rest of him felt loose and untethered and decidedly deserving for once.

When you walked out the front of the club into the stale early morning air you laughed to yourself at the silliness of thinking you’d need a coat. Your little denim shorts and cherry print crop top suited just fine even in the early dark. That NASCAR jacket you’d had your eye on, the one Shay showed you on eBay, it would have to wait, the tips were shit tonight. No real hurt with that, wasn’t like it was cold. Just another something you wanted and would have to put off. You hadn’t driven tonight as the walk was cheaper and closer but you’d forgotten your pepper spray back at the truck stop and you hesitated for a moment about going back in, hating the idea of getting sucked into some sorta early morning drama from the drunk leftovers. While you were debating, a flash of white seared your vision and you staggered to a stop in the middle of the mostly deserted parking lot.

Headlights.

Well shit, now you really wished you had that spray. You thought about making a run for it, trying the nearest truck cab and praying the guy in it was less of a creep than whoever stakes out on the deserted side of the building.

“You get over here!” the approaching figure came into view, finally silhouetted by his own lights as he stalked towards you wearing a leather trench coat like some noir villain.

It would be a lie to say you breathed easier when you recognized Officer Presley’s commanding baritone.

“Shit shit shit.” you chanted beneath your breath at how riled he sounded and his right hand started making angry gestures for you to approach as he himself closed the distance with a deceptively fast gait.

“Hey, get your ass over here, I called you.” he yelled far more loudly than necessary with his massive hands already closing around your wrists, you didn’t even think to make a run for it, where exactly in the world was a kinder place to turn to than this angry law officer who always nosed in your business too much? “Get, get over here.” he repeated with a yank and tugged you stumbling over your flip flops to his squad car.

He bent you over the hood, just like you’d dreamed of more than a few times and you felt the heat of the headlight against your thigh as your shoulders got twisted back. “-solicitation,” he was pronouncing and your heart sank at the realization he had caught you after your promise, “prostitution-“ the cold clamp of a handcuff on your wrist had none of the rebel thrill you once imagined, it was terrifying and you whimpered pathetically at the thought that you’d expended his patience, that maybe your flirty banters had been one sided and he really was fed up with you.

“Officer-“ you begged with your cheek smashed to the hood.

Some guy had walked up, actually being a good citizen and concerned about the manhandling. It took one flash of Officer Presley’s badge for the guy to back away with a mere “you at least gonna read her the rights, man?”, throwing concerned looks over his shoulder. Maybe he’d been a tipper, you didn’t recall one face from another unless they were awfully ugly or skinny.

“Yeah, yeah I’ll read you your rights, you got the goddamn right to remain silent-“ Officer Presley was struggling with the other cuff and his weight on your lower back made you wheeze just as he was short of breath. He was awfully worked up, huffily trying to clasp the cuffs and slurring your Miranda rights carelessly for so staunch a believer in laws and precepts.

When he succeeded and stood you upright you craned your neck to look at his sweaty face behind you and his eyes were wild and his hair disheveled like he’d run his hands through it a million times tonight. He looked a bit obsessed with his nose flaring like that, his speech slurring and his usual decorum completely goners.

“Are you drunk?” you balked in alarm as he trundled you into the backseat, face first into leather with your cuffed hands behind you, ass stuck out the door.

“Of course I ain’t!” he howled and pushed your butt further until you righted yourself on the bench seat, “I’m your officer of the law, that’s what I am.”

“I-I-I know that, I just-“ you felt a cold sweat break out at the realization he kept all his stubborn righteousness even skunk drunk on something, “-you seem a little…impaired. For a law officer. For a law officer driving on a government road. See! I do listen, I do and I really don’t think that while you’re dr-“

“I don’t even touch the booze, unlike you.” he spit. “Nothin’ gonna get you outta this, this time you’re gonna learn your lesson!” he wagged his finger and slammed the door shut, you could hear his seething monologue through his open door as he came round and took his own seat up front, the hard plastic partition only muting it slightly. “I can’t stand, won’t stand for it, no hard times gonna make for you-“

You tugged at the cuffs on your wrists and swallowed at their security, the ole man might be inebriated but he sure knew his line of work. It made you doubly anxious at how vulnerable you were, unbuckled and cuffed in the back seat of a man about to hit the road in a blind, possibly medicated rage. Your one glimmer of hope was the fact you were the cause of that rage -and you hoped, hoped so damn hard he cared out of some sort of fondness, not anger.

“Strippin’ and blowin’ and probably snortin’ shit and you ain’t even outta highschool-“

“You turned eighteen?!” He balked, jerking the rearview down to stare you in the eyes.

“Yes sir.” you agreed meekly.

“And you didn’t tell me? I’d have gotten you somethin’!” he cried out, “Eighteen and don’t tell nobody, no mama, no daddy, and now fuckin’ with the law-“

“Officer Presley I understand you’re angry and I’m sorry-“ you tried your most vehemently ass kissing tone and scooted up to the edge of the seat, face pressed the the scuffed, forehead greased plastic divider, “I’m so sorry I had to break my promise to ya but money’s been so tight, I—ooh shit-!“

You tipped over on your side as he hit the accelerator, the wheel already turned for a complete 180 spin to leave the dingy parking lot and its flashing neon lights. You sat yourself back up and pressed your face back where you could watch his leather gloves spin the wheel, and breathe as close to him as possible even if it didn’t serve to make him notice. The plastic sorta hampered the more primal assets at your disposal. You were readying for some more protests when he spoke up, his pouty, boyish, hurt tone emphasized by his jerky merging into three lanes worth of morning commute traffic

“— why didn’t you come to me?” he cried out and you had to give it to him, crossing three white lines that smoothly while in a rage wasn’t for anyone, he had a knack, “Why didn’t you say, ‘Officer Presley, if I don’t have me enough money for’ -what is it you need money for?”

“EVERYTHING!” You screamed back, exasperated and a little scared at the blur of tail lights he wove you through.

“You’re greedy,” he surmised, “you’d rather go work at the tit shack as a lot lizard, shakin’ it for strangers and suckin’ Joe E’s cock than ask for my help. My help!” He stabbed at his chest with a gloved finger and it was quite obvious how tore up he was over that mental image, you didn’t know he knew such particulars but you could use this to your advantage, you could try at least.

“Officer Presley,” you cooed as gently as you could with road noise and a plastic divider hampering your sultry intentions, if you had freedom of movement you’d be reaching around his thick neck and tucking that one sweaty curl behind his ear where it tufted with his sideburn, “I’d have preferred it was you,” you watched closely as that sank in, the lead foot easing on the accelerator, there was a choice up ahead, left to the precinct or right to the trailer park, “but I’ve got my pride and I couldn’t just take charity from you. I kept hopin’ you’d come in, then we could both do each other a favor.”

You could hear him sniff, running a hand underneath his nose. “That right?”

“Yeah.” You breathed, forehead thudding back against the plastic and at the red light intersection he stopped and craned his neck to look at you. “Don’t take me in, not this morning, please, pleaaasssse!” you begged, “We’ve both been working all night and we’re tired and sad and- you need somebody to make you dinner before you fall asleep, don’t ya?”

It was a dirty, dirty ploy to distract him like that but you could see with searing clarity the way his eyes wavered in their glare, then softened into childlike meekness at the thought of food and companionship. “You wanna come back to mine?” he whispered, gravelly from all the yelling and his eyelids batted under the lavender shades, azure and owlish.

“I really do.” you agreed, “Mine hasn’t had any air conditioning in seven months.” you admitted and he made a wounded noise of protest for your deprivations. You’d make him see why you took to stripping, he just had to be eased into it.

“I didn’t take it outta the freezer ‘fore I left.” he realized dejectedly as he turned right -away from the station.

You took a massive breath and tried to make it go to your swimming head, relief coursing through you at getting your way. Then you tried to process what he’d said. “Oh, your dinner?” you prodded.

“Yeah. It’s frozen. Lasagna.” he mumbled.

“Well, that’s nothing me and a microwave can’t solve.” you assure, gauging how his profile had softened in the dim lighting of the cab lights but his grip on the wheel and his jittery leg were about as stiff and upset as when he cuffed you. “What could I do for you in exchange for a bite?” you whispered, the sudden stop of the car making you realize with a hitch in your breath that you were in front of his place.

“I liked you.” he suddenly spoke up with such vehemence that it would have been comedic, what with him having already given into you and taken you home, but instead it was a little heartbreaking. “I liked you but you was too young!”

“I still like you.” you hedged, “Even though you cuffed me and called me a lot lizard.” you teased.

The solicitation, the sharing, it seemed to be his chief sore.

“That’s whatchu is!.” He grouched, staring out his front windshield at the single hung lamp illuminating freshly washed vinyl. “But I’ve taken you home anyways.”

“It’s really sweet of you.” you insisted, shifting on the peeling bench seat and wondering when he’d take you out of the car. “Are you gonna let me warm up that lasagna?”

“You said you wished I’d come in?” he ignored you and went back to your previous comment, about wishing he had frequented the truck stop.

Well, well, Officer Presley - a man like all others, after all.

You smirked, sticky lip gloss feeling a little cracked at this corners as you beamed at your little victory. “Maybe I could find a way to show my appreciation for takin’ me back to your air conditioned little palace. -while the lasagna is warming up.” you clarified and heard him grunt, and shift, his legs spreading a little wider in the cramped front seat.

“Yeah?” he pressed, sounding a little winded unless you were just too quick with the assumptions tonight.

“Yeah.”

“You offerin’ to be *my* lot lizzard?” He asked and after a tense minute where you were unsure if he was about to be angry again, he tapped the glass and whispered, “A joke, c’mon, don’t you get it? It’s a joke.”

“But I would!” You insisted after laughing for his benefit.

“Hmm.” He sniffed again, “Well. Hmm.” and with that unclear utterance he opened his door and heaved himself out into the stale Texas air, hiking up his pants again in that useless habit and shutting it behind him. It seemed an eternity before he finished hiking and shifting and shaking a leg out before he came and opened your door, a gentlemanly action made necessary by the stupid cuffs, still clanking around your wrists, as you scooted out of the back seat.

Officer Presley surveyed you up and down, blinking blearily as if he hadn’t seen you fully in the dark parking lot, like the glare of his headlights wasn't sufficient to show him your little cherry tank top and denim shorts, the satin tops of your red bra peeking out of the stretched neckline. “Hmm.” he hummed again and surveyed you once more, the pull of the cuffs behind your back adding to your posture being a bit booby. “Now ‘fore you cross my threshold, I’ve got house rules.” he was swaying a bit alarmingly and caught himself on the side mirror, you chose to ignore this and give him all the deferential attention needed to cure his -jealousy? Was he jealous? Of all the men who tipped you? “First rule, no dirty feet in the house. I hate filthy carpets. I hate them.”

“O-ok.” you agreed.

“Clean feet.”

“Okey.”

“Hmm. Ok.” he closed his eyes and recalled the next, “Let’s see uh- no back talkin’! No talkin’ back, what I say, goes, in my house.”

It was a trailer, not a house. But:

“Of course! You’re the man of the house!” you enthused with a little bounce for his benefit. He was still wacky and veering so fast from niceness to belligerence you were pretty sure you’d end up a little worse for wear after this no matter what. The thought excited you.

“Ok.” he pronounced, staring at the gravel and your feet like he didn’t know what to do now. You wondered when was the last time somebody had come into his place. “I got a doggie, too. Backroom. His word is law, don’t go botherin’ him none.“

Having seen the size of the dog, even if you were inclined to be a jerk to it, you wouldn’t dare. “Gosh of course.”

“Ok.” again. “I’ll get the hose.”

He left you there, leaning cuffed against his squad car as he trundled over his singed lawn to the side of the trailer, returning with the running hose in hand.

You knew it was destined for your feet and didn’t make a fuss as the warm hose water splashed against your blisters, soothing away the dust and the sticky cocktail splashes and god knows what else.

“House rules?” he prompted as he sprayed.

It was getting quite light out now. Probably close to six in the morning. What a long night. “Clean feet, respect doggie, no back talking.” You listed.

“And make yourself useful.” he grunted as if he had mentioned that before and you’d been faulty in your retelling.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Mm, ‘cause you’re my lot lizard now, ain’t ya?” he hummed, hose pointed to the side and suddenly his face was very close to yours, his belly closer and pressed to yours.

“Y-yeah.” you gasped.

“You gonna be a useful lil helper, hmm? Let hims take care of ya while you take care of him?”

Well shit, you weren’t at all sure if this were house rules or a big sexual game. Either way you wanted some lasagna and the crisp prospect of air conditioned sleep. “Yes, officer.”

“Good girl.” he turned the nozzle off on the hose, clamping it at the mouth and dropping it to the gravel.

“You- are you gonna uncuff me?” you giggled nervously as he swayed above you, nose almost brushing yours, eyes heavy and drooping.

“Hmm,” he stepped back and hooked a thumb in his belt loop, a shit eating grin spread over his face, bunching up the apples of his cheeks and turning him into a boy before your very eyes, “nah. I think -nope. Not gonna.”

“Well- shit, officer.” You sputtered, “You’ve got some little secrets?”

“I’ll let you be the judge of how little they are, sweetheart.” he cheesed before reaching out and hooking a finger in your strap, and tugging you gently by it up his porch.

It was odd, Seeing his ceramic tiger up close. Like déjà vu, or walking into a movie, some dream playing out. If your hands had been free, you would’ve pet the head concrete reverently, feeling some sort of gratitude to the noble beast for making your girlhood wishes come true as you tripped through the screen door and into an icebox of a trailer.

He shut the door and pressed you up against it with a move smoother and more practiced than you expected from him. Maybe wrestling criminals and doing the nasty called for the same dexterity. Or maybe he’d been fuckin’ somebody else all this time, waiting for you to grow up. Maybe he’d made a whole harem out of the trailer park and you were just his last pick. The thought hurt terribly, worse yet as you knew most days he was a sweetie, a funny man, attractive and well liked, not this grumpy, pill drunk trailer Baron that smushed you with his belly and sneering face so near but never descending as a lover’s should.

“Kiss me.” you goaded, licking your lips in a studied way. The little contemplative, whining sound he made took you by surprise.

He pulled down your bottom lip with a gloved finger and checked your mouth and tongue like a damn dentist. “Listerine first.”

Of course. Hygiene.

Clean feet, clean mouth, just for him to probably put his piss dribbled cock in it.

He stepped away and methodically took off his gloves, laid them on a small, doily adorned side table by the door, and then his gun and his belt came off with a satisfied grunt that made your inner thighs tingle. The thud of his large flashlight finished this routine.

Doilies.

There were doilies and frilly curtains and the oddest assortment of cheap finery around the place. A nod to the Tuscan craze taking over places like Target and such, while having a unique spin on it you weren’t sure what to name. You took it all in as he piloted you to the bathroom and methodically he pulled out a still wrapped toothbrush and plopped a jumbo sized bottle of mint flavored mouthwash on the fake marble counter.

“You kept that in case you have a lady guest?” You teased as the clinical silence was all a bit funny.

“Yeah.” he agreed without a hint of amusement and you sobered up again at the idea of him having anybody in here but you.

He poured a large quantity of the mouthwash into a paper cup, retrieved from the tidy stack of paper cups beside the sink for that purpose. His housekeeping was an odd mix of spectrum-like meticulousness and slovenly disorder. There were three pairs of pants on the bathroom rug beneath your feet and yet the mouthwash cups were stacked as carefully as the Tower of Babel. “Swish it for seventy five seconds.” He directed very soberly, tipping the liquid disinfectant into your mouth. You almost swallowed the shit. While you swished till your eyes burned and your tongue went numb from scalding mint, he tore at the packaging for the toothbrush.

“Ok, spit.” you happily spat out the green torture liquid and grinned back at him in the mirror.

“Never had a man ask me to spit it out before.” you teased.

He fumbled the toothbrush in surprise for a minute before giving you an admonishing eyebrow. “Girl don’t. We gotta brush your teeth.”

Instead of doing the obvious thing, the honorable thing and uncuffing you, he instead took his place behind you and pushed the toothbrush between your lips, moving it as if you had no arms and were helpless. All this to keep you cuffed.

What a pervert, you thought, charmed.

It was oddly cozy even if it was more than a tad bazaar, him pressing himself to you and running his spare hand along your side as you bent over the counter, trying not to ruin the moment by slurping paste too much. It didn’t seem to bother him, he didn’t watch you brush, he just discreetly rubbed the front of his slacks against your butt and kept his hand jerking the brush across your teeth. His other hand soothingly running up and down the curve of your hip, fingers fluttering under the hem of your tank and brushing bare skin with reverent little swoops.

When you were finished he laid the toothbrush down beside his, on a folded little towel in the back left corner of the vanity next to the mirror.

The domesticity made you smile. “Look, they’re spooning.”

He grabbed your chin gently, tilting your head to the side as he leaned over your shoulder. His lips very close again. “Happy late birthday.” he whispered, “I’d have gotten you a cake. Cupcake. Somethin’. You deserve to be celebrated.”

“Kiss me?” you asked again and this time he did, at his own pace, micromanaging each swipe of tongue and press of lips but he kissed you, strongly and angrily and admiringly in turn. He pulled down your tank as he went, stretching the neck out beyond any salvaging and then your bra, unclasping it with strange proficiency and letting your top gather in a ugly bulge around your hips, stuck by your cuffs and shorts, as his hands cupped and squeezed your breasts, somehow making this appreciative mauling seem essential to the act of kissing.

You two finally separated, breathless and revved up, staring at each other with wild, half lidded eyes.

“Ok.” he pronounced and you readied for more only for him to say, “Lasagna. C’mon.”

His kitchen was far nicer than yours, but still it was a mobile home kitchen. And he was a thorough bachelor. He crooked his fingers into the plastic handle and yanked open the freezer, standing aside with a grin on his face that bode no good for you. “I’m helpin’ ya out a little,” he explained sheepishly, “since you’re hampered.” he had a way of saying it like handcuffs were a natural disability, “But I let you off scott-free in exchange for you makin’ me some food.”

“Food and other things.” you bitched, “Didn’t sign up to be a comedy act.”

“Oh that’s right,” beamed, “you did offer other things.” he bit his lip and you thought you’d won when he went right back to it, “You said while it was warming up, you offered other things, while it was in the microwave. Yeah, so go on, grab that TV dinner there, not the fettuccini one, the lasagna.”

You stared at the open freezer and then back to him and then back to the freezer. “Grab it?” you sassed, not having a lot to lose with your tits out and your hands cuffed and a law officer having fun at your expense.

“You’ve got a mouth don’t ya?”

“You’re sick.” you smiled in realization before sticking your head into the cold space, nipples pebbling against the chilled plastic, and biting at the package containing Walmart’s latest gourmet provisions.

“Uhuh, that’s it.” he sounded more pleased at the sight of you with a frosted package between your teeth than he had all this time, “Heyer doll, I’ll open the microwave for ya.” his ability to make himself gallant when he was demeaning you so thoroughly made your pulse thunder uncontrollably.

You had to jut your chin and strain your jaw to plop the heavy foil package of frozen shit into the mounted microwave -fancy mobile home owning bastard- and shove it onto its proper revolving plate.

“There we gooo!” he cooed to you and you stepped back to allow him room to shut the door. “See if you can punch the buttons with your widdle nose.” he suggested excitedly and having gone this far, you didn’t see the point in objecting, not when it made him grin like that. You managed to hit the five for five minutes but the “cook” button wouldn’t respond and after banging your nose against it many times, with many laughs shared between, he finally punched it with one of his oddly pretty fingers.

“There we go.” you echoed, finding that you were blushing the minute the hum of the microwave buzzed the air, his eyes pinned to your face.

“Five minutes.” he whispered.

It was a hint. You expected something a little lewder from a man who had you carrying out food prep like a circus dog. A man of many moods and tastes, was officer Presley. “Can you cum that fast?” you asked, turning to face him.

“That’ll depend on you.” he replied levelly, a challenge in his eyes. He still wore his glasses, somehow that made you feel filthier than all the cash favors you’d ever done. He turned a little in his stance to lean back against the counter, his wrist watch jangling against the edge of the formica, his legs widening.

You dropped to your knees, linoleum freezing against your skin and you looked back up at the ticking microwave timer. You knew what he wanted, and if you were being half honest, it’s what you wanted too. So you didn’t act too good for pressing your face to the crotch of his uniform slacks, forehead indenting the swell of his belly above you and taking his zipper between your teeth. Filled out as his slacks were, with all the stupid gathers and the still fastened button, you could only barely see veiny pink flesh behind the newly opened fly.

“No boxers?” you chided him with a smirk and the unapologetic one he gave you in return made your belly clench, as did the musky smell of him and that soft double chin he had when looking down at you. There was stubble on it blending into his throat.

You’d been right, mouthwash and sterilization for your tongue but not even a spit bath for his sweaty balls and clammy dick -the man was out of his mind. You swallowed down the natural aversion the scent gave you and nuzzled your face nearer, trying to nose the button out of its hole. All you did was succeed in brushing his pants against him and making him impatient.

“Four minutes and twenty seven seconds.” He enunciated the timer reading for your benefit and you whimpered at the impossibility of getting the button undone without hands.

“Please, I can’t undo it.” you asked for his help, tugging at your handcuffs angrily, shoulders painfully aching and only the base of his thick penis visible with its nest of curls and heavy sack.

“Then make due.” he stared down at you unimpressed and you felt an overwhelming urge to grind yourself against his boot at his disdainful expression.

Blinking away horny, frustrated tears, you held your breath and buried your face again, nuzzling inbetween the fly gap, using your chin to tug the crotch further down until his heavy, purplish pink balls spilled over the respectable khaki’s and into the cold air. A bit of hope filled you at how taut and bunched they already were, he wasn’t so cool and unaffected as he acted. You saw him reach into his pocket, digging for something as you weighed your next decision.

“Don’t you want some lasagna?” he prodded.

That made you mash your face to his pants and take both of those hairy balls into your mouth, slurping and sucking at them like a shop vac. His jangling movements in his pocket ceased suddenly before picking up again, and then he withdrew it, a sharp gasp heard above you before he stuck a retrieved cigarette between his lips and lit it. A billowy cloud of Marlborough was blown over your crouching form as the microwave hummed on and his chest hummed in satisfaction. He shoved his hand back into his pocket, knuckling along at his cock.

“That’s it.” he sighed as you mouthed at the base as best you could, tonguing at the hefty vein running along the underside, slathering as much as you could reach. He was salty and tacky to taste and his pants were growing wet from something more than your spit. He was a leaky little man, it made your smirk and smack your lips.

“Feel good, officer?” you moaned in question, just as the microwave dinger went off. “Nooo, damnit, no!” you whined at the sound, a poor loser at all times.

Officer Presley only chuckled and twisted a little to pop open the door, hissing and cussing as he grabbed the benign edges of the hot foil and plopped it into the counter, “Hey hey hey, I didn’t say you could get up, now, did I?” he chided as you shifted a tiny bit away to watch him pull off the cover and reveal cheesy red sauce. Your stomach was in knots, it was so empty.

“No.” you admitted.

He twisted his torso to snag himself a fork from the drawer beside your head, and then, stabbing the casserole with it, took both his hands down to his pants and undid the button at last, letting his pants fall to the floor as they’d been trying to do and been prevented by a belt each time you’d seen him. “Finish what you started, doll, and then I’ll give you a bite.”

You swallowed hard, saliva pooling freely in your tongue at the smell of Italian food. It would be of use. He was tapping his sputtering fat cockhead to your lips and after a tiny grunt of resistance, you gave in, opening your glossy lips and letting him slide the thick meat over your tongue, tangy and salty and pulsing like a living rod, all the way to the back of your throat.

“Fuck me, that’s it.” he nodded to himself as you gagged around him, pulling back a little before pushing back in.

You heard the slide of the casserole tray against the counter and the crunch of tin foil, looking up through bleary eyes you saw him cradle the lasagna pan to his chest, balanced on top of his gut. You hollowed your cheeks around him while watching in disbelief as he stabbed at a bite and brought the laden fork to his mouth. He groaned around the bite in enjoyment -your guess over which pleasure was gaining the upper hand. Feeling a little competitive against TV dinner lasagna, you worked his cock faster, sucking more deliberately and trying very hard to let him down your throat, pleased as his hips began to cant and thrust in time with your encouragements.

“That’s it, that’s it, my sweet little homegrown hoe.” he mumbled to you adoringly through a mouthful of pasta and it made your face glow in pleasure, chin and chest dripping with the filth of it all. “I’m gonna, I’m gonna-“ he warned suddenly, pasta tossed back on the counter as he stood up straight and grabbed the back of your head, holding it still, smoldering cigarette pinned dangerously near your ear and hair as he fucked your mouth with fast, frantic pumps before a frankly preposterous amount of spunk filled your mouth and dolloped down your throat.

He petted your head as you struggled to breath again, cloying gloop coating your mouth, one hand coming up to take off his glasses and toss them to the side. He rubbed at his eyes and you realized you weren’t the only one teary eyed from the intensity of it. “Mm, reckon I gotta keep ya after that.” he decided, knuckling your cheek fondly, they were sticky to your surprise. “Want that bite?” he asked conversationally and while you’d have preferred some water to wash down his most recent gift, you nodded anyway and he stabbed at the casserole until he had a great big bite and brought it down to your mouth, smirking as your cheeks once again bulged at the mouthful.

“Thank you.” you smiled up at him and he humphed bashfully before motioning with his fingers for you to stand up.

“Wanna eat the rest of this in bed?” he asked eagerly, licking his teeth, “I’ve got a waterbed.” he added like that would convince you.

“Of course you do.” you giggled. “And of course I do - lead the way.”

He grinned and pushed off the counter, grabbing the casserole as he went. “Might even find the keys for those back here.” he joked about your cuffs before adding with a wicked little wink, “No promises, mind.”

Hope you enjoyed, I write for screams and comments and unhinged feedback. 🤓♥️

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[aclaywrites]

Excellent, actually. After my divorce and move back home, I had completely given up. I’d never had much luck dating throughout my whole life. This isn’t whining, I was always fine with having friends and being social, sometimes I wanted sex but I was never the kind to sit around pining. After moving back to OK, having a young child and living with my parents for that first year, I figured this was it and that was fine. I’d get a home for me and my baby and just settle in.

My ex wife is British and lives in the UK (as do many Brits) so our kid goes to stay with her for the summer. It gives me a nice break and recharge to make me a better mom throughout the school year. After I got our home, and Kid went off for her holiday, I decided I needed a bit more of a recharge and began to look for what I started calling my Summer Shag. Not a girlfriend. That’s too much. I don’t need anyone on my island trying to make me feel shit, I just want a few dates and some physical attention. Middle aged women have Needs and that’s no lie. So for a few years I’d use dating apps starting about this time of year (late April) and see who I could find. Someone who’s down for good times and knows that this is absolutely just some summer lovin’, have us a blast.

Mostly it worked. I did have the 😱😱😱 racist date I told about in an earlier post, and sometimes it took a little longer to make a connection, but the dating apps were great. See pics, do preliminary chatting. One of my flings I met on Lex, the app with no photos, just talking and sharing. Very nice. Even when it wasn’t a match, just scrolling around looking at who’s out there and what their lives are like was interesting. Who else is a lesbian in central Oklahoma?

So that worked well for a few years, even during lockdown. Amazing what some private chats can accomplish in a world gone mad. Then one May I started the quest, swiping around and seeing who was available. I see some pix of a super cute dyke who headlines her ad ‘I can cook and fix shit’. Heck yeah! Swipe on her! We start chatting that evening and by the time we were able to actually meet 10 or so days later, I realized I actually liked her, and now here we are years later moving in and making wedding plans. The funniest thing is that we have mutual acquaintances and a decades long history of living in the same small town. We talk often about how many times she must have waited on me as she worked in literally my favorite restaurant in town, or how often I pushed my baby carriage past her house, or crossed paths on our bicycles but never met because it wasn’t our time yet.

So yeah, online dating is really good, in my experience and opinion. Especially if you don’t live in an urban area with lots of lgbt groups etc to join, and you’re too old to go out to clubs because you get up early for work and are sleepy 😂

If nothing else, it’s a system that gave me the sweetest surprise of my life and that can’t be bad

[miamordanipedrosa]

DANORGE

this is from the ship ask game but I decided to make this it's own post bc danorge is special okay? okay.

first of all, an ideal daniel ship for me is always him being a perfect babygirl and being treated accordingly. just like I would. he's my country wife, my baby boy, my hot piece of ass and he needs to know is. now, george is the perfect man for this.

the dynamic

I'm gonna be honest, this ship sort of snuck up on me, I didn't expect it to take off quite as much? like, I know Daniel likes the young guys, bc he likes fucking around and fucking with them bc they think he's fun and look up to him you know? he likes the peer pressure. and george didn't seem the kind of guy to be that subjectible to this bc he's always been very focused, correct, driven, etc. although as I got to know him a bit better I realised he does like some shenanigans (eurotruck with charles you will always be famous.).

anyway, I think one of the reasons why their friendship grew so well is that george is so incredibly earnest in his admiration of the people around him, and fiercely loyal. I think george would never be that guy who has to act cool around his friends. he's the type of guy to hype his friends up to others, and that's what he does with Daniel. like that post that goes sth like hyping my boyfriend up before he enters a room like you better clap for my specialest little boy. that's literally george with daniel. that's his babygirl, his country wife.

now, I think that perhaps daniel liked the way george engaged with his banter from early on, like when he asked for his merch, I mean that was still fanboy ish behaviour, but more recently, when Dan struggled, he was so so loyal and always defending Daniel to the press, I think he really did become a close friend. emotional support brit. like I said, george is really really loyal, you can see that in his other relationships with drivers (alex and lewis mainly) and it seems like he's really a safe person for daniel. I mean look how danny clings to him. adorable. (sth sth the child in me is safe with you etc). I just love seeing how genuinely at ease dan seems in every interaction with george..

important moments

I already put in some links up there but doing a collection of some more here.

all the media pen interactions are gold: x / x / x / x / x / x / x

hyping his boy up: x / x / x / x / x / (also remember the time he said to Lando 'if you're curious about winning just ask Danny' bc I still think he deserves a good * for that. lova ya georgie)

btw here's a good danorge post of some moments as well

the helmet swap....tears man, tears....

just general cuteness and shenanigans: x / x (recent addition) / x / x / x / x / x / x / x / x / x / x / x / x / x / x / x / x / x

rpf pairing

okay soo actually AGES ago, me and jay @dnfstrategist used to talk about this danorge au that was like, george being a business/law student with daniel as his silly, artsy/sporty boyfriend (I don't quite remember, we definitely need to revisit that) and I am still gagging for an AU like that. like them as a couple? so so loyal to eachother, enjoying all the shenanigans, george the strong dependable one wanting to praise and spoil his bf always, daniel so fond and happy and at ease with george...bragging about his smart successful husband...they are marriage for life material fr

they have SO much potential it makes me sad that there is so little danorge writers out there.... there's mainly a few little smutty fics (which is great ofc!) and then one longfic which....oh boy I tell you, def a big big rec for this but be careful it absolutely destroyed me but such amazing writing fr fr.

and I think that's all for now! if I think of more stuff I'll add it later but I think this is it...if u made it all the way here thank u for ur attention! and anon I hope this makes up for the wait <3

[henbased]

wip i know i know its saturday im just getting around to it

hiii it’s me, fashionably late and fashionably early, coming out of the woodworks to give you nothing as i reap in the attention 💃

no but seriously ive been in a HUGE brain fog and also in general kind of busy. im finally Not Sick but unfortunately a week sick means things got backed up :| cest la vie. 

i know i was tagged by people but consider this a wip weekend tag. or whatever. we’re kickstarting the week off i guess. so sending tags out to: @adelaidedrubman​, @florbelles​, @unholymilf​, @fourlittleseedlings​, @roofgeese​, @strafethesesinners​, @vvindication​, @civilization-illstayrighthere​, @necro-hamster​, @ishwaris​, @turbo-virgins​, @shallow-gravy​, @vasiktomis​, @chickenparm​, @sweatandwoe​, @strangefable​, @evilvarric666​, @meatcrimes​, @poetikat​, @killyourrdarlingss​, @marivenah​, @socially-awkward-skeleton​ (i know you JUST posted 3 chapters but --), @inafieldofdaisies​, @trench-rot​, @belorage​, @corvosattano​, and ANYONE ELSE who wants to or that i forgot im sorry my brain is swiss cheese

have some of a feather chapter 3 since i’m wrapping her up :3c

Brit waves Billie off. “Sorry if I was, um. Rude to you.”

“Shucks, you got nothin’ t’worry about, darlin’. Ain’t nothin’ I haven’t heard before. That girl over there been spittin’ at my heels since highschool.” Nick flicks the rim of his hat. “Howdy Jess.”

“Fuck off Nick.”

‘Don’t tell Nick to fuck off!’

‘How do you even know him?’

The man’s cackle sounds like a skipping record. “Ain’t she the best? You know who's even better? No offense, Jess.” He turns for a minute, back to Brit, saying something to someone, and then just as quick he turns around, a bounce in his twirl as he maneuvers to stand behind the other person, hand around her waist. “This is my wife, Kim! And in there is Nick jr.!”

The woman smiles at Brit. Brit watches her, how the corner of her mouth stretches, how her eyes flick across Brit’s face, takes all of her in. There’s sweat on her neck that Brit is acutely aware of, a disgusting droplet forming, a wet glide down her spine. It gets lost in her bralette, already so soaked through with the heat captured in the material, the alcohol sweating through her pores. Kim’s eyes move past her, focusing on something behind Brit, the smile not even twitching, eyes reading them the way only a mother could.

She hides it well, much better than most, but Brit can see it reflected in Kim’s eyes.

Distrust.

To her credit she holds out her hand. Her left settles on the swell of her stomach, so big it looks like it really could house a whole baby. “Nice to meet you …?”

Brit stares at her hand. A welcome, a norm, an invitation that would be rude to refuse. Her eyes flicker to the other, settled atop where a baby resides, growing and growing, and Kim beams with motherly pride; Nick at her side, arm around her, the doting husband and father.

The beards blur for a second and it’s almost like —

Brit holds her breath. Holds out her right hand. Her sleeves hang, the cuffs hanging over her hand, but there’s an unmistakable wrap of cloth around her fingers. “Brit.”

[roseate-felidae]

I don't think I've posted Oreo.

This is my Aunt's Buck Oreo.

He's a black otter dalmation mini rex. dad to Juno's babies.

My aunt grew up with rabbits but stopped. Most of my life she has only had one (until cousins grew bored).

But seeing my keeping of rabbits rekindled her and my grandads desire to breed rabbits. What started as buying a couple of yellow Dutch (bought day after I got my Amber) last year, has now turned into a Dutch trio in blacks and a blue, 2 old English cross does in Tri and blue spotted and a pair of black Tans. Then of course we have Oreo.

My grandad parents and Aunt have had a big love for old English and Dutch since childhood. They were given a pair of cross breed old English for free early this year.

But now came the problem of finding a buck, whereas the English spot was popular years back, it is very hard to get now.

I found them a breeder in what we thought was Leicester. Had the song and dance of booking. I had the epiphany that I could get a Tri mini rex on the way there (usually we went 20 miles, Luton was the farthest at 40 mins). But it turned out it was Lancashire not Leicester. For a Brit, a hour journey becoming 3 and a half was too much.

My aunt still agreed for me to get Bramble. But then wondered if the lady had a spotted buck for sale. She had Oreo.

Oreo is the stud buck for my Aunt's Cream (blue spot English spot cross) and my Juno (black mini rex doe). I benefitted a lot when I realised the orange at his nape meant he was otter based. I hope Juno will give an otter doe, since otter is dominant to black.

I named Oreo myself. Needing names, I named my Aunt's English cross Cookie and Cream (I also named her Dutch does Sugar and Spice). So why not give the black and white buck a cookie name too?

[le-amewzing]

The Turnaround

An old Cherik drabble from Erik's POV, set early on in First Class~ c:

Fic: "The Turnaround" [FFN] [AO3]

Pairings/Characters: pre-Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier

Rating: K+

Words: ~360

Additional info: romance, slash, friendship, 3rd person POV

Summary: There was no need for the use of powers with them. There existed another power that wasn't any mutant's…

      He'd found him. Erik should've known Charles would find out he'd been trying to leave. But could the Brit bastard blame him? Erik knew that Charles knew what they had was a mismatched cluster of baby mutants. They would never be a team.

      "You shouldn't go," Charles said.

      Erik fought the urge to roll his eyes. Charles probably was moping at his back, his hands shoved in his pockets, with that puppy-dog look in his eyes. Erik had never met someone who could be so aptly described.

      "I know what you're thinking."

      "How?" Erik turned his head but refused to look over his shoulder at the telepath. "You reading my mind?"

      "No," Charles replied without hesitation. "I just know you."

      "Because you read my mind, before."

      "…yes." Charles took a step forward. "Erik, all you need to do is give those kids a chance. They aren't perfect—neither are we."

      Erik snorted and smirked at Charles. Ah, hell, he'd just not have to look at those eyes, despite how pleading they were. Charles was dangerously perceptive, even without his telepathy. After all, they'd become friends quickly after Charles had saved…no, after Charles had interrupted his revenge.

      "Erik."

      "Speak for yourself." Erik tightened his grip on his case. "My powers are fairly good."

      "But you don't know how to control them."

      The metal magician grimaced. "Stop reading my mind, figuring out my feelings."

      "I'm not reading your mind." Charles' earnest expression made Erik fidget. "Erik, Shaw has his friends. Have yours."

      It was a welcome, an open invitation. Erik had no idea how to answer him.

      "I won't force you to stay," the telepath continued. "But you should." Charles briefly locked eyes with his fellow mutant again before turning around to head into the CIA building.

      Erik took several deep breaths. If anything, he blamed Charles' powers for his feet turning back to the building and following after him. When he caught up to Charles, he said, "You knew I would."

      Charles smiled, and the tension between them disappeared. "No. But I sure as hell hoped. Goodnight, Erik."

      "Goodnight, Charles."

      Dear Gott in Himmel—how could he leave after that?

Cute. I like writing drabbles for them, even pre-slash ones! XD I have many more ideas for them, so please review and check the others out! Thanks! Note: "Gott in Himmel"—German for "God in Heaven."

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this!

~mew

2022 note: XD Eleven yrs after I originally published this fic and I still have Cherik brainrot, yo. *lol* Ngl, I still watch all the X-Men movies fondly (…with the exception of Dark Phoenix; we don't talk about Dark Phoenix), and I still believe that McAvoy and Fassbender were cast perfectly as younger Charles and Erik.

[thothunter-420]

Pls, I need to know the details of your The Who Pinterest board (if that’s alright with you)

IT IS SO ALRIGHT WITH ME, LET’S GO!! this might get long cuz this board is like my special little mental illness baby, but also i just like the who a totally normal amount ❤️ i’ve been on the hustle for over a year cuz i developed a special interest after having the whole “wow this band looks like ASS 😭😭” to the “needing pete townshend carnally” phase. anyways this board puts all my other band ones to shame, it’s twice as much as my next highest (which is the beatles, respectfully) like woo mama here we go!! i don’t have my computer on me cuz i’ve been traveling so fuck it we ball on mobile

so we have to start off with the men themselves cuz i really do adore all of them so much. i haven’t changed the names in like a year, but since i’m very multi band fandom with my bestie i do last names for a lot of men cuz all these brits threw a dart at a board with only 5 names on it and rolled with it. only pete gets full name privileges cuz the only other one we’ve got is peter tork. BUT ANYWAYS i have fought tooth and nail to get em all in close proximity of each other but the blond men liking illness has let daltrey take a strong lead as of late 🙄🙄

then there’s the duos section and i could try to squeeze em all in one photo but the favoritism is EMBARRASSING. not just cuz i favor these duos sm but cuz pint is a hard beast to wrangle fr!! so here’s the idea of what they look like, guys hanging out :) i always get so excited when i see a pic of a duo that i’ve never seen before, it feels so special!!

the group ones are a ton of fun too. i group them by eras that i personally can easily distinguish but often i have to make a lot of educated guesses and just roll with it. the names on these are especially silly but everything is phrased lovingly cuz i’m like “EW 😍😍”. also i live the life of being a 70s who truther when it comes to sexiest era cuz they all look disgusting but pint is so fond of those hilarious early 60s rats. it was so bad i actually had to split “baby who” into 2 sections as we can see. it was getting out of hand but uhmm i’d kiss them all still idc

there’s also a ‘78+ section and ones for them as weeee lil kidlet babies cuz i’m well rounded. then i get silly and i top it off with the goofy and informative stuff, which is either images i find funny for whatever reason in one section and then stuff like newspaper articles and interviews!! it’s the more misc section but i love having em, they’re essentials to all of my boards but the who have a pretty strong section for both considering i really have to sniff stuff out in this place

so that’s the tour!! i’ve only been into this band for a little over a year but it’s been a good year, always chadding to treat my fave bands right 😤😤 ty for asking teehee and hopefully this is what ya wanted to see!! i will gladly share more details if you want or i could even post some pics i enjoy from my massive stash if desired, just say the word!!

[jimmythejiver]

Based on this post

Not a HH fan, but I am a long time Cab Calloway fan. Off the top of my head, favorite songs I like that aren't Minnie The Moocher are:

Reefer Man, Kicking The Gong Around, The Hi De Ho Man, Jumpin' Jive, Mama I Want To Make Rhythm, Hey Now Hey Now, his take on Sophie Tucker's One Of These Days and San Franciscan Fan

Not to be that hipster guy in the 00s-10s, but there was this aged hippy who croched rainbow clothes (hats, scarves, long robes even) and grew garlic and made jams and hocked his wares downtown to keep his rundown house's payments. Whenever my father who was one of his oldest friends would take me over, I'd buy his cd's piece by piece with my allowance. It started with buying off his 80's Japanese pressed David Bowie cd's and then Velvet Underground and when I wasn't that interested in pursuing more Stooges after awhile, I said one day: "You got anything like Cab Calloway, or Duke Ellington, any 20-50s jazz, swing, blues and vaudeville?" This was in early days of YouTube where I'd look up any footage of Cab that existed at the time. He was in Janet Jackson's Alright video, he was the highlight of The Blues Brothers and Tim Burton based Oogie Boogie on him because of Betty Boop cartoons, etc. I'd go on long deepdives on wikipedia and any music book I got my hands one at second hand stores reading about jazz and popular music of the era because I knew this was dismissed in popular memory because the baby boomers didn't care for anything they didn't personally remember or before the British Invasion.

I already went through this when I was obsessed with Johnnie Ray who I needed to know more because Billy Idol name dropped him and had him cameo in his video and it turns out the Brits sure have a longer memory on our music then we do pre-Elvis, ironically. So if you enjoy Beatles, Cream and Led Zeppelin, it wasn't enough to just hand me Robert Johnson, a Chess Records compilation and Sun Records and Elvis Presley highlights and say "welp that's all there was that isn't boring white guy crooners" and call it the end.

[hes-writer]

ONE SHOT MASTERLIST

fics with more than one part

newest ; top - oldest ; bottom

+ = angst | * = fluff | • = smut | ^ = in-progress

(r) is requested

writing count: 44 pieces

Support me on Patreon for exclusive access to blurbs/one shots and series parts for only $4.25 a month! Patron Masterlist (70+ pieces!) please don’t post my writing anywhere else without my explicit permission. these are the only accounts where you should see my writing: tumblr: @hes-writer & @hes-writer2 | Wattpad: @hes-writer

Otherwise, if you recognize it as mine and it isn’t posted on one of the three accounts, please message me ASAP! Reposting it without permission is plagiarism.

other links: masterlist | series | one shots | series extras

（＾∇＾）（＾∇＾）（＾∇＾）

*CHANGES - 1.4k, the one where harry comes home

• SCENT - 1.7k, the one where y/n wakes up early

+ ALL TOO WELL - 4.5k, the one where it’s the right person but wrong timing

+ POV - 1.4k, the one where y/n wants to love herself like harry loves her (tw: body image)

• ROUTINE - 2.2k, the one where harry is a camboy

+ REAL MATURE - 603 words, the one where bff!harry and y/n fight

• BEHIND THE CURTAIN - 5.1k, the one after ‘under the table’

• UNDER THE TABLE - the bucket list fic challenge! - 2.7k, the one where harry eats y/n out under the table

• BE QUIET - 2k, the one where y/n does the ‘drop the towel’ challenge

+* BIRTHDAY - 2.8k, the one where harry forgets y/n’s birthday

+ IF I COULD FLY ® - 3.5k, the one where y/n wants harry to come home [based on ‘if i could fly’ by one direction]

+* DON’T MAKE A SCENE ® - 2k, the one where y/n is an actress and harry is protective

+ SPOTLIGHT ® - 962 words, the one where y/n just wants the night for herself

* BABY BUMP - 597 words, the one where dad!harry talks to y/n’s baby bump

+ BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT ® - 1.6k, the one where harry makes a list and y/n finds it [based on: that episode of friends]

* DOUGH ® - 677 words, the one where harry and y/n make some shrimp dumplings [Chinese!Y/N]

* SOUP AND SALUTATIONS - 754 words, the one where harry helps y/n cook a meal ft. [Filipino!Y/N]

+ MY FAULT ® - 674 words, the one where y/n lets her thoughts get to her

+ INSTAGRAM ® - 1.4k, the one where harry misses y/n and does something stupid

+ DOMESTIC ® - 867 words, the one where harry thinks he doesn’t deserve her love

+ AT THE BRITS ® - 476 words, the one where harry watches from backstage [singer!Y/N]

+ FAST FOOD ® - 401 words, the one about about fried chicken [filipino!y/n]

+ IF YOU THINK IT’S LOVE - 884 words, the one where harry can’t give y/n what she wants [based on ‘if you think it’s love’ by king princess]

+ SOMEONE YOU LOVED - 588 words, the one where friendships fall apart [writer!Y/N] [based on ‘someone you loved’ by lewis capaldi]

+ HOLD ME WHILE YOU WAIT - 627 words, the one where harry believes in soul mates and y/n thinks he’s the one [based on ‘hold me while you wait’ by lewis capaldi]

+ ONE AND ONLY - 1.8k, the one where y/n breaks harry’s heart [based on ‘one and only’ by adele]

*GOLDEN HOUR ® - 983 words, the one where y/n admires harry at the crack of dawn [based on ‘golden hour’ by kacey musgraves]

+*LETTERS TO HARRY ® - 1.6k, the one where y/n finds a letter from harry’s ex

+ BRUSSELS SPROUTS SMOOTHIES? - 813 words, the one where harry and y/n go out for a run

+ PING PONG - 1.1k, the one where harry and y/n play a game

+ CLOSED OFF ® - 2.3k, the one where harry doesn’t share his feelings

* HUFFS AND POUTS - 787 words, the one where harry says he can dance

*COLD FEET - 637 words, the one where y/n can’t sleep

*A DAY WITH BELL - 1k, the one where harry spends the day walking bell (the dog) ft. [japan!harry]

*SWEATER - 1k, the one where y/n steals harry’s stuff and he wants it back

*THE COFFEE SHOP - 1k, the one where harry flirts with the girl he’s been crushing on [barista!y/n]

*EVIE’S ONESIE - 781 words, the one where harry notices evie’s (the cat) new onesie

*UNDER THE MOONLIGHT - 730 words, the one where harry confesses his feelings [friends to lovers!] [based on ‘under the moonlight’ by travis]

*FRIES AND BURGERS - 609 words, the one where harry and y/n go on a midnight date

+*JEALOUSY - 561 words, the one where harry and y/n argue while driving

*LUNAR NEW YEAR - 1.1k, the one where harry celebrates with y/n’s family [asian!y/n]

*GIRLS’ NIGHT - 1.6k, the one where harry’s a clingy baby

+*THE HATE YOU GIVE ® - 1.8k, the one where y/n gets hate messages [latina!y/n]

+* EXES ® - 1k, the one where harry would rather hang out with kendall

[cherrykindness]

let's make babies |

pairing: Harry Styles x Actress!Reader

summary: you and harry are doing a live on instagram, you've drunk a lot of wine and now the world knows that the future Mrs. Styles is ready to make babies.

warnings: mostly cute, but the title tells you what you need to know 🤪

"What is your favorite song from the Fine Line album?" Y/N read aloud, twirling in her right hand the second glass of wine of the evening, the one already halfway through. "Adore You and Watermelon Sugar, of course."

Harry giggled, rolling his eyes upon hearing his fiancée's statement.

"Y/N will always choose Adore You because it was obviously written for her." He accused. "She wouldn't give that answer under different circumstances."

The comments climbed up the screen continuously, most fans gushing about how cute Harry Styles and YN/LN could be while the other part was concerned with wringing even more information out of the slightly inebriated couple who had decided to do a surprise live one early Sunday morning.

As expected after being away for some time to begin filming Don't Worry, Darling in Southern California, Harry enjoyed a lazy weekend in the house he shared with his fiancée and her pets. The days were filled with late naps and relentless Netflix marathons, sublime and ethereal evenings, marked mostly by unexpected declarations and rounds of sex that used to last until the beams of light were shyly coming through the linen curtains. They were not a monotonous couple, so this order could easily be changed.

"Watermelon Sugar is nothing more than about my love for watermelons, don't get too creative." Harry replied to a fan while sporting a corner smile, the message standing out among the rest for its dozens of emojis and large print, questioning the singer about erotic content behind the lyrics of his latest hit. "I really don't know what you guys are talking about."

Y/N laughed, shaking her head before leaning it against her fiancé's chest, propped up on the soft white pillows that were spread practically all over the bed. The air conditioner was on at a minimal temperature and a light rain whipped on the panes of glass camouflaged by the cream-colored curtain, that being the projection of Y/N's favorite nights.

"You can tell them, I'm not shy." She joked, nudging her fiancé's waist.

"You know what it was written about and who it was written for." Harry replied, raising one of his eyebrows. "That's what matters."

It went without saying that much of Harry's newest album, as well as some of his earlier work, had been done in exclusive dedication to his future wife. Y/N had been the muse for a vast repertoire of romantic songs, and even though the singer preferred to keep the story behind his more explicit compositions a "secret", the relationship the two had shared for more than three years was already solid and known enough for the media and fans to distinguish hidden messages in small details.

"It's a song about what usually comes before the act of making babies." Y/N laughed as he pointed at the display. "Honestly, you guys are impossible."

"No, we make babies every day." Harry joked, making a funny motion with his eyebrows. "I would spend my entire career writing just about that."

"Harry!" The actress exclaimed incredulously, slapping her fiancé weakly on the chest. "Children might be watching this."

"You don't want to have babies with me?" He asked falsely offended, accepting the cup that Y/N offered him. "Because I want some babies with you."

Y/N laughed, rolling her eyes as she watched the internet freak out at the dialogue that had suddenly emerged. Since the beginning of the quarantine, it was kind of inevitable that the couple of artists would not become the darlings of all social media; they were fervently active with photos, videos, and lives that depicted step by step daily life in isolation, gaining more and more followers and making the media more and more fascinated by the relationship they both shared.

The wedding was scheduled for the summer of next year and it was perhaps the most anticipated event in the tabloids. Bets about what the model of Y/N's dress would be and lists presuming who would be selected for the short list of guests stood out among countless news stories about the famous people influencing pop culture today.

The possible arrival of a Styles baby was an inevitable topic in interviews. Harry and Niall were the only members of the ex-boyband that had not become fathers yet, and because they had maintained a solid relationship and were seen as one of the most enviable couples during the last four years, Y/N and Harry had gotten used to all this openly asked questions. They didn't mind, they even had fun with the montages and all the anxiety that dominated the whole internet, often mentioning the fandoms' efforts to represent them as such "cool" parents in perfectly edited pictures.

"No, guys, I'm not pregnant." Y/N amusingly clarified the doubt of dozens of new comments. "Please don't believe so many controversial news stories that appear out there. I was on twitter last week and saw several people theorizing about a possible pregnancy, most of the arguments based on a website that used photos from the set of How to Get Away with Murder in the season where I was actually playing a pregnant woman as Laurel." She laughed. "It's so funny! I know you guys love to guess these things, but we won't hide something so special when it actually happen, I promise."

"Especially because Y/N can hide absolutely nothing from anyone." Harry accused, leaving his drink on the corner table before settling into a comfortable position for the two of them. "Anyone who's a Marvel fan knows that. That's one of her most characteristic quirks."

"They gave me a fake script for the last two movies." Y/N agreed, shaking his head. "For me and Tom."

"We agreed to keep the engagement a secret for a while. The plan was to travel to Holmes Chapel to break the news to my family in person, but guess who got a call at ten o'clock at night from an angry Anne because she learned of her son's engagement from an interview Y/N gave the next day?"

Y/N gave a guilty smile, winking gracefully at the camera. "It was all James' fault! I'm sure he already suspected something, those questions were very suspicious."

"Of course the questions were suspicious, babe. You literally said you had a secret that involved both of us but that you couldn't tell because it was important that our families knew first."

"I thought he would think about a pregnancy or something!" The actress defended herself, feeling very convincing in her intonation bordering on obviousness. "That's a mania I can't get rid of, it's in my genes."

"Did you all hear that? Further proof that you guys don't have to worry about guessing when Y/N's pregnancy will be, I'm sure our baby will make sure to tell you everything while still in the womb, mom's genes will make sure of that."

"You are so funny, Harry Styles." Y/N sarcastically stated, holding back a giggle as countless messages with laughing emojis were frantically up. "Yeah, I know I talk a lot and all, but you have annoying quirks too."

It was obvious that live would be news the next day. Although they were completely open about matters concerning their relationship, nothing seemed better than receiving so much exclusive information from a Harry and S/N drunk on expensive wine.

"You wake up in a bad mood and you're dangerously sexy, that should be illegal."

Harry laughed, holding his fiancée's waist a little tighter as he felt her tumble a little further to the side, getting closer and closer to the edge of the bed. Y/N was dangerously weak for drinks, and the singer knew that the actress' body was already near its limit.

"You're the only sexy person here, love." He declared with a corner smile, evidently finding the whole situation funny. "Do you want to go to sleep now?"

"No." Y/N shook her head. "Can we watch some movie? Can we watch Sweet Home?"

"Of course, love." He murmured, giving the woman a quick kiss on the forehead.

Even though Harry knew that his fiancée was unlikely to make it past the five-minute mark of the episode, he made sure to restart the korean series at exactly the scene where she had stopped, the first chapter still halfway through after Y/N realized that it would be impossible to watch such a macabre work without a drop of alcohol in her blood.

She had been so excited by the taste of Argentinian wine and the idea of updating her fans after a few weeks away, that she had forgotten the main purpose of the live. Harry and Y/N had been apart for a few days due to the new movie the Brit was shooting in North America, all happening in an unrestrictedly careful manner due to the restrictions caused by the pandemic.

He was slowly migrating towards acting and the future Mrs. Styles couldn't be prouder. Y/N had felt on cloud nine when Harry had given her the news of his upcoming job, but her only pronouncement on the subject had been a succinct post on instagram. Just a photo of the couple on a trip to Germany with a simple heart emoji didn't seem enough for the actress' exhibitionist soul, and coming to that conclusion was the main reason she decided to invite him, already relatively changed, for a live appearance. Y/N wanted to go on and on about how much she loved that man and work on that whole honeyed speech that would bring her (once again) the title of "cutest bride of all time," but of course Harry had to come home from his trip with his favorite red wine and poison her with those sweet caresses that took her out of orbit, turning the degree of alcohol content into the least of her problems.

"You're going to kiss Florence." Y/N exclaimed suddenly, as if only now realizing that her fiancé would share the screen with Florence Pugh, one of her closest friends in that industry. "Kiss on the mouth."

The MacBook was still open and hundreds of new comments were going up every second, but Harry didn't bother one bit to warn her about the possibility of her becoming a meme the next day. He was having too much fun with the situation to worry.

"Are you jealous?"

"Yes." She stated with a pout. "I am jealous, I just don't know if I'm more jealous of her or of you."

"But you kiss me every day, babe." Harry laughed. "And you've been kissing other people's men for almost ten years." He joked.

"But I only think about you, I already told you that."

Harry shook his head negatively at the camera, knowing he was sharing with the fans the funniest side of his fiancée.

"I know that, honey." He assured, lightly stroking the actress' back. "I think we'd better turn off the TV and go to sleep now, I'm sure you'll have a terrible headache tomorrow."

The brit planned to bid his audience goodbye and put an end to that recording, but Y/N was drunk and her sense of right and wrong had already gone to space. Harry should have been quicker, however, because his fiancée's speech would be cause for new tags and the only subject for the interviewers for at least the next few months.

"I don't want to sleep, how about we make babies?"

That's what Watermelon Sugar was all about, after all.

[causeiwanttoandican]

Robert Lacey excerpt

I fully expect them to say William was the one commenting about the baby’s skin color after this. Battle stations! Book excerpt

The Times

Prince William ‘split his household from Prince Harry after Meghan bullying claims’

June 07 2021, 7.00am BST

‘So, are you saying,” asked Oprah Winfrey, talking to Meghan and Harry in their famous interview of March 2021, “that there were hints of jealousy?”

She was inquiring about the Sussexes’s wildly successful tour of Australia and the South Pacific of late October 2018, and the couple shifted uncomfortably in their plush wicker chairs.

“Look,” replied Harry, “I just wish that we would all learn from the past.”

By bringing up “the past”, the prince was venturing into an area that was almost taboo. He was making a sensational comparison between his mother and his wife. Harry was suggesting that Meghan had demonstrated in Australia the same massive star quality as Diana and was now having to face the family envy that went along with that.

“It really changed,” he said, “after the Australia tour, after our South Pacific tour . . . it was . . . the first time that the family got to see how incredible she is at the job. And that brought back memories.”

Memories of what? Again Harry shied away from putting words to the almost unmentionable. But Oprah had prepared and polished this moment, like so many others in the interview, and she had a reference ready to prompt her prince’s revelation. The latest, fourth season of TV’s The Crown had depicted Charles and Diana’s 1983 tour of Australia, showing how Diana had been “bedazzling” in her ability “to connect with people”. Episode six had depicted how the crowds would groan when they realised that Charles, not Diana, was walking down their side of the street — hence the beginnings of the “jealousy” on the family’s part.

“So is that what you’re talking about?” asked Oprah. “It brought back memories of that?”

“Yeah,” Harry finally replied in a fashion that was both dismal and unmistakably aggressive.

What on earth had happened, viewers had to wonder, to the old and once-familiar happy side of Prince Harry?

When trying to define the moment that marked the decisive rift with his brother William — the break-up and actual separation of the joint household they had established together in 2009 — Harry would fix upon his triumphant return with Meghan from their Australian tour at the end of October 2018. But if asked the same question, William would have fixed on a more specific event: the explosive argument he had had with his brother earlier that month.

Both brothers agreed how bitterly they had clashed back in the early days over William’s attempt to slow Harry’s courtship of Meghan — “Don’t feel like you need to rush this . . . ” But both of them had subsequently moved on. Harry’s transparent contentment with Meghan had relaxed the tensions, give or take the odd row over bridesmaids’ dresses. The “no speaks” had eased just a little by the time “best man” William escorted his brother down the aisle in May 2018.

Then five months later came the conclusive and determining rupture — the division that has lasted to the present day — though here the brothers’ retelling of history diverged. As Harry explained it to Oprah, Meghan’s Australian tour success sowed the jealousies that caused feelings to “change”. According to this scenario, William and Kate resented the Diana-like popularity that was generated by Harry’s wife. William had a different recollection.

We now know that Princes William and Harry were no longer on speaking terms before the Sussexes set off for Australia. Feelings had already “changed”, as Harry put it, and drastically so. The brothers had parted on extremely poor terms, with the trouble centring on Meghan’s stringent treatment and alleged bullying of her staff.

Most Kensington Palace courtiers were noted for the comparatively long tenures of their comfortable and prestigious jobs. But it came to look as if employees could not wait to escape service with Harry and Meghan. Those who left formed themselves into an informal fraternity that they titled the “Sussex Survivors’ Club”. They had finally hit back, and their organising agent had been PR man Jason Knauf.

The joint communications secretary for Kensington Palace — who was still, at that date, working on behalf of both of the brothers and their wives — had become concerned by the numerous stories of mistreatment being brought to him by colleagues whom he knew well and trusted.

Texas-born and New Zealand-educated, Knauf, 34, was a popular character in Kensington Palace, widely noted for his friendliness and loyalty towards his colleagues. He had been considered a real “catch” when the brothers snared him from the Royal Bank of Scotland in 2015, and one of his concerns was that professional management practices should be more effectively enforced inside the traditional British palace. Knauf’s American sensibilities caused him to see the Meghan situation as raising principles of human resources management in the palace system that needed to be formally addressed.

Knauf’s first priority was to set down the facts, as he saw them, for the record: “I’m very concerned,” he emailed to William’s private secretary Simon Case, in a document he drafted in October 2018, “that the duchess was able to bully two PAs out of the household in the past year.”

Knauf described Meghan’s treatment of one aide as “totally unacceptable . . . the duchess seems intent”, he wrote, “on always having someone in her sights”. Specifying another staff member, Knauf alleged Meghan had been bullying her as well, “seeking to undermine her confidence”. His office had received “report after report”, he wrote, from people who had witnessed “unacceptable behaviour” by Meghan towards this member of staff.

“Meghan governed by fear,” claimed one courtier. “So many people said it. Nothing was ever good enough for her. [She] humiliated staff in meetings, [would] shout at them, [would] cut them off email chains — and then demand to know why they hadn’t done anything.”

As early as 2017, around the time of the couple’s engagement, according to a subsequent report in The Times, a senior aide had spoken to the couple about the difficulties caused by their treatment of staff. “It’s not my job to coddle people,” Meghan was said to have replied.

“Americans can be much more direct,” wrote the authors Omid Scobie and Carolyn Durand in defence of the duchess, “and that often doesn’t sit well in the much more refined institution of the monarchy.”

A Brit might have raised an eyebrow at Meghan’s alleged behaviour, then looked the other way. The Yank decided to act. Knauf was actually one of Meghan’s most senior advisers — her chief adviser, in fact, when it came to public relations. Earlier that year she had gone to Knauf for help when drafting the disputed letter of severance that she sent to her father. She valued his PR expertise.

Before that, Knauf had helped Harry to word the fierce anti-media statements that he had framed to try to protect Meghan from press harassment, both as his girlfriend and then as his fiancée. The PR man had taken considerable stick from some of his non-royal contacts who criticised him as being overprotective in fighting the newcomer’s corner. Like so many people in all the palaces, Knauf had started off on Meghan’s side.

But as the months went by the American’s feelings became more ambiguous, as numerous colleagues — women whom he greatly respected — continued to bring him stories of what they said they had suffered at Meghan’s hands.

“I can’t stop shaking,” one aide had told a colleague in anticipation of an encounter with Meghan. Another reported that the prospect of confrontation with the duchess had made her “feel sick”. “Emotional cruelty and manipulation”, were the words of a third, “which I guess could also be called bullying.”

The b-word featured prominently in the accounts of several, along with an even more sinister set of initials: PTSD. Post-traumatic stress disorder was a deeply serious condition to allege — flashbacks, nightmares and feelings of deep anxiety — but that was how one complainant said that they had felt.

Several people maintained they had been “humiliated” by the duchess, and that criticism extended to Harry as well.

“I overheard a conversation between Harry and one of his top aides,” recalled one Kensington Palace courtier. “Harry was screaming and screaming down the phone. Team Sussex was a really toxic environment. People shouting and screaming in each other’s faces.”

Shouting and screaming? PTSD? Making people feel sick? Prince William went ballistic when he heard the “dossier of distress” that Knauf had gathered. We do not know whether the communications secretary brought his allegations directly to his boss or submitted them via Simon Case. What we do know is that the prince was astonished and horrified. He was instantly furious at what he heard.

“I remember Christian Jones [William’s press secretary and later private secretary] explaining to me how the Cams [the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge] are paternalistic with their staff,” recalls one royal correspondent. “They copy the Queen in that respect with all her Christmas parties and Christmas presents to her people. They’re proud to treat their staff like family. They recognise that they don’t get paid loads of money, so they are just really nice to them. So this was a very deep clash of philosophies, with Meghan being used to a Hollywood service culture — getting exactly what she wanted whenever she wanted in that famous way that Harry said.”

William personally knew and liked all the individuals whom Knauf had named in his dossier. The prince regarded them as assets to his household — colleagues to be cherished and for whom he was responsible. Human beings. Like Knauf, the prince was appalled that his respected staff may have been put in this position.

For William, Knauf’s allegations also clarified something that the prince had long believed — that Meghan was fundamentally hostile towards the royal system, which she failed to understand as an outsider. William wondered if she had not wanted to leave from the very start — even dreaming, perhaps, that she could whisk Harry back with her to North America.

But Meghan’s lawyers and PR representatives said this was quite the wrong interpretation of their client’s thinking and behaviour in a statement that they issued to The Times early in March 2021. They denied all allegations of bullying as inaccurate and the product of what they described as a “smear campaign”. The duchess wished to fit in and be accepted, they insisted. She had left her life in North America to commit herself to her new role.

I have never met Jason Knauf. What you have just read is based upon the published accusations that Knauf set down on paper — refuted as “defamatory”, it must be stressed again, and “based on misleading and harmful information” in the view of the Duchess of Sussex’s lawyers. It also relies upon William’s personal account of these events to one of his friends who then spoke to this author.

The moment the prince heard the bullying allegations, he related to this friend, he got straight on the phone to talk to Harry — and when Harry flared up in furious defence of his wife, the elder brother persisted. Harry shut off his phone angrily, so William went to speak to him personally. The prince was horrified by what he had just been told about Meghan’s alleged behaviour, and he wanted to hear what Harry had to say.

The showdown between the two siblings was fierce and bitter. William’s pre-engagement questioning of Meghan’s suitability had been quite reasonable, in William’s opinion. His fraternal doubts had been provisional, based upon how the new recruit appeared to be. The elder brother did not really know Meghan in those early days.

But now William had seen enough of his sister-in-law to feel sure that, sadly, he did know her and that many of his reservations linked unhappily with what Knauf’s colleagues had alleged. William believed Meghan was following a plan — “agenda” was the word he used to his friend — and the accusations he had just heard were alarming. Kate, he said, had been wary of her from the start.

Meghan was undermining some precious principles of the monarchy, if she really was treating her staff in this way, and William was upset that she seemed to be stealing his beloved brother away from him. Later courtiers would coin a hashtag — #freeHarry. It was only half a joke.

“Meghan portrayed herself as the victim,” recalled one Kensington Palace staffer, “but she was the bully. People felt run over by her. They didn’t know how to handle this woman. They thought she was a complete narcissist and sociopath — basically unhinged. Which was why the pair of them were drawn to each other in the first place — both damaged goods.”

William felt deeply wounded. “Hurt” and “betrayed” were the two feelings that he described to his friend. The elder brother had always felt so protective. He had seen it as his job to look out for Harry but this was the moment the protection had to stop. At the end of the day the British crown and all it stood for with its ancient traditions, styles and values — the mission of the monarchy — had to matter more to William than his brother did.

Harry, for his part, was equally furious that William should give credence to the accusations against Meghan, and he was fiercely combative in his wife’s defence. Some sources maintain that in the heat of the argument Harry actually accused someone in the family of concepts that were “racist”. But it must be stressed that neither brother has ever confirmed that the hateful r-word was used face to face.

Only William and Harry can know what they said to each other and they have respectfully maintained their silence on that. But Harry made clear to the world in his interview with Oprah that he considered his family’s response to Meghan to have been essentially racist — using the heavily freighted code words “unconscious bias” to provide an intellectual framework for his analysis.

Where could the two brothers go after such painful and damning notions had been thrown into their debate?

We have reached the crux of the drama. What painfully unforgettable and surely unforgivable things have been said? These are not passing differences. They are two core sets of values in conflict — love versus duty — going to the very heart and deriving from the deepest beliefs and loyalties of each man. Two opposing identities butting heads. In the months following the tragic and not-obviously bridgeable rift of October 2018 between William and Harry, the younger brother solidified his belief that his family were suffering from “unconscious bias”.

William, for his part, felt just as strongly about Meghan and the need for her subversive “agenda” to be removed from the operations of the British monarchy, which she did not appear to understand or respect. He certainly wanted Meghan removed, for a start, from the hitherto harmonious joint household that he and his brother had operated together for the best part of a decade. William simply did not want her or Harry around any more.

When accounts of the rift started seeping out through the winter months that followed, it was generally assumed that the volatile Harry must have set the pace in the splitting up of the joint Kensington Palace household. He was the brother who visibly departed, stalking off to set up a new home in Windsor, with offices for himself and Meghan in Buckingham Palace.

But the reverse was the case. It was William who made the decisive move. Following his furious confrontation with his younger brother in the autumn of 2018, the prince instructed Simon Case to start the process of dividing their two households immediately. William wished to be separated from Meghan on a day-to-day basis — and that meant being separated from his brother as well.

“William,” says a friend, “threw Harry out.”

©Robert Lacey 2021 Extracted from Battle of Brothers: William, Harry and the Inside Story of a Family in Tumult by Robert Lacey, to be published by William Collins on June 24 at £9.99

[1ddiscourseoftheday]

Wed 12 May ‘21

Zayn said FREE PALESTINE!! He posted a slideshow with info about the current crisis of human rights violations in Jerusalem and other parts of occupied Palestine with a heartfelt statement, and tweeted a UNICEF link to donate to support children under fire in Gaza. “I stand with the Palestinian people and support their resistance to colonization and protection of their human rights,” said Zayn, “My heart aches for the families who have lost loved ones. We can not stand as silent witnesses to children being orphaned and murdered and not demand for the human rights of all Palestinians! This must end. Free Palestine.” Zayn has always stood with the Palestinian people as part of his own cultural heritage- or perhaps just as a caring person educated on the issues- and I imagine now being the parent of a baby who is part Palestinian from her mom’s side has only strengthened that commitment.

LTtour22 planning is truly underway, with venues being shuffled and tickets going on sale (and resale sites price gouging like you wouldn’t believe). Point of sale tickets are still reasonably priced for most markets though!

More Brits news from yesterday-- host Jack Whitehall continued his tradition of making fun of his friend Niall and then getting canceled by fans for it, making a joke about how they had to limit the award show audience so they “billed it as a Niall Horan gig”, and doing a Q and A about Niall and Lewis Capaldi pretending to accost him backstage last year after he called Niall “the other one” from 1D. Predictably, fans got super upset! Not turkey puppet level upset or anything, but pretty mad nonetheless. Niall did not respond, but he did like a post about Little Mix calling out the “white male dominance” at the awards and comment a little clappy hands on a Gucci post about Harry’s Brit win. Anne Marie posted a pic of her making a funny face and facetiming Niall, and an EXCELLENT set pic of her and Niall filming the video for their alleged collab song; Niall commented “cannot wait,” and yet it seems to me like he CAN wait as that is in fact what we are still doing!

Fans also got worked up post-Brits about Harry’s acceptance speech; specifically, his accent, with enough people saying he sounded American that actual articles were written saying he used an American accent. I… don’t agree? He just sounds like Harry?? My theory is we aren’t used to hearing Harry speaking back to back with Louis anymore and the contrast with his samsung ad just threw people off, lol. But if you want some all-American Harry related content, I don’t think it gets more American than Jon Bon Jovi; he played Watermelon Sugar for a charity event. A little weird but definitely better than the Bardcore version, I’ll give him that! Harry himself was back to work bright and early today, filming My Policeman (presumably not with an American accent)- today brings silent video of him in an alley, smoking, in a sweater vest, and on the street, smoking, with a duffel bag.

Liam was featured in Polish Vogue talking about the Hugo perfume campaign. Asked about childhood scents he says (like Harry), “Every time I hear this question, I think about the scent of Disneyland. I don't know what exactly it is, but I feel my memories drift over there,” and that as well as acting he’d like to try his hand at filming.

[mysticmjolnir]

I think I was tagged a while ago by @artemisthehuntress but i didn't feel strong enough to bare even a sliver of my soul but now I do and @theseptemberist said if you see their post then you have to do it so

nickname: my full name is god-tier but it's too powerful so I go by thea which is lesser-god tier

zodiac: if i could change one thing about myself it would be my birthday i'm a capricorn and i hate everything about it also i would change everything else too but like my zodiac sign is a real bitter pill i resented it long before astrology was a Thing

height: not very tall

hogwarts house: the evil one

last thing i googled: the phantom menace i'm watching it with my mum and wanted to look at the imdb page to lord my knowledge of the random baby brits in it over her

followers: this blog is a century old so i have a lot of dead followers who i miss but right now i am cultivating a very solid twenty people none of whom care enough about morgana pendragon for my liking

song stuck in my head: c'etait toi by billy joel

how much I sleep: how fucking dare you just leave me alone please

lucky number: i don't have any luck and thinking about numbers makes it worse

dream job: the amount of time i have spent struggling to answer this simple and dumb question is indicative of how fucked i am right now. too sad to dream. ok i got it. i would like to be a cat.

wearing: a top with a skull and roses on and a skirt mde of panels of brown fabric, cream fabric, and scientific drawings of butterflies and moths fabric. the skirt has had a hole in one of the seams since one week after i made it, which was some time in 2020 i think. also fingerless gloves.

favourite instrument: idk i like lots of them! violin oboe harp piano. jews harp. that's my favourite instrument. look it up.

aesthetic: chaos nymph

favourite author: all fanfic authors. well not all of them. all of them in spirit. in reality some very specific fanfic authors. also george orwell.

favourite animal noise: the surprised little MRR that cats make when they're dozing and you pat their little heads (this was @theseptemberist's and i'm stealing it)

something random: look i have shipped crowley and aziraphale since i read the book in the early 2000s but i like imprinted on them and used to imagine doing my homework in aziraphale's shop but i flinch every time i see fic of them i don't want to read about my actual dads fucking idk why my brain insists i can't enjoy this ship like i'm glad other people enjoy and love and write for them but i honestly flinch it's very funny probably okay having said that everyone needs to read the sacred and the profane it's the one good omens fic i support i read it every two years to cry

tagging: no-one i'm too frightened of interacting with anyone in any way in case i do it wrong

[klarolinelibrary]

Hi KC Readers, 

Happy Friday! 

We have another weekly releases for you to check out. The stories below were updated during the week of April 17 - April 23. 

Grab a snack and drink, then dive right into the new stories and reimagined characters of Klaus Mikaelson and Caroline Forbes!

FFN

Klaus POV - The Trouble with Spells (Chapter 21)

Author: ilovetf

Rating: M

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: I think the title is self explanatory. The Trouble with Spells as seen through Klaus's eyes and his POV. Over the years, people kept liking this story and some even asked for Klaus POV, so I decided to give it a try. Hope you enjoy it. All feedback is more than welcome. Good or bad.

Date of update: April 17 2021

SKULLS (Chapter 9)

Author: Lovely Vero

Rating: M

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: Vampiro and El Diablo, aka: Klaus and Elijah Mikaelson, heads of the bikers SKULLS are fighting Gabriel Desperaldo, aka: El escorpión - head of the Spanish mafia - and his human trafficking in their city of Los Alamos in New Mexico. Never in a million years, did they imagine that the love of two captured women would change their life forever.

Date of update: April 17 2021

In the shelter of your light (Chapter 3)

Author: Clarity23

Rating: M

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: Caroline expected to face some challenges when she decided to foster a teenage girl. But she did not expect that the girl's older, annoyingly handsome brother would be in the picture as well. AU

Date of update: April 17 2021

Everything and anything for you (Chapter 13)

Author: thelibrarianofalexandria

Rating: T

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: She had it all planned ahead. Graduate early, go to an Ivy League college, make her dreams come true. However, she has to change it a little when her whole life is thrown upside down and a handsome original takes an interest in her, the younger, shy, sister of Caroline Forbes.

Date of update: April 20 2021

You can't run from your past (Chapter 2)

Author: CookieDuo

Rating: M

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: Caroline Forbes is an FBI agent with secrets. Three years ago she fell in love with a target before she helped put him behind bars, and she faked her own death. Now he's escaped from prison and he's learned the truth, about who she is and the secret she's been keeping since he got sent away. Now she has to run, but he's determined to catch her. And he always gets what he wants.

Date of update: April 20 2021

Take on the world

Author: Logan27

Rating: M

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: Starts near the end of 4x14 (I would rewatch that episode up until Klaus comes out onto the porch just for a refresher). Caroline makes a life altering decision and takes a big chance in order to move forward, heal and discover.

Date of update: April 21 2021

A Failed Sacrifice (Chapter 4)

Author: CookieDuo

Rating: M

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: She ruined the sacrifice to save her own life, and in order to survive she turned to the only other vampire who'd been able to survive the wrath of Klaus Mikaelson. She gets away, and learns from the master, but when Klaus eventually catches up to her, her life will never be the same again.

Date of update: April 23 2021

AO3

Step Up Or Step Out

Author: ThrowMeAStory

Rating: E

Length: One shot

Summary: 4x16 au, Part 7. For Caroline it's been a long time coming.

Date of update: April 17 2021

no goodbyes (Chapter 9)

Author: deadofwrite (dead_of_write)

Rating: E

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: “Last night shouldn’t have happened,” Caroline whispered. Guilt. Shame. Regret.It was all the emotions he feared. And it was written all over her face. aka. a college/cheating au

Date of update: April 17 2021

Turned Off or Turned On?

Author: Anonymous

Rating: E

Length: Drabble

Summary: Caroline-that-has-flipped-the-switch seeks out one Klaus Mikaelson. Deep down Caroline knew that seeking him out was wrong on so many levels, he had been responsible for so much death and destruction, but that didn’t stop her. Truthfully, it made her want to go to him more, now that her emotions had been turned off. There was nothing from keeping her from having him. Had she had them switched on it was doubtful she even would have gone out of the door, she would have just wistfully thought about going instead. Thinking about what might have been.

Date of update: April 17 2021

One of a Kind, Two of a Kind, or the Three Musketeers (Chapter 10)

Author: Phandancee74

Rating: T

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: Caroline recognizes how hard it is for Elena to be a doppelgänger, her fate predestined as well as her face. It's pretty tough being the last of your kind too though, and Caroline is determined to protect them both, with some very helpful Bennetts on their side. A fic that integrates Malivore and the larger supernatural universe into TVD from the start.

Date of update: April 17 2021

A Blonde, A Brit, and A Baby (Chapter 3)

Author: Books4eva180

Rating: T

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: Caroline Forbes life is right on schedule for her Twenty-Year plan that she created at 16 years old: at 23 years old she is a junior editor at a magazine company in NYC and she has fantastic friends; one of whom is about to get to married. Life couldn't be more perfect or at least that was until she slept with a British asshole. What was only supposed to be a one night stand has turned into a life changing night because Caroline is now pregnant. Klaus Mikaelson has always enjoyed the simple things in life. Bourbon, art, and an endless stream of girls who are more than willing to fall into his bed. This all changes when he is forced to move to America to join his father's law company and he isn't even really his father. Then to make matters worse he ends up sleeping with a girl and even worse she ends up pregnant. Forced together in a situation that neither of them could have planned for will feelings blossom (yes they definitely will) Will Caroline be able to handle this life changing event? Will Klaus be able to escape the demons from his past? Will the both of them be able to provide a happy and healthy home for their baby?

Date of update: April 18 2021

Darkness Becomes Thee

Author: BelleMorte180

Rating: E

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: Austria 1300s When Klaus met a young girl on a riverbank, he knew that he would one day come back for her. When he looked into her bright blue eyes, he could see a reflection of his own soul, a darkness that lingered inside both of them. When the young girl turned into a beautiful woman with a thirst for blood, his fascination with her turns into obsession. He wants not only her loyalty but her eternity, a possessiveness that is equally returned. or my "Caroline is the serial killer Elizabeth Bathory" au.

Date of update: April 18 2021

Reunited (Chapter 13)

Author: CandyCane1287

Rating: T

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: Set after 5x12 TVD, where Caroline confesses what she did with Klaus to Katherine and Tyler hears. Katherine reveals that she’s dying and knows of a witch that could help her. But the witch is in New Orleans and that’s where Elijah and Klaus. Baby included but nice Hayley doesn't stick around. Also, Elena is supportive here.

Date of update: April 18 2021

A smutty anniversary (Chapter 6)

Author: kcatdino

Rating: E

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: Caroline and Klaus celebrate 3 months together with a day full of smut.

Date of update: April 18 2021

american dream prom queen

Author: trashcanbarbie

Rating: T

Length: Drabble

Summary: “What would they say, if they knew you were here, on my birthday doing something almost…” she trails off, because she doesn't know the word. “Nice?” he suggests, then grins like a wolf, “They’d roll in their graves, my siblings.” “They're not dead.” He grins, and Caroline feels as if he’s laughing at a private joke when he says, “Aren't they?”

Date of update: April 19 2021

We are young (Chapter 12)

Author: kcatdino

Rating: T

Length: One shot

Summary: Basically, Klaroline flirt in front of their kids who they are barely older than, and Landon is appropriately confused.

Date of update: April 19 2021

Nowhere Else To Go (Chapter 2)

Author: NerdyNostalgia

Rating: G

Length: Drabble

Summary: Klaus has an unexpected visitor while in New Orleans and is determined to show her a good time. He isn't going to let this chance pass him by, and if it means he and Caroline get closer...well, that was a bonus. But is Marcel planning something?

Date of update: April 19 2021

Part of Your World

Author: perfectpro

Rating: G

Length: One shot

Summary: After trading the loveliest thing she possessed to a sea witch in order to walk on land, Caroline realizes that she'd accidentally bargained her voice away. Human legs shouldn't always feel this sort of pain, should they? With only a week to go before the spell wears off, the bargain can be undone entirely with true love's first kiss. The only problem is... Who falls in love in less than a week?

Date of update: April 19 2021

I Don’t Want You To Die

Author: klarolinexluv

Rating: E

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary:

Date of update: April 19 2021

Sibling Rivalry (Chapter 9)

Author: kcatdino

Rating: M

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: In which Klaus and Rebekah are both bi, their taste in men and women overlaps infuriatingly often, and they argue over their newest shared interest. Edit: This is going to be a full series now, I love it so much. Edit 2: Oops, I dropped a whole bucket of angst on Caroline's backstory. If only there were some Mikaelsons willing to help her work through it...

Date of update: April 20 2021

What Could Have Been (Chapter 37)

Author: TNaPKI

Rating: M

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: My impression of what Season 6 of The Originals would have been like post 5x13 where Klaroline becomes endgame. Is Klaus really gone or is there more to the story? Find out! FINAL CHAPTER out in a month!

Date of update: April 20 2021

The Salvatore Sisters (Chapter 19)

Author: 1Jemmagirl22

Rating: T

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: Caroline and Davina Salvatore are Stefan and Damon's younger sister's, and they are far more than meets the eye. When Stefan and Damon's younger sisters show up during the beginning of season 2, what could possibly go wrong. The Salvatore girls have a dark past littered with their brother's enemies, the same enemies that just so happen to be their family. With Mikaelson's as husbands, miracle powers that could crush a Bennet witch, and whole life their brothers never knew about just how much have can these sisters and their family cause.

Date of update: April 21 2021

YOU ARE NOT HERE

Author: wincefish16

Rating: T

Length: Drabble

Summary: PROMT - HUMAN. KLAROLINE LOVED EAC OTHER, HAPPY IN A RELATIONSHIP WHERE CAROLINE IS THE ARTIST AND KLAUS IS A LAWYER. THEY HAVE AN ACCIDENT AND CAROLINE SLIPS IN A COMA. SHE IS LIKE THAT FOR 1 YEAR. KLAUS , AS A TRIBUTE TO HER STARTS PAINTING. DOES HE FALL INTO NEW RELATIONSHIPS?

Date of update: April 21 2021

Compromise Coffee (Chapter 3)

Author: BelleMorte180

Rating: E

Length: One shot

Summary: Caroline Forbes has a coffee problem; or better described as a crush on the cute barista, Klaus, who knows how to make her large, non-fat latte with a caramel drizzle and two extra espresso shots just right. After years of coming to Compromise Coffee, Caroline thought he would have made a move by now, but he hasn't. Caroline has decided that it is time for her to make the move herself.

Date of update: April 22 2021

Soulmate visions (Chapter 4)

Author: kcatdino

Rating: T

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: On your soulmate's eighteenth birthday, you see through their eyes for an hour, but they don’t know. And if your soulmate turns eighteen before you are even born, you never get a vision. Klaus gets his soulmate vision right after he orders Tyler to bite Caroline on her birthday….

Date of update: April 22 2021

Give Me A Sign (Chapter 6)

Author: PumpkinDoodles

Rating: M

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: Caroline Forbes is happy that she left founders' parties, competition over guys she'd known since elementary school, and even Mystic Falls itself behind years ago. She's not second-best to Elena anymore. Even Liz would be proud of her new life working on the side of the law. Mostly. (If you need to compel someone into giving up stolen goods, is it really a crime?) Of course he's the one person from her past who comes looking for her. Klaus does that.

Date of update: April 22 2021

Secrets Inside Us

Author: 1Jemmagirl22

Rating: T

Length: Drabble

Summary: Klaroline as actors falling in love on set.

Date of update: April 23 2021

Destination Wedding (Chapter 2)

Author: PumpkinDoodles

Rating: M

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: The first rule of going to your ex's wedding is 'make sure you look good,' but Caroline's seriously worried that this British Guy is going to make her late. And she cannot be late to Rebekah Mikaelson and Matt Donovan's wedding at a Virginia winery.

Date of update: April 23 2021

There Is Nothing I Would Not Do

Author: ThrowMeAStory

Rating: M

Length: Drabble

Summary: 4x16 au, Part 8. Caroline and Bonnie reconnect.

Date of update: April 23 2021

Cloud 9: A Collection of Klaroline Fusions and Crossovers (Chapter 10)

Author: klarolineagainnaturally

Rating: G

Length: One shot

Summary: Various fusions and crossovers with Klaus and Caroline including Much Ado About Nothing, Ready or Not, and Tangled!

Date of update: April 23 2021

FFN/AO3

FFN: The Traitor and the Coward (Chapter 5)

AO3: The Traitor and the Coward (Chapter 5)

Author: Uppity Bitch

Rating: M

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: Klaroline AU supernatural multi-chap - Original!Caroline has spent lifetimes running from her lover and his family. Despite the centuries of loneliness, she regrets nothing. Soon, she'll bring an end to this madness. Or bring the madness full circle.

Date of update: April 17 2021

FFN: Heartless to Heartfelt, Redone (Chapter 10)

AO3: Heartless to Heartfelt (Chapter 13)

Author: SmallTimeWriter

Rating: T

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: Daggered and buried deep within the ocean, Klaus has spent the last 9 years in a torturous state. Haunted by memories of the past and images of a child he never got to meet. Now awakened, but not the same. He is faced with a decision, can he forgive those who wronged him when a threat larger then they could anticipate appears? They must reunited to survive. All Main Characters.

Date of update: April 18 2021

FFN: Divine Intervention (Chapter 13)

AO3: Divine Intervention (Chapter 13)

Author: Uppity Bitch

Rating: M

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: This takes place in an alternate universe after Klaus seeks assistance from a certain blonde Norse goddess after Katerina has become a vampire and foiled his attempt at breaking his curse. Later chapters will follow this spicy "power" couple as they stir up all kinds of trouble in Mystic Falls. (Dark Klaroline) *Nominated for 2016 Klaroline Award - Best Original Story Concept

Date of update: April 19 2021

FFN: A Beautiful Symmetry (Chapter 154)

AO3:  A Beautiful Symmetry (Chapter 154)

Author: Uppity Bitch

Rating: M

Length: One Shot

Summary: A collection of random AU one-shots featuring Klaroline. *2019 KC Award - Best one-shot series* Chapter 154: Dimples and Domestics. The Mikaelsons are spoiled, selfish snobs — and unfortunately are art student Caroline and her parents' main source of income. At least she only has to put up with them over her summer break...

Date of update: April 21 2021

FFN: Through his eyes (Chapter 6)

AO3: Through his eyes (Chapter 6)

Author: TheAlllureOfDarkness

Rating: T

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: The story of Klaus and Caroline, from Klaus POV.

Date of update: April 21 2021

FFN: Judgment Call (Chapter 5)

AO3: Judgment Call (Chapter 5)

Author: Eliliyah

Rating: T/G

Length: Multi Chapter

Summary: As a Federal Agent, Caroline Forbes has always lived by a strict moral code. But when new evidence comes to light that Klaus Mikaelson, the first man she helped send to death row, may not be guilty hours before his execution, she begins to question everything she's ever known. As the investigation leads to the heartbreaking truth, she's forced to choose between right and just.

Date of update: April 23 2021

[fyrapartnersearch]

Seeking Literate Partners!

Disclaimer: Male authors, please stop contacting me. I've been burned too many times. If you persist, I'll ignore your message. Hello, you can call me Doe! I'm 25+ and a proud cat mom. I write multiple paragraphs/novella style (200-500+ words). I love to write detailed descriptions and delve into a character’s head/emotions as well as surroundings. I compare it to writing a novel together. I understand if the scene doesn’t have alot going on and therefore requires less like rapid fire. I adore having long, thoughtful replies where we truly immerse ourselves in the world. I'm hoping to find a partner whose as enthusiastic and passionate about the plot and writing as I am. When I get invested in a story, it’s 100% dedication. Getting a reply is the highlight of my day. I'm a big fan of romance and using face claims. I’m the type to make pinterest boards, spam you with gifs, headcanons, and send you songs that remind me of our characters and/or ship. I'll get excited if we come up with future plot ideas, or if our characters are being cute or angsty and I can yell about it in the chat. Last but not least I only do MxF (with myself in the female role) and don’t double, but I’m more than happy to write side characters of either gender to help move the story along. I'd highly prefer female authors writing male characters. Searching For - 21+ partners - For you to have an excellent grasp of grammar, punctuation, spelling, and capitalization. Both in character and out of character. (Literate to advanced writers only, please. I'm not looking for newbies or those who have English as their second/third language). - Plot before smut. While mature themes will be in my plots, and are even encouraged, there needs to be chemistry between our characters. I like to have a good mix of plot and tastefully written smut, along with doses of angst and fluff. - For you to write as an older man (40s+/50s+). I'm a sucker for the gruff and tough men with dark pasts who secretly have a soft heart. I also love those grumpy, hypermasculine men being intimidated by soft yet commanding women. The youngest I write is early 20s. - Please be enthusiastic and invested when it comes to plotting/worldbuilding. There’s nothing worse than receiving one sentence in reply to two paragraphs of ideas, or having a doormat partner who says “sure” to whatever I ask. Tossing ideas back and forth, watching them snowball into amazing plot threads brings me joy. - Joining me in the wonderful world of ship/character development is kind of a must. It’s one of the things that makes writing with a partner so much fun. I also like to make friends with my partners! - While I'd prefer real life face claims, I'd also be open to using realistic art if you're uncomfortable with real life. I draw the line at anime/cartoon art. Faces I'd love to write as: gal gadot, rooney mara, ruth negga, saoirse ronan, sophie turner, jessica chastain, jennifer morrison, mia wasikowska, natalia dyer, brit marling, deborah ann woll, mackenzie davis, emmy rossum, adria adjora, chyler leigh, hayley bennet, tashi rodriguez, lily james, cara delevingne, maya hawke, katheryn winnick, elizabeth olsen, abigal cowen, sophia lillis lauren cohan, zoey deutsch, paulina singer, crystal reed, hayley lu richardson, ask about others Faces I'd love to write against: jeffery dean morgan, hugh jackman, robert taylor, jr bourne, jon bernthal, jason issacs, anthony varrecchiah, brett tucker, david harbour, frank grillo, iain glen, josh duhamel, patrick petitjean, ethan hawke, christian bale, rory mccann, younger sam elliot, titus welliver, viggo mortensen, joel miller (illustrated face), ask about others If you've made it this far, thank you! You won't be disappointed in writing with me. I tend to be online daily and while I'd like it if you were too, I understand that real life things comes first. Let me know if you're going to be inactive/can’t continue. If you suddenly stop replying ic and ooc, I'll drop the story after 2 attempts of gauging continued interest spaced a week apart. Below are genres and pairings I love. Feel free to combine as many as you'd like and I’m sure we can come up with something great! Current cravings are in bold. Two thing I don't do are slice of life and historical plots. Genres: - crimes in remote locations - spooky small towns - post apocalyptic/dystopia - supernatural/modern fantasy (A/B/O, werewolves, shapeshifters, alpha x rival pack alpha's child, werewolf x shifter, alpha x new werewolf, involuntary mate-bond, mating/claiming) - southern/mid western gothic - murder mystery (small town or big city) - modern/dark fairy tale retellings - sci-fi - cyberpunk/retro-futuristic - little coastal towns or little towns in the mountains - emotionally charged/dark and gritty - superpowers/gifted - unresolved sexual tension/slow burn - redemption - pacific northwest - suburban gothic - luring to the other side - reincarnation/multiple universes - western inspired + modern day (such as longmire) - christmas inspired - culture clash/two characters from different sides Pairings: - age gaps (older man x younger woman / 15 to 25+ year gap) - enemies to lovers/villain x heroine - cop x criminal - doctor x patient - friends turned lovers/pining - grumpy x sunshine - the broken man x the woman that becomes his light - fbi agents/cop partners - dark hearted man melting for the innocent woman - friend x best friend’s older sibling - boss x employee - neighbors - single father x friend - firefighter/cop x victim - mentor x mentee - hurt/comfort - height differences - pet names (sweetheart, baby girl, kid, kiddo) - lady and the tramp esque/class difference - creature x human/creature - ex-con x anyone - bodyguard x assignment - widow/er falling in love again - biker x civilian - rancher/mountain man x city girl - affair (with so's sibling, with so's friend, with neighbor) - hitman x target - serial killer x fbi agent - soul mates - experienced x inexperienced - local x vacationer - injured/scarred warrior washed out from their former glory x royal/heir-to-be (modern day / Sansa x Sandor inspired) - friend x best friend/boyfriend's father - daughter in law x father in law - park ranger x camper - bounty hunter x bounty - power imbalances Tropes/Themes: the papa wolf/hot dads, cultured badass, jerk with a heart of gold. ladykiller in love, mountain man, mysterious protector, southern gentleman, tall, dark, and handsome, knight in sour armor, red string of fate, villain takes an interest, porcelain to ivory to steel, when person a gets injured/kidnapped and person b goes absolutely feral to save them, cowboys tiny women and big men, the monster being treated gently for the first time in his life, two characters forced into positions where they have no choice but to reconcile their differences and grow together/trust each other, forbidden relationships, trying to escape childhood demons & reuniting in adulthood Fandoms: (I don't write canons or do canon x oc) Star Wars, X Files, Haven, Fringe, Stranger Things, Heroes, The Wolf Among Us, Mercy Thompson Series, True Blood, Marvel, The OA, Disney personified, His Dark Materials, Beastars, Horizon Zero Dawn, The Last of Us, Cyberpunk 2077 Plot Ideas: I have too many to list here but take a look at my google doc and let me know if anything catches your attention. It's a mix of fandom inspired and original plots: Plot Ideas Last but not least, I have a list of kinks if anyone's interested. I use email and discord to write. I'd also be open to joining a jcink site! Contact me at Doe#3347 on discord or by email: doeeyes73@gmail.com Please be detailed when you message me, let me know why you chose to contact me. Seeing only "hey do you wanna rp?" is a guaranteed way to turn me off. Look forward to hearing from you!