#five minute pasties

[fingertipsmp3]

I think God heard me saying I’d rather have weird and tedious customers than rude customers and was like “let me test that theory”

[fromgoy2joy]

I sat next to the protest today.

I wrote fan-fiction about two gay jewish dads raising children to the play list of the chant- "No peace on stolen land!" on an American college campus. It isn't a name brand one either, nor does it have any legitimate ties to Israel. The anger is just there- it has rotten these future doctors, nurses, teachers, and members of society.

I don't even know what to call their demonstration- it was a tizzy of a Jew hatred affair. At points, there were empathetic statements about Gazans and their suffering. Then outright support of Hamas and violent resistance against all colonizers. Then this bizarre fixation on antisemitism while explaining the globalists are behind everything.

"Antisemitism doesn't exist. Not in the modern day," A professor gloated over a microphone in front of the library. "It's a weaponized concept, that's prevents us from getting actual places- ignore anyone who tells you otherwise."

"How can we be antisemitic?" A pasty white girl wearing a red Jordanian keffiyeh gloats five minutes later. "Palestinians are the actual semites."

"there is only one solution!" The crowd of over 50 students and faculty cried, over and over.

"Been there, done that," I thought, then added a reference to a mezuza in the fourth paragraph.

Two other Jewish students passed where I was parked out, hunching and trying to be as innocuous as possible. We laughed together at my predicament, where I am willingly hearing this bullshit and feeling so amused by this.

"Am I crazy? For sitting here?" I asked them. My friends shook their heads.

"We did the same last week- it's an amazing experience, isn't it?”

We all cackled hysterically again. They left to study for finals. Two minutes later, I learned from the current speaker that “Zionism” is behind everything bad in this world.

Forty-five minutes in, a boy I recognized joined me on my lonely bench. He came from a very secular Jewish family and had joined Hillel recently to learn more about his culture. His first Seder was two nights ago.

He sat next to me, heavy like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. There was just this despondent look on his face. I couldn’t describe it anyone else, but just sheer hopelessness personified.

“They hate us. I can’t believe how much they hate us.” He said in greeting.

And for the first time all day, I had no snarky response or glib. All I could do was stare out into the crowd, and sigh.

[teddypickerry]

𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒 𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍.

pairings: harry potter x reader, ron weasley x reader, george weasley x reader, fred weasley x reader, cedric diggory x reader, draco malfoy x reader, blaise zabini x reader, théodore nott x reader, and lorenzo berkshire x reader.

warnings: suggestive dialogue! the reader can be gn but there are mentions of them wearing a dress!

a/n: i had to redo this twice bc it literally randomly deleted and then when i was trying to do the read more thing it deleted again. so funnnnn. :|. ALSO i received a bunch of requests today, those will be coming soon!

harry potter !

• never having a chance to go trick or treating as a kid with the dursley's, harry was more than delighted when halloween rolled around during hogwarts.

• although the depressings of his parents lingered he knew they would want him to have a good time so he never let it get to him. and if he did, you were always right by his side.

• so as a teenager, harry still remained roaming the streets of hogsmede with a pillowcase in his hands. dressed as han solo and luke skywalker with ron, begging for candy.

• you and hermione stood back and watched as if you were their parents, arms crossed as you shared giggles about silly costumes in your view.

• the rest of the month, however, harry remained in dark sweaters and jeans. the aura of the fall weather balanced perfectly with his look.

• candy corn lover <3

• the night of halloween you're both preparing for fred weasleys party

• ron had changed into "a cooler costume" so he wouldn't get bullied by malfoy and his gang for his star wars costume. but harry couldn't care less and stayed as a leader of the rebel alliance.

• you don't mind though... han solo's pretty sexy

• when you arrive at the party you spend half an hour discussing the costumes around you and the dance moves coming from ron.

• finally harry asks you to dance and of course it's awkward, but he tries

• when you arrive back at his dorm, he immediately digs into his halloween candy eating the chocolates and saving the sours for you

• even though he likes sour candy he knows you like it more

• by one o'clock you're lying in bed, eating the candy as his favroite muggle halloween films lull you both to sleep

ron weasley

• acts super tough... mortified.

• he literally cannot even watch a horror movie without screaming his head off

• he had this whole plan to invite you to his dorm to watch muggle horror movies and you'll scream and run to his arms but it's the COMPLETE opposite

• you would think for like saving the wizarding world a million times he would at least not be scared of a guy running around with a knife.

• "um so do you wanna-" *jumpscare* "BLOODY HELL JEZ- that wasn't even that bad."

• acts too cool for costumes and shit but you KNOW that man is a twelve year old deep down and goes trick or treating with harry

• he's definitely a jedi with harry when trick or treating BUT joel from risky business for fred's halloween party and you're lana of course.

• "um harry and i are off to do some... manly things." "are you guys going trick or treating?" "BYE Y/N."

• "we're having a horror movie date night!" *watches it's the great pumpkin, charlie brown* but you don't mind because you get to spend the night cuddling with ron

• he's a BIG cinnamon roll kinda guy especially the ones molly makes. so you decide to surprise him with your cooking skills and make him a homemade batch... with one spell of course. nonetheless he ate them all within the first five minutes of the movie.

• avid pumpkin spice hater 😐

• you're eating your pumpkin pasties and he's side eyeing the shit out of you

• "idk how you like punpkin. i am not letting those pumpkin-fied lips anywhere near me." oh this only results in you covering his face with pumpkin kisses. which of course, he doesn't mind despite his joking cries for you to stop.

• calming him down after fred and george prank him every day

• "ron, ron... it's okay. it's okay trust me. it's just a silly prank." you tell him as you wrap your arm around his shoulder. he sighs as he turns to you, "yeah, i wasn't scared anyways." LIES.

fred weasley

• he doesn't just love halloween, he breathes it

• fred pranks everyone he possibly can but he knows to not even try with you because well.. you'll kill him if he tries to get you

• MUGGLE HAUNTED HOUSES

• he doesn't just love people attempting to scare him, no, he LOVES scaring the scarers.

• he hides in the dark corners of the haunted houses and jumps out at people and laughs his ass off when they get scared

• once he made a little girl cry. he gave her a bunch of candy to make up for it.

• he's been pitching costume ideas to you since march

• "you'd make quite a hot frankenstein's bride if i do say so myself." ;)

• he ADORES passing out candy to the first and second years. he saw it in muggle films and just had to do it.

• he compliments all their costumes and always goes along with whatever they are

• "we'll you're a very pretty princess, if you need a dragon slayer i'm your guy! oh and you- well aren't you the scariest ghost i've ever seen in my entire life. sir nick has nothing on you, mate!"

• the night of halloween is his FAVORITE after the parties and the passing out the candy and the snacks and all, he's ready to have a good time.... if you know what i mean.

• his favorite muggle halloween movie is definitely halloween (1979). he's a big michael myers kinda guy.

• you and george team up to try and scare him several times throughout october but you always fail.

• "bloody hell, darling. you gave me quite the fright." *sarcasm* "at least you're pretty."

george weasley

• four words. rocky horror picture show.

• he makes you watch it every single halloween since you met

• his ideal halloween date is watching horror films and eating all the candy he smuggled from ginny

• "if you're scared, you know you can hold onto me..."

• comfy fall sweaters are his go to

• he likes passing out candy with you and his friends to see the kids costumes. he much rather prefers that then the rager fred throws later that nights

• he'll of course make an appearance, but he'd much rather get back to your dorm room to spend some alone time together

• george doesn't care as much about the spooky aspects as much as his brother but he's always down for a good prank on ron.

• they have an annual prank that consists of filling ron's bed with spiders and always results in the same reaction

• "BLOODY HELL!" "Aw, taking it like a man." "You're such a beast, Ronald." sarcasm.

• he takes you out for a little autumn day in the muggle world. you go buy pumpkins to paint at his parent's house, and get apple donuts with apple cider, and of course he can't stop staring at you while you ponder over the costumes at the halloween shop. he somehow landed in the sexy costumes "mistakenly" and of course, is willing to buy you all of them

• he settles on david bowie for himself which you're all for

• he spends most of his month, however, attempting to prank fred since apparently no one can. he needs your help and he's always telling you all about his ideas

draco malfoy

• too cool for halloween

• he appreciates the dark demeanor though

• when he was little he dressed up as a death eater for like every halloween for the first ten years of his life

• then you came into his life and he stopped thinking all that horrid stuff was cool. so he kind of avoided the holiday.

• it was so hard though, considering you're such a massive fan of it. and he's such a massive fan of you.

• "draco, can you dress up please?"

• it takes A LOT of convincing. but then you finally hit his soft spot. "i'll do anything you want."

• so now you're lathering black paint on his face to be a hot skeleton guy. of course he's wearing it with a black suit, and you're helping him slick back his hair. he looks so hot.

• he's only doing this for you, he keeps reminding you to hopefully make you feel bad and let him back out. but of course you're not.

• draco's only thought is what's going to happen after the party in his dorm room with you. he has no interest in his best mate theo's party, but you promised theo you'd both make an appearance.

• he's skipped the candy and treats this year and gone straight for the cigarettes. he couldn't harm his figure, he is a malfoy after all.

• he was used to galas his mother threw on halloween but watching you interact with your friends as you raved about one another's costumes was much more pleasurable

• green apple suckers. HIS WEAK SPOT. "maybe one..." turns into five

• "WHY are these children wanting their feet to get smelt?" "DRACO, THATS NOT HOW IT GOES."

• you make him watch muggle witch movies and he's critiquing them like he's getting graded on it "um, there is a SPELL FOR THAT?" "bloody fucking hell, that's not how you do that!"

cedric diggory

• pumpkin spice LOVER.

• pumpkin coffee, pumpkin cookies, pumpkin bread. all YES.

• he's taking you to muggle diners and you're getting everything pumpkin on the menu. while you sip your hot coffee and watch the leaves fall to the ground outside.

• brown pants all for october. with sweater vests or tshirts or crewnecks or anything really. he's wearing brown pants.

• cedric's in between dressing up as one of you're celebrity crushes or fictional character crushes. he can't decide who would make you blush the most.

• walks around the grounds to watch the sunrise and look at the crisp orange leaves

• when halloween finally arrives, he's up early in the morning to get the both of you - you guessed it! pumpkin coffee and donuts

• by the time he's back you're already playing halloween tunes while you get ready

• he's of course attending fred weasley's halloween bash which you both heard is going to be close to epic

• by five o'clock sharp he's complimenting first years on their halloween costumes as they're off to trick or treat in hogsmede. he would go chaperone only if it weren't for the party

• cedric finally decided on johnny castle from dirty dancing since he knows how much you love the film. and of course, how beautiful you'd look in baby pink

• he's dancing with you the moment you walk into the party. no matter the song he's dancing and laughing with you the entire evening. (probably from all the donuts he ate and coffee he drank)

• he attempts to do the lift from the film which ends... differently. but nonetheless you had the time of your life (no pun intended) which is all he wanted

• "no fair, you ate that last piece!" eating butter beer fudge from honey dukes on the walk home

• ending the night in his halloween jumper lying in his bed and engulfing your entire body weight in candy corn

theo nott

• the party thrower

• the one who's most likely to get arrested for intoxication and just stupid ass things on halloween night

• that guy, he never had a date for halloween. so that's why everyone was so shocked when you start dating right before the spooky month.

• he started out the holiday month by taking you to a muggle haunted house, holding onto you the entire time so he wouldn't accidentally punch the workers

• "MERLINS BEARD THAT WAS AWESOME" every two seconds throughout the haunted house

• he wastes no time carving pumpkins with you a few days later "accio pumpkins!" "accio kniv- nevermind, that could've been a blood bath."

• theo carves the most innocent unhappy face on a pumpkin while you're is genius and looks incredible which only results in him talking about it in astonishment for hours

• it's two weeks before the party and he's already sending owls to every person in the universe it seemed, for party supplies

• "how many kegs is too many kegs? TRICK QUESTION THERES NEVER TOO MANY." "theo, someone's gonna die at your party."

• his guest list isn't just random hot people like it normally is. so many people give you glares in the hallway. which only makes theo wrap a protective arm around you and shoot a glare in their direction

• it's the day of the party and he's already stressing so of course you calm him down and make him breakfast. (well cast a spell at least)

• which he only gets two bites in before his friends burst through the door exclaiming how brilliant the party's going to be

• green lights dimmed the dungeon to make it even spookier for the party. he really went all out with the scariest stuff possible, there was even waiters who were dressed like butlers from a 1950s horror film

• gomez and morticia addams as the guest hosts felt right so he was more than delighted to see you standing beside him in a black dress he couldn't stop staring at

• and so the rager began.

• it was even more wild than you had anticipated

• you lost track of theo every five minutes, not really getting a chance to see him until the final hours of the party. which resided in the mid morning. which of course he still wasn't tired

• but by the time you both made it back to your dorm (his was occupied with blaise and a girl from the party) and took off your makeup and changed into something more comfortable, you were practically passed out in one another's arms.

• "happy halloween, baby."

blaise zabini

• blaise zabini is a halloween lover in SECRET.

• the month of october he seems disinterested. he likes that he can wear his turtlenecks now.

• and that his black coffee matches the gloomy weather.

• he can't be scared, no matter how many times you try. he always knows it's coming probably because theo tells him

• "i have to practice every chance i get this month, it's quidditch season. im sorry, baby." when you ask him to go do halloween activities with you.

• on halloween morning you cuddle against him while he reads you halloween classics, because of course he owns them all. specifically he chooses frankenstein because it's his absolute favorite. his mother read it to him growing up.

• he runs his free hand through your hair as you lay against his chest and listen to the soft sounds of him reading to you.

• blaise's dark room matches the thunderstorm outside the window. it only gives into the goth aspects of the holiday

• your face of shock is all worth it when he pulls out his red and green striped sweater and clawed hand.

• "FREDDY KREUGER?"

• he looks so good in his costume just like he does anything.

• the moment you arrive at the party he's heading to theo for drinks, leaving you to talk to enzo about how shocked you are blaise actually dressed up

• chocolate covered strawberries are his shit. the only unhealthy food he's eating but he uses the excuse of the holiday.

• he also uses the excuse of the holiday to buy you a crimson colored promise ring, that cost more than your house.

lorenzo berkshire

• "do you wanna go to a pumpkin patch?"

• he's the flannel and hoodie uniformed kind of guy in october. and you're not complaining.

• you watched casper on october 1st to start the mood and he became obsessed. you've never seen someone find something so cute before... except maybe you and him.

• enzo gave you his quidditch jersey for when there's not games to wear since the months are getting chillier. and god, is he proud to see you in it.

• he even said you could be a quidditch player for your costume

• he and draco dressed up when they were kids all the time and he'd always send a photo of his costume to his mother, who never responded. so he kind of despised the memory of halloween.

• you spent most of halloween day kept to yourselves in his dorm. watching muggle halloween thrillers with his friends for a few hours before theo's big party.

• you and enzo stayed together in his room a little longer than the others though, still stuck in a discussion on who's the best horror killer (the correct answer is obviously michael & jason)

• enzo showed up to the party as ferris bueller and you as sloan (or cameron). which is one of his favorite muggle movies

• you already know enzo has the best halloween mixtape made for you. billy idol, bowie, talking heads, the smiths, the cure, radiohead, etc. you feel like you're stuck in one of those slasher films.

• he takes you to a pumpkin patch, and to the shops in hogsmede to get you all the halloween candies.

• enzo never had a good halloween until he met you and now he has an amazing one<33

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Sarge & lil Mama: Wouldn’t it be Nice?

Fully co-authored with: @ab4eva 🤍

Summary: In between shooting movies and topping charts, Elvis Presley takes his young family to the California beach for some hard earned frolicking, nothing extraordinary occurs, but then again, extra and ordinary are words redefined since Elaine gave him five children under the age of five.

Date: 1962, Summertime

Word Count: 9k

Warnings: PG13- The accidental destruction of a child’s sandcastle, breastfeeding toddler, talk of being uncircumcised (including by children + children being aware of it), use of several nicknames for a man’s member, someone’s hair accidentally being set fire to, language, a minor injury involving sand in the foreskin + lots of talk about it (including by children) + treatment of the injury by uncommon methods while children are present (but not directly involved), Elvis being a big baby, Rosalee being distraught about her daddy’s injury, a child willfully acquiring a knife and threatening to cut off fathers member (more wholesome than it sounds) but has it taken away before anything can happen, parents kissing while children are present.

Jerry thought the day had been going quite well. Beach days were supposed to be carefree and rollicking and generally a time to let loose and soak up salt spray tranquility, and today had been correspondingly mellow. Or at least, everyone tried their best, a break from those back to back Wallis pictures doing wonders for EP and giving him a chance to take the kids to see the ocean for the first time, or the first time that some of them can remember .

It gave the day both a heavy amount of purpose and a giddy sense of long sought freedom. Away from the hustle and bustle of Hollywood, nestled between the Santa Monica Mountains and the cliffs of Pacific Palisades, sits a beach so serene and beautiful you’d think you were a thousand miles from nowhere instead of a stone’s throw away from the City of Angels. Miles of smooth, sandy shoreline and calm ocean waves, not to mention the virtually non-existent crowd, made it the ideal spot for their getaway. They would have space, and privacy, away from the prying eyes and curious shutterbugs that seemed to follow their little gang wherever they went.

They had a good little headquarters set up on the sand, a sandpit and bonfire beginning to be used for the evening’s meal of s’mores and hot dogs, a half a dozen umbrellas erected and a carpet of towels. Often they held a dozing child, nestled in a nest of cotton stripes when their little bodies couldn’t keep up with the games so vigorously played on at the water's edge. An hour ago Elvis had been there himself, laid out and snoozing next to Rosalee, his face in the shade but the entire rest of him in the sun’s full glare, clad in a wispy muslin shirt that had a penchant for riding up his belly with each gust of wind and tiny red shorts that he’d swiped from Edith Head’s costuming department after the latest film had wrapped.

“Those’ll make for some crazy tan lines.” Billy had remarked about it to Elaine while grabbing a beer from the cooler.

She’d just hummed dreamily while watching the way her man and their baby’s breath synced up, the little girl not even a third as long as his lanky frame, positioned in a L, her pasty baby skin in full shadow from the summer sun.

The cat nap had revived Elvis immensely and he was back at it within an hour, playing football with the boys while Elaine floated between her children, one minute collecting shells with Ella and Rosalee, the next inspecting a tiny crab Jackson had found. Jack, as his family called him, was intrigued by sea creatures and creatures in general, so he happily set about running from one thing to the next, crouching down to study a jellyfish that had washed ashore or gently returning a live sand dollar back to the water. At the ripe age of four years old, Jesse considered himself one of the guys, and was allowed, begrudgingly by some, to take part in the football game. Elvis had taught him how to throw a football almost as soon as he could walk, he’d been obsessed with any sort of ball since before he could talk and so was a natural. And Daisy Mae? For once she was sat quietly by herself, plastic buckets and pails all lined up in a row, diligently building a sandcastle..

It had three turrets so far, and an outer courtyard like the real life castle mama had driven them all to see when in Germany. Jesse had insisted that Daisy only recalled it from pictures and not memory, as she had been “just a baby” but she insisted she did. And to prove her point she was creating its layout with painstaking accuracy. Unless Elaine was greatly mistaken, Daisy’s little sand edifice bore a more striking resemblance to an illustration in Scribner’s edition of Grimm’s Fairy Tales, but she would be the first and staunchest defender if asked that the wet mounds resembled Lichtenstein Castle.

It made what happened next even worse as Elaine and Aunt Betsy watched as if in slow motion horror as a cataclysmic catastrophe of toddler sized proportions unfolded as the ball game spread and spread across the white sands. It wasn’t that Uncle Rex was trying to trample on Daisy’s masterpiece, but Elvis threw a Hail Mary pass, farther than even he thought possible, and the next thing anyone knew Rex was skidding to a stop with one foot in the moat and the other on a turret, his team cheering with wild abandon because he’d caught the ball. A high-pitched wail pierced the air, drowning out the gulls and the waves, startling them all.

Uncle Rex’s kindly and sun tanned face turned a little sickly pale upon looking down and noticing that while little Daisy Mae did not look to be in any mortal danger, she was glaring at his foot through a cascade of tears as if it were the cause of all human woe. Then he noticed the turret, the moat, what was probably a stable for horsies in back and the stack of plastic shovels and molds beside it that all bore witness to the four year old’s painstaking efforts. All of it demolished with a misplaced foot and when Rex looked up and saw Elvis running over to ascertain the cause of his child’s grief, Rex coulda swore his wide-receiver days were over.

In an instant, Elvis had scooped Daisy Mae up in his arms, her tears soaking the shoulder of his thin shirt as he patted her back soothingly, swaying gently from side to side and murmuring softly in her ear. Being a father was second nature to him at this point, he had perfected all of the little rituals and responsibilities that came with having so many children all under the age of five. At the same time, he was holding her close and checking to make sure she wasn’t hurt, smoothing the fine hair that floated in a halo around her head and running his hands over her tiny limbs.

“Aww now darlin’ it’s alright, it’s alright, Uncle Rex is awfully sorry,” he soothed her the best he could once hearing her bawling complaint, “he’s awfully sorry, didn’t mean to, such a pretty castle ya got here. So pretty, he’d never mean to do it and he feels sick about it.”

“Just sick.” Rex agreed vehemently, dropping to his knees on the sand beside Elvis and his child, careful to choose an undeveloped patch of sand from which to properly apologize, “I’m ever so sorry, Daisy dear.”

It was typical Daisy fashion for words to be cheap and the devastation of her afternoon’s work a soul scarring affair, and while her daddy’s arms and sweet words were soothing, at least a little, there remained a bitterly painful sense of loss in her little chest that nothing was ever again going to remedy or fill that void.

That is untill Jesse piped up softly at her side after surveying the damage, “Daisy, was this goin’ to be where they keep the wolves?”

Lichtenstein Castle had an large menagerie in back where it’s first Saxon overlord kept the native beasts for gruesome purposes Elaine did not expound to the children about. Seemingly forgetting his insistence that Daisy did not recall the place from memory alone, Jesse was intrigued by the design and after asking her she finally pulled her face out of her daddy’s shoulder to give her big brother a sniffling nod and very pointedly emphasized:

“S’posed to be.” For it would never be now and never could be again, for all her mortal dreams had been dashed by Uncle Rex’s foot.

“We can help finish it!” Jesse insisted. “Look here, Daisy, this shovel is the perfect thing to fix the wolf pen, just needs a bit of sand scooped out is all and it’ll be good as new!” He dropped to his hands and knees and got to work, carefully scooping out sand and water, shoring up the walls as he went. Daisy observed him watchfully from the safety of her father’s arms, hiccuping a little every now and then. Elvis gently swiped the tears from her reddened cheeks, kissing her forehead gently and whispering to her, “Whatdya reckon, Daisy Maisey? Think we can get this ol’ castle fixed up? Uncle Rex and I know a thing or two ‘bout buildin’ things, don’t we now, Rex?” He nodded knowingly to Rex above Daisy’s head, giving him the go ahead to speak up.

“Oh sure we do, I’ve been known to build a sandcastle as tall as your daddy before, ain’t that right, Elvis?” He hunched down beside the duo, eye to eye with Daisy to plead his case. “I’ll even make ya some pretty vines to hang down the side outta seaweed, would ya like that?” Daisy eyed him warily before nodding her head slowly and stating with a great deal of gravity, “Lick-en-stine Castle doesn’t have vines that hang down…but it has trees that grow on the side.” Her small concession was all the affirmation Rex needed to plop himself down properly, grabbing a pail and filling it with sand, talking to the little girl the whole while, regaling her with his favorite parts of the castle he had visited while in Germany.

“What’s going on down there?” Up at Beach HQ under the umbrellas, Elaine asked Aunt Betsy for an update on the toddler crises as she tried to discreetly nurse a rather lanky Jack under a towel he was insistent on throwing off.

He was perhaps getting too old for this, Elaine had to admit, but her milk hadn’t stopped, and she didn’t have another baby yet. “They’re all over the place.” She snickered at the sight of them, as much of them as she could make out which was mostly when they went to the water's edge and scurried back again with refilled buckets.

They weren’t that far off down the beach but Betsy was always nearsighted and so she held the binoculars Rex had brought for whale watching and trained it on the group of men down there hovering and packing and molding sand and fetching water like a great army of ants. Anywhere Daisy beckoned was attended to by a member of the Mafia, with Jesse as her most dedicated foremen, while it appeared that Rex had been entrusted with wreathing the front pillars with garlands of seaweed that he received from further up in the assembly line where Elvis was braiding the slimy stuff with dedicated perseverance and the help of Rosalee’s tiny fingers. Rex and Betsy’s son, Sam, happy and carefree and practically one of the Presley kids himself, plopped down beside Rosalee, far more interested in watching her work than doing any work himself.

“Your man has got the boys rebuilding it.” Betsy summarized with an amused smirk. “Only Elvis could wrangle a group of grown men into building a sandcastle for a three year old…and with such authority. He really did learn a thing or two in the army, didn’t he?”

Elaine smiled softly to herself and held out a hand for the binoculars to better see the little group at the water’s edge. She wasn’t at all prepared for the sight of her husband, tiny red swim shorts and wind-blown hair, breath-taking in his command of an army all his own, pointing and inspecting and generally being an adorable menace for the benefit of his girl. Her darling children were running to and fro with buckets and shovels, laughing and screaming, while Daisy sat like a queen in the midst of them all, the real commanding officer and Elvis only her obedient second. That girl had had her daddy at her command ever since the day she was born.

Jack was roused from his cozy stupor at Elaine’s breast by all of the noise, letting her nipple go with a soft pop and turning his head to the commotion. A lackadaisical learner, Jack’s favored vocabulary consisted mostly of “mama” and food items at this point in his life and having stuffed himself with milk, he proved he was his father’s son by looking away from the sand architects down at the beach and asking her hopefully,

“Cat’sup?”

By that he meant the hotdogs intended for the bonfire but his favorite ingredient in them was ketchup and so they were referred to by it accordingly.

“You can’t possibly be hungry, little man.” She laughed, poking his distended, milk full belly and making him laugh until he hiccuped and that dimple of his dug deep.

“Cat’sup.” Jack persisted, cheeks in full grin and he bonked his soft button nose to Elaine's, holding their faces together with clammy little hands. “Caaaat’suuup.”

“Well, ya heard him,” she giggled to Betsy. “The man of the place says he’s hungry.”

“I don’t blame him one bit. I’m a little hungry myself,” Betsy said, rubbing her pregnant belly and winking at Jack. “What do ya think, Jacky boy, should we get lunch ready?”

Elaine and Betsy set about preparing lunch, knowing the troops would be ready to feast when they finished with all their hard work. There wasn’t much to do, as roasted hotdogs and potato chips were the beginning and end of it, with s’mores for dessert, but they laid everything out on the card table that Betsy had brought, stacking skewers and buns, stoking the burn pit to a good blaze.

The sandcastle crew were just about done shoring up their renovations, much to Daisy’s satisfaction and glee, when the smell of the bonfire wafted down shore, making their tummies suddenly grumble, the promise of sustenance close at hand. The whole gaggle of them made their way towards Beach HQ, and chattering excitedly, descended upon the food like a pack of hungry wolves set free from Lichtenstein Castle.

After the hot dogs had been roasted and consumed, the s’mores fixins were brought out, much to the gathered children’s delight. With the concentration and patience befitting a much older child, Jesse slowly turned his marshmallow over the low flames, just like his daddy taught him. Slow and steady, until it starts to grow and puff up, turning a lovely golden color. It was almost there, almost ready to be popped onto a graham cracker and smooshed with chocolate, a melty, delicious, sugary mess. But then the inevitable happened, because no matter how careful and how meticulous you are when roasting marshmallows, at least one or two, three or four even, are bound to catch fire. It happens in a flash, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Waving it back and forth, though, that will surely put the flame out, right?

This is Jesse’s thinking at least, as his eyes grow big and he inhales a breath, intending to blow out the flaming marshmallow that is too far gone to save. He waves it back and forth, frantically, the tiny blaze only growing bigger by the second. Those gathered around the campfire watch almost in slow motion as the mallow launches off of Jesse’s stick, flying through the air with the greatest of ease, and lands with a plop on poor Jerry’s beautiful blonde mop of hair.

“Holy shi-“

“Uhem!”

“Somebody put it out!”

“No, no, not the marshmallow, forget the marshmallow, his hair! Get his hair put out!”

It’s absolute pandemonium then as Jerry tries to pat out the flames but only succeeds in yelping as the fire singes his hands, the same goes for Charlie and Billy as they try to bat it out and Elaine and Betsy are no help at all, lost to giggles and trying to make sure no more marshmallows get catapulted off sticks.

“Dunk him in the ocean!” Elaine suggests the obvious and suddenly Jerry is resistant to all help.

“No, no, just, just hand me some water or somethin-“ he backs away from the encouraging hands of his friends.

“There’s a giant body of water right behind ya.” Elvis laughs the same hiccuping laugh that Jack has.

“The salt will ruin my flow, man!” Jerry begs for him to understand and Elaine watches as her peacock of a husband has a compassionate epiphany for him.

It’s no time for vanity, the smoldering sticky bomb in his hair is singeing and casting a nauseating stench over the dessert.

“Jerry, just stick your dumb head in God’s teacup, man.” Charlie coaxes him towards the ocean.

“You’re gonna lose more than your flow if ya don’t.” Elaine predicts as she watches those blonde locks begin to frazzle.

She can tell it spooks him but it’s not enough and in the end they have some free entertainment with their s’mores, watching Billy and Rex dunk their unwilling buddy into the waves. Before Elaine can remind him to swallow his last bite, Jesse is off down the beach and into the waves himself, body surfing like his daddy taught him with an alarming lack of caution. It makes even Elvis nervous and with a sticky peck to her lips in thanks for the meal, her husband discards his shirt and jogs after their son.

The diaspora affects all and soon the bonfire occupants have dispersed, each to their own little endeavors again as the sun begins to dip towards the westerly horizon. There’s frisbee’s being thrown now, higher up the beach and well away from any sandcastles, and it gets quite competitive as the kids are happily intent on burying Betsy and Elaine. The mermaid tails requested by each take additional time to craft and part way through Jesse becomes too restless to mold sand any longer and with tentative steps makes his way back to the towel fort under the umbrella and pulls the family’s famed new Polaroid camera from inside Elaine’s diaper bag.

“Mama, can I?” he hollers, careful to wipe his sandy fingers off on the towel after he notices them near the lens.

“Sure, darlin,” she grins from her sand casement, “Rosa baby, can ya pull my hair back a little for mama? It’s gettin’ in my mouth, thank ya baby.”

“Alright,” Jesse appears before them all knobby knees and tanned little legs beneath his shorts, looking for all the world like a collectible sized Elvis doll, “gimme your best smile ladies!” he imitates his father’s tone so well that Betsy let’s out an ungainly snort alongside her shocked laugh.

“I want a mermaid tail!” Ella, usually so very selfless for so young a child, lets slip her needs with a wobbly lip and yearning eyes.

“Of course you do!” Elaine murmurs, nodding her head to the side, “Lay down beside mama, sweetie. Y’all got enough muscles for one more, right?” she eggs on her boys and Jesse springs to action for his twin maybe a little too fast: “No, Jesse, the camera -don’t, not on the sand! -oh well.”

It’s just money, Elaine realizes, as Jesse’s guilty face waits for her verdict on the Polaroid camera face first in the sand. Luckily her husband makes a whole lotta the yummy green stuff.

“It’s fine, darling,” she insists and the colony of worker bees sets in motion again until Ella has a tiny little tail to match mama’s.

After an hour in this full body cast Elaine ventures with an unassuming tone, “Do y’all need me to get you anything? Y’all hungry again?”

“Yeah, I think there are more graham crackers left over?” Betsy adds to it, a terrible itch on her shin hardly able to be tolerated any longer as her hands are pinned to her sides.

“No, we’re good,” Daisy replies serenely.

“Ya sure?” Betsy’s face shows alarm at the prospect of not being released.

“Yeah.”

Elaine smirks and leans into the sandy hair petting Jack is lavishing on her, “How long do you reckon mermaids last after they get tossed ashore?” she asks Betsy.

“With those men as the sailors?” She rejoins, wryly nodding at the group of full grown men body smashing each other in pursuit of the frisbee, “An hour max.”

Elaine snickers and settles for waiting until someone wants to be carried into the waves before breaking out of her meticulously crafted tail. She doesn’t have to wait long before unforeseen circumstances arise that require her attention. With that sixth sense that motherhood has given her, she senses an injury in the frisbee players even before the concerning hush alerts her to a downed man.

“Ow goddamnit! Ow, ow, owww!” The last thing anyone had seen was Elvis diving for the frisbee with ease, his long and tan athletic form sure in its ability. And now here he was, rolling around in the sand, clutching his groin through his tiny, red shorts and moaning like he’d been shot.

“What is it Daddy? What’s wrong?” Little Jesse is at his father’s side in an instant, dropping to his knees on the sand next to Elvis, his sharp, intuitive eyes assessing the situation like a triage doctor on the battlefield. He takes in Elvis’s hands covering his privates and understands what’s happened, in the way that men always understand when that delicate part of them has been injured, like a sixth sense. “Is it your nozzle, papa? Is it hurt?”

“I think I’ve got sand in my…” Elvis grits out, before blushing deeply and coughing, too embarrassed to go on. Jesse stares at him, eyebrows drawn together, a puzzled look on his little boy face, trying to decipher his father’s unspoken meaning. He looks from Elvis’s face down to where his hands are pressing at his shorts and back up again, a look of recognition dawning.

“In your scarf, papa?” Jesse whispers loudly, the way a little child thinks they’re being discreet but really they’re just announcing your business for the whole world to hear.

Elvis hears the snickers of the gathered men at this and through his pain manages to give them a hard stare, withering in its ability to shut them up immediately, their eyes pointedly looking anywhere but at the situation unfolding before them, though they can’t help their drifting gazes that settle back on the man himself. Jesse’s little boy fascination with his father’s “nozzle” that wore a “little scarf” came from the fact that he himself didn’t have one. There had been no way in hell that Elvis Presley would let any sons of his grow up being teased and tormented in every locker or shower room they found themselves in for the rest of their lives. He had been through so much hazing and shame in his lifetime due to his uncut self that he was insistent with Elaine when Jesse was born that he be circumcised.

Elaine had been torn, and a little bit saddened, by this decision. She had wanted her boys to resemble their father in this aspect, had wanted them to be able to see themselves in Elvis in this most intimate way. But she knew there would be no arguing her point with him, this was one concession she had no choice in. She understood his shame, his embarrassment, but that didn’t mean she had to agree with it. Her man was perfect in every way, this one included. So she had merely tilted her head to the side and given him a gentle, searching look, her brown eyes meeting his scared blue ones, before nodding once and agreeing to his decree.

And so it was that when Elvis taught his little sons how to aim just so in the toilet, or when they went camping and had to use the bathroom in the woods, or when they saw him getting out of the shower every now and again, they were sorely disappointed that their “little men” didn’t have a scarf like their daddy’s did.

Such was Jesse’s preoccupation with making sure that Elvis and his little scarf were ok. Elvis hisses as he shifts his position in the sand, trying to sit up, every move he makes jostling more sand to fall out of his tiny shorts.

Jerry rolls his eyes behind his aviator shades and drawls, “Want me to carry ya to mama, EP?”

“Help me up, dammit, and wipe that look off your face, Schilling. Do you have a nozzle with a little scarf? No? Then I don’t wanna hear it,” Elvis spits out venomously, hissing again as Jerry pulls him up by the hand, throwing Elvis’s arm around him as Jesse rather comically supports him on the other side, his daddy’s hand resting heavily on the little boy’s shoulder. A truly absurd amount of sand falls out of Elvis’s tiny shorts as he stands and Jerry has to bite his cheek to keep from laughing. Distracted by all the commotion, Jack leaves the seashells he’d been collecting, running over to see what all the commotion was about.

“Elbis’ wocket owie?” Jack asks his daddy who he refuses to call by his proper title, taking a sandy thumb out of his mouth as he casually observes the trio making their way delicately across the beach to headquarters. Ever their curious child, by talking age Jack was obsessed with NASA and everything to do with space. He had settled on calling his little man “rocket,” a decision his father was sure he would come to regret in a couple of decades. But as he could tell that Jack wouldn’t be persuaded against it, he had sighed with fondness, ruffling the little rascal’s hair and saying, “Ok, my boy. I see I ain’t gonna change your mind on this one.” Elaine had watched all of this from the darkened hallway in Graceland, biting her lip and trying not to smile, as her three men stood in the bathroom, discussing men things. Jesse was already making blast-off jokes about it, something he would no doubt continue to do for the rest of their lives.

“Oh now, what’s all the fuss about, hmm?” Elaine, having broken out of her mermaid tail at the first sign of distress down the beach, looks over her cat-eye sunglasses at the group slowly making their way towards her. Her motherly instincts kick in as she evaluates the situation with sharp eyes, taking in her husband’s disheveled and slightly embarrassed state - noting with some concern the pained grimace running from his furrowed brow to his twisted mouth, the look of pure concern on her son’s face as he peers up at his father and the barely concealed amusement that Jerry’s trying hard to reign in. Elvis is limping like his leg’s been shot clean off, and she can’t quite make out where the injury lies. There’s no blood, no bruise, no showing bone…she runs through all of these possibilities in a matter of seconds, still puzzled by the time she meets them halfway down the beach.

“Elvis, what’s wrong?” she asks again as she meets them up the beach and takes in Schilling's straight face but bouncing shoulders and Elvis’ teeth gritted glare at his friend. “What’s broken?” Elaine throws her hands up in encouraging exasperation at the mute trio and it’s Jesse who has the composure to break the dire news to his mother in grave, childish tones,

“Daddy’s nozzle is broken.” Jesse tells her and for a split second Elvis can see the identical expression on both Elaine and Jesse’s faces, that alarmed and incredulous mix that makes the beginning third of their eyebrows point upwards briefly in a way that blows out of the water any theories about Jesse being his daddy’s copy. He’s a pure blend of both parents and Elvis thinks that the boy having his mama’s expressions makes him somehow fonder for the almost womanish amounts of fretting his young son already indulges in.

“Broken?” Elaine repeats and she’s already gathered enough comfort for Schilling’s mirth to figure that this isn’t life threatening, pulling down her shades again she ducks to meet Elvis’ eyes and mutters for only him to hear, “Really, honey? We’ve talked about you runnin’ round with a stiffy.”

“It ain’t broke or stiff!” Elvis replies with vehemence driven by pain, “There’s a beach worth of sand down my drawers and all up in my…business!”

“Oh.” Elaine’s mouth trembles in a way that closely resembles Jerry’s suppressed attempts and that’s just great, Elvis thinks, Elaine finds him and his scarf full of sand funny and maybe he will too in a few months when this gets to be a bonfire story but right now it feels like fire in his drawers.

“Woman, I’m in agony over here!” Elvis cries and his wife composes her face with credible ease and looks down to the offending red shorts with eyes intent to solve the issue.

“Do somethin’ mama!” Jesse urges, mimicking his father’s faith that Elaine can work miracles on big or little men.

“Umm ok, yeah of course I-“ she starts to fret herself as she looks around at their entourage, most of whom are starting to take notice of the boss being injured. “Can’t you just -wade out there and rinse the sand out?” She misunderstands exactly how intricate the issue is. “Just pull the legs out a little and…shimmy in the water..”

“I could barely walk to you!” Elvis eyes are wide as saucers and he looks like a hurt child for all that his masculine body is on full display to dissuade her gut instincts.

“Yeah, uh, Boss Lady, it’s like -up, UP his …scarf.” Jerry helps out in his staple, sardonic drawl.

“And it hurts?!” Elaine looks flabbergasted and Elvis gives her one last pained and withering look of incredulity before she shapes up into the doting little caregiver Elvis has molded her into, “Oh Mopey, no, oh dear, I’ll fix it, I-I’ll find a way. We need these folks distracted -Jerry?”

“What am I supposed to do about a dick injury?” Jerry asks, offended at the notion he’d know anything about dicks.

Elaine’s eyebrow quirks in appreciation for Jerry and his staunch idiocy. “I need to rinse the poor thing!” she hisses, “And I need some privacy from our folks while I’m at it.”

“Yeah, she needs to rinse it!” Elvis repeats in a small voice that’s very hopeful and very needy and Elaine slips her hand around his bronzed wrist to keep her husband from fully floating away.

“Elvis, come on honey, just a little further to the blanket fort,” she urges him and he throws his arm around her sun kissed shoulders and hobbles to HQ with unsuppressed little whines at each step that Elaine shouldn’t find so cute but she can’t help it when he turns into a big baby for her.

“What’s wrong with daddy?” Rosalee demands with terror in her eyes and predictably Sam Harrison and Daisy Mae are right on her heels.

“He’s got a boo boo and I’ve gotta rinse it out.” Elaine hushes the brewing hysteria as gently as she can, and even Elvis gives his girl a weak thumbs up of assurance as he drops to his knees on the sand and tugs at the tight pant leg of his shorts. “Like how we gotta rinse your cuts with antiseptic when you scrape your knees, ya know?” Elaine explains patiently while thinking up a plan, “But daddy’s owie is higher up. And I need your help, Rosa sweets. I need y’all to make a blanket wall for me, can ya do that? Get your brother and sisters and hold hands with your towels?”

The words are barely out of Elaine’s mouth before little Sam Harrison seizes his chance and grabs hold of Rosalee’s hand, the essential towel forgotten. The little chestnut haired cutie stares at his forwardness with typical childish surprise before looking to her daddy to see if he’s gonna kill Sam for such an assumption. Elvis is staring at the wide blue sky with gritted teeth and so he missed both the interaction and the way Sam’s mother Betsy comes over and asks after the plan -which Elaine relays with unapologetic diction but pink cheeks. Soon they’ve got a fine little semi circle made with the kids facing outwards and their towels held between them, giggling like it’s a competition of who can keep the most soldierly posture, the felled umbrella doing the work of three in the gap.

Somewhat sheltered for her delicate work, Elaine crawls over her prostate husband and takes in his puckered eyebrows and the trusting set of his blue eyes as he waits for her to fix him. Fix him, oh it’s so silly, she thinks, he’s so silly and she loves him so much and can’t believe she’s humoring a grown man in this stupid fit of whimpishness. Then again, maybe it does hurt.

“I shoulda made ya walk to the ocean like we did Jerry and his hair,” she sighs over him and his eyebrows knit together, further aggrieved at the mere suggestion of him putting in such effort when he’s so dreadfully wounded.

“Mama I’s hurtin,” Elvis objects and his sad glare is the same as Jack’s and somehow she’s gone from angel to being in deep trouble with a grown brat -and Elaine never got taught how to deal with such a phenom, in her own experience it’s best to just kiss it better.

But Elaine was always one to be been torn between doing what’s best and doing what’s asked of her. “My poor pretty baby.” she coos to him and places a wet peck to his plump lips and Elvis pitifully puckers them to receive it as he is still petulant, the praise has him only slightly pacified. “Lemme just grab-“ Elaine ignores the nearby canteen, it’s empty anyway, and instead sneakily reaches into the cooler and snags a Coke bottle. It’s chilled even though the ice has melted throughout the day.

“Here Butnin, open up,” she murmurs and Elvis unscrews his eyes enough to see her lighting a cigar for him and drawing on it with the faded paint of her lips before pressing it to his. The familiar taste and warm rush of the nicotine soothes him and he lays his head back on the towel, expecting her to present that Coke she’s grabbed for him to taste as soon as she uncaps it.

The sky is impossibly blue above him without a cloud in sight and at the edges of the horizon it’s turning violet as the sun wanes, and if he holds very still the burning down south calms enough for Elvis to appreciate the breeze and the feel of Tink fussing over him. Jack’s been getting more than his fair share of doting from her and while Elvis would never fake an injury or embellish it’s severity, when God fells a man it’s his due for a woman to fuss over him.

Drawing on his cigar, Elvis feels her hands stretching out the leg hole of his shorts and gingerly Elaine’s hands creep up his thigh and beyond those golden tan lines. She finds him where he’s tucked himself to the side, soft and floppy in its silliest state, and takes greater care with her hold in him when Elvis hisses,

“Careful woman, it’s burnin’ like hellfire, don’t need your maulin’ on top of it.”

“Sowwy, so sowwy baby,” she simpers as she tries to carefully pull the floppy worm that is a man’s flaccid penis out of his very elastic leg hole. There’s nothing quite as absurdly unimpressive or cute as a soft cock when it’s in repose. A cock with a tan little scarf tugged round its pink head like a nugget bundled freshly in a towel after a bath is doubly so, and Elaine can’t help the grin splitting her face as the comedic aspect of her duty comes to the fore. “We’re gonna fix hims up, Butnin, yes we is,” she whispers as the cigar smoke burns her nose and she gives a furtive glance the sunburned backs of the kids who are still busy competing at being dutiful with the shield wall while the adults pack up the condiments and leftovers at a distance.

Letting his cock lay heavily on his thigh, Elaine deftly pops the top off the Coke and wedges it between her thighs at the ready before gently cradling little Elvis in her palm. She is quite certain she hears her strapping young husband sniffle as she does so. It’s more of a production than one might think, to pull back the foreskin on a soft cock, but Elaine has played enough with her man in every stage of arousal that she is able to uncover the tip with some ease, and the next little bit with only some trouble.

“Goddamn it, Tink, that hurts!” Elvis pleads as he bites at his lip, gripping handfuls of sand, and she pets his bare belly soothingly, knowing he might be childish but the poor man is sensitive.

“I’s gotta gets to him, Naughty,” she says, loath to make it worse but now she’s looking, the dear, chubby little thing really does look a bit raw. “Let mamas take care of ya, hold still an’ it’ll be over soon, pretty baby.”

“Hurts worse t-than breaking a bone, o-o-r a virgin f-or-” her pretty baby informs her of this in a growl that’s not aimed at her but at the situation, nonetheless Elaine doesn’t appreciate the cadence or the subject matter so near her children and picks up the bottle as he goes on pouring out his woes to the sky, “-hell I’d wager a couple grand it’s worse than childbirth! -WHAT THE HELL TINK?”

Elaine tips the Coke and spills it onto his unsuspecting member, thumbing back the foreskin with practiced ease as the bubbles fizz in a caramel dance on top of his little head and pool in his slit before running down to his thigh.

“Hellfire woman that’s ice cold!” Elvis screeches around his cigar with his voice gone up two octaves at least and the harmless appendage in her hand shrinks like a miracle lab specimen. It makes her giggle.

“You said it was burnin’?” she reminds questioningly and she looks so earnestly confused at her wrong doing when Elvis goes to give her the stink eye that he can’t quite manage it, it’s an honest mistake a silly little gal without a cock would easily make. What he doesn’t so easily condone is the way she’s still dribbling the soda over him and trying to swish the sand off with her thumb like it’s a wiper on a windshield.

“Y-yeah I did,” he accepts and crunches partway up to watch and correct her ministrations, his lean belly crumpling up like a washboard and shimmering from the Coke, Elaine licks her lips in longing that can’t be indulged in with a crowd of kids nearby. “But in no world does that mean Coke on a pecker, Laney.”

“Is daddy gonna live?” Rosalee asks tentatively from her distance away and Sam squeezes her hand in either solidarity or hopes she’ll stop being preoccupied during this, their historic first handhold.

Jack takes a peek behind him to ascertain whether his midnight rival for his mama’s snuggles is indeed still alive and after Elaine snaps her fingers at him to turn back around, he reports morosely, “Elbis still alive, Woslaee.”

“But-but he’s crying, he’s crying like you do!” Rosalee protests in a whimper and Elvis’ head jerks up at the comparison to Jack.

“I’m fine, Schnucki, just a little hurt and your mama’s bein’ silly.” Elvis hollers, using her German acquired nickname for emphasis.

“Elaine, enough with the Coke,” Elvis insists, pulled out of transient toddlerhood by the need to control his own nursing and calm his most suggestible child.

“But look -it works!” she eagerly defends her choice and before he can prevent it there's a Coke bottle rim being wedged under the extra length of his foreskin and she’s tipping it back again and watching his hood swell with fizz.

“You ain’t got the brains of a lil bird,” he realizes aloud while watching his wife use cola for antiseptic.

“You say the sweetest things, E,” Elaine titters and looks around at the restless kids before pulling him straight up with the bottle wedged atop, seamless from the foreskin still wrapped around the rim. “Someone oughta call Ed Sullivan and tell ‘em he was spot on. See look, it’s workin’, the sand’s coming out.” She sounds pleased.

“No thanks to you!” Elvis says a little loudly and it causes little Ella to whimper as her own nursing skills are denied their proper outlet this time. She was always the one to patch daddy up, bandaids or dab his cuts with mercurochrome and she finds her sidelining for this injury particularly offensive. The more her father whimpers behind her the more obvious it is that Mama’s care ain’t cutting it.

“Hold still while I rinse this last bit out!” Tink hisses back at her husband in a low tone, actually sounding a little impatient and Elvis realizes maybe she’s right.

“Why’s it takin’ so long? Is daddy gonna bleed out? Mama?” Rosalee starts up again and Elvis swears that child’s nightmares are as bad as his, only she has them when conscious.

“You can’t bweed oudda yer wocket,” Jack helpfully informs where the trouble lies (daddy’s rocket), while rolling his baby blue eyes in disdain for female stupidity. “But a wocket can snap off.”

“Why’d his rocket snap off?” Rosalee wails in concern for any limb of her fathers being snapped and little Sam let’s go of his edge of the towel wall to thumb a tear track away from her chubby cheek.

“‘Cause God doesn’t lub Elbis.” Jack clarifies.

“We should just snap it off all the way, then it’ll stop hurtin,” Daisy surmises in hopes of comforting her now sobbing twin.

“I can’t lose him, I can’t lose daddy! We jus’ got him back!” Rosalee’s grief brings Betsy over who tries to comfort the girl while watching as the thin barrier of privacy for Elaine’s work starts to waver like a Roman shield wall when met with the War Elephants of Carthage.

“Then we should snap the wocket clean off,” Jack insists gravely with a dimple creating a cavern in his milk fat cheek.

“Pete’s sake! It’s not his rocket doin’ this, it’s his scarf!” Jesse chimes in with authoritative four year old sensibility and not in a million years did Elvis dream that filling up sweet Elaine Phipps with children would get him five toddlers discussing his package.

“I hate Daddy’s scarf!” Rosalee screams about something she doesn’t even understand, straight into Betsy’s red and soothing face.

Elvis gives pause from hissing at Elaine’s ministrations of tying his foreskin off like a balloon end and shaking the soda up in it in order to reach and tickle the back of his disconsolate Rosalee’s neck.

“Schnucki, my Schnucki I’m gonna be fine!” he coos and Elaine rolls her eyes fondly at his picking and choosing moments to be tough. Elaine lets out the soda and retracts the foreskin back as far as she can manage it.

“I don’t want ya to die!” Rosalee wails, informing him of the obvious and not even Elvis’ tickles on her back can soothe her. Little Sam Harrison leaves off petting her wet cheeks and looks back, giving Elvis a hard stare that’s firm and straight outta left field as far as a clueless Elvis is concerned.

“What ya lookin’ at boy?” Elvis growls only to yelp as Elaine flicks his cock -in hopes of jostling the last bits of sand out.

The yelp breaks Ella’s resolve and the usually dutiful little eldest daughter drops her towel and scurries over to help her obviously insufficient mama. “Mama, where’s it hurt?” she demands to know with all the matronly surety of Elaine herself and Elvis launches upwards onto his knees in an attempt to cover himself. Laney and her Coke have done about all that’s gonna get done without a bath and some q-tips maybe-

-yeah, they’re done here. It's an effort to smash his cock back up his tight shorts lightening fast, when he put the article of clothing on he hadn't been sticky with coke. Elaine catches a flying Ella as she hurtles forward and keeps her spun away as Elvis modestly tugs on his leghole, mouthing to her husband with a vibrant smile,

“I’ll clean ya up at home!” Elaine fortifys him with a wink.

This sweet promise gets quickly smacked down with Jack having abandoned his post and coming up to Elvis on his chubby little toddler legs and asking with a bizarre amount of hope, “Does it hurt ya bery badly, Elbis?”

Never in a million years would Elvis give this imp the satisfaction of knowing it hurt like hell, besides, Elvis is now cradling a clinging Rosalee who keeps sniffling into his neck in a rain of snot that she’s gonna have Daisy “chop off his rocket” so it never happens again. “No, Trouble, I’m all better ‘cause mama loves me and fixed me up” Elvis goads with an ethereally content smile that Elaine catches and savors as she herself is in the middle of calming a spurned little Nurse Ella.

Jesse, peeved at his siblings lack of order, comes up and makes fussy noises in Jack’s ear as his baby brother swats at him like his mouth is a mosquito. “Ya ok, daddy?” he asks, the first selfless inquiry of this whole ordeal -alright Ella did too.

Elvis gives him a sober nod that the scarf will live to see another day. “Scarf’s fine and gonna make it.”

“No i’s not! We gonna chop it off!” Rosalee insists and Elvis would laugh that off except Daisy is up the beach bartering her juice box for Rex’s k-bar.

“Oh, honey now, that won’t solve nothin,” Elvis begs as he wraps his arms fully around her and smushes Rosalee till both their ribs are liable to crack.

Rosalee pulls her head out of his neck and cradles his cheeks in her hands and says while looking earnestly into his eyes with blues the same shade as his own, “Is’ better this way, daddy, s’never gonna hurt ya again. Promise.”

“It’s for de bestest, Elbis,” Jack agrees right at his shoulder like a tiny little devil and Elvis begins to panic slightly as his children’s wild terror cools into calculated anarchy. “Wosalee knows it’s gonna wot off odderwise,” he adds gravely as if this is common knowledge.

This induces a fresh bout of tears from Rosalee who may be resigned to the need to chop off a limb to save her father’s entire life -or at least have Daisy do her bidding- but it doesn’t mean that she’s immune to the grief the prospect causes them both. Elvis feels close to crying himself as Daisy rushes back towards them over the sand with the sheathed k-bar in hand.

“Rex why the hell did ya give my kid a knife!” he yells.

“She said you wanted it and would fire me if I refused!” Rex shoots back from where he and Charlie and Red are collecting all the beach paraphernalia, the evening truly setting in.

“Rex!” Betsy scolds, echoing Elvis in exasperation with her husband.

“Be a man about it, Daddy!” A breathless Daisy charges him as she skids to a stop nearby only for Elaine to grip her by the back of her swimsuit and haul her away from Elvis where he’s pinned and helpless under the mournful embrace of Rosalee and Jesse and a gleeful Jack.

“Nope, no Daisy, no, give it to me, now!” Elaine wrestles her most wiry and vicious daughter until the army knife is safely in her possession. “Nobody is gonna chop off anythin’,” she declares, winded from the chaos and yet utterly glutted from being in her element and Elvis thinks she looks gorgeous all keyed up and holding a child or two and a knife so effortlessly. Thinks he made the right choice when he married Elaine Phipps and filled her up with all those children.

“But what about it wotting?” Jack protests, as if he really gives a damn about Elvis ever peeing ever again.

“It won’t rot,” Elaine sighs, “It’s not that badly hurt at all.” And she adds that for Rosalee’s benefit as the girl’s cheeks are so smashed to Elvis’ own that there’s no discernible edge to the flub.

“But we wanna be careful,” Rosalee protests, “This can neber happen again.” And she sounds like Mr. Truman did after the great war ended, swearing that the universe wouldn’t make it in a nuclear age.

“Lil Elvis is my little friend, I don’t want him hurt either!” Elaine insists and between his children’s misguided concern for him and his wife making a court case for his assets, Elvis has never felt more loved.

“Daddy’s my best friend too, but I gotta help him,” Rosalee insists.

“But darling -I did help him!” Elaine mutturs.

“Didn’t sound like it got better,” Ella speaks up and Elaine glares at Elvis for being such a baby during his first aid.

“Billy says men can still pee without them,” Sam Harrison adds in support of Rosalee’s ambition and Daisy gives him a proud look for his display of spine.

“How do ya-“ Elaine looks flustered for the first time and Elvis winces in anticipation for what she’ll defend him with next, “-peeing would hurt, Sammy! Hurt worse than sand up scarves!” Elaine reasons.

“Sounds like it.” Jesse sides with mama.

“But if he don’t have a rocket it won’t hurt to pee-pee!” Daisy vehemently enunciates. “And Rosalee’ll stop cryin.”

It’s that simple for the twin.

Elaine looks up to her friend Besty who’s still standing near the group, helpless in a fit of laughter and holding half wadded up towels. “We aren’t cutting off my lil friend,” Elaine declares staunchly, standing up herself in the sand and wincing as a struggling Daisy elbows her in the ribs.

“Why don’t ya care that daddy’s hurt?” Rosalee asks with grief in her eyes.

“It’s gonna wot off.” There goes Jack again.

Elvis snorts and rolls his eyes heavenward, pinching the bridge of his nose and praying for a sliver of patience.“Hush up, Trouble. I’ve had just about enough outta you.”

“Do y’all want more siblings or not?” Elaine finally asks and even Elvis is a little jolted by it. “Cause without that nozzle there ain’t any peeing or babies or all sorts of important things. Y’all could manage without your noses far easier.”

Jack rallies to declare, “I’m baby, don’t want more sibwings,” and is summarily ignored by all in favor of pondering nozzles and their newly learned miraculous necessity.

“Elaine!” Elvis hisses at her indiscreet lesson.

“It’s true!” she cries, throwing up her hands in exasperation, and he’s maybe to blame for the fact she’s got no filter, he taught her without any precaution and now she’s half savage about these things.

“Rockets don’t rot off when they get enough care. Just like any other boo boo,” Elvis assures his group of concerned progeny as Elaine pulls Jack away from his father by the arm not occupied with Daisy.

“I can’t wait to play thirty questions with Sam tonight,” Betsy drawls sarcastically and Elaine huffs.

“Serves ya right, much help you were, Blue Eyes.” Elaine rolls her eyes at her friend and both women laugh. “Consider it payment for Rex’s K-Bar,” she adds and watches as Betsy’s face pales again at the recollection of her husband’s stupidity.

“That man…” she grumbles fondly while taking a squawking Jack off Elaine’s hip to free her friend up for more child wrangling. Elaine mouths a weary “thank you” and kneels next to Elvis, gently prying Rosalee out of his arms where she still clings to his neck. She lets out a small whine of protest which is quickly overtaken by a big yawn, her little fists rubbing her eyes sleepily.

“Come on baby, let’s get you dressed, hmm? It’s time to go home,” she murmurs, pulling a sundress over Roselee’s tiny frame before turning to help Daisy into her matching one, kissing her forehead tenderly and smoothing her hair down. Betsy and Rex start the slow procession of herding the gaggle of children towards the car, making sure everyone has a hand to hold. Elaine can still hear them chattering loudly about rockets and nozzles as she flops down in the sand, catching her breath a moment, trying to find the willpower to stand, to move. It’s been such a lovely day, but suddenly she’s bone tired, the exhaustion hitting her like a wave and threatening to pull her under.

Jerry ambles over as the guys start to gather everyone’s scattered belongings - beach umbrellas and chairs and coolers, remnants of a day well spent. He stares down at Elvis over the top of his aviator shades, the amusement on his face still threatening to spill over. He holds out a hand, “Help you up, Boss?”

Elvis scowls, swatting his hand away indignantly, “Don’t need no help, Jerrah, it’s just a scratch. Actin’ like I’m too wounded to stand on my own. I’m not an invalid, goddamnit! Git outta here and help those boys clean up this mess. God almighty, think I was a child, need some hand-holding or some shit.” He continues his grumbling as Jerry holds up his hands placatingly, shrugging his shoulders good-naturedly before jogging over to help the clean up crew.

Elvis watches him go, making sure he’s well out of sight before gingerly standing up, shaking a leg and adjusting his swim shorts, hopping from foot to foot a few times, hissing quietly. It snaps Elaine out of her reverie and she blinks slowly as a face-splitting yawn hits her out of nowhere. Elvis chuckles and pats her head, gently tugging on the chocolate curls that have become bouncy spirals in the salty ocean air.

“Ok Laney, let’s get you home. Had enough excitement today to last us the whole year,” Elvis chuckles, winking as he offers her a hand.

Elaine smiles up at him, shading her eyes with a red manicured hand, the setting sun casting a warm orange glow over the beach and making her movie star husband look even more like a bronzed Adonis, if that’s possible. She places her small and delicate hands into his larger ones as he hauls her up easily, wrapping her in his arms and resting his chin on the top of her head. She sighs dreamily, shivering a little in his embrace as his body heat warms her against the chilly sea breeze.

“Thank you, baby,” he whispers, rubbing slow circles on her back. She shifts a little, resting her head on his shoulder and looking up at him quizzically.

“For what, E?”

“Whatcha mean, ‘for what?’ For-for always takin’ such good care o’ me. Even when I’m a grumpy sonuvabitch about it.” Elvis smiles down at her, planting a little kiss on her button nose. She wrinkles it and arches up on her tippy toes, rubbing her nose against his in a bunny kiss, her hand cupping his jaw lightly.

“Oh Mopey, I’ll always take care of you. Sweet man.” Elaine runs a thumb across his lips, pulling down his plump bottom one before slotting her lips against his, her hands twining through his mussed hair, moving his head just so, like her own personal puppet on a string. Elvis groans, moving his hands to cup her bottom, pulling her tightly to him. Just then he hears a shuffling of sand behind them, someone discreetly clearing their throat. He sighs, like the most put upon man on the planet and pulls away, gritting his teeth, “What now, Jerrah?”

“Sorry boss, but everyone’s all packed up and ready to go. Just waiting on you and Mrs. Boss.”

Elaine smiles at Elvis’s look of utter hurt and disappointment at being interrupted just when things were getting good, like a little boy who’s just had his favorite toy taken away. She knocks him on the chin playfully, swatting his butt for good measure. “Oh now, don’t look so blue, mister. To be continued at home, yeah? In the meantime, how bout I buy you a milkshake. Swing by Mel’s Drive In on the way home?”

Elvis’s face brightens at that. “Can I have strawberry?” Suddenly the little boy look is back, and he practically skips across the sand, dragging Elaine by the hand to their car full of waiting children. Elaine gives Betsy a peck on the cheek and a sweet belly rub to the little bean inside before hopping in the driver’s side and waiting for Elvis to finish his goodbyes. She turns around to address her children only to find that all but two of them are fast asleep. Jesse and Jack are still discussing the events of the day, with Jack holding a sandy handful of shells and beach glass he collected, carefully explaining each piece to a patient Jesse. By the time they reach the drive in diner, all of the kids are snoozing, and the weary parents breathe a sigh of relief.

“Just us then,” Elaine whispers, looking over her shoulder at their brood. “Just like old times. Almost.” She turns off the car and scoots to the middle of the bench seat, and Elvis does the same, careful not to wake little Rosalee snuggled between them. He drops his arm over Elaine’s shoulders and twists the knob on radio dial until he finds a doo wop station.

“Now it really is like old times. ‘Member when I crashed your date with Billy at the drive in movie? Scared that poor boy half to death,” he chuckles gleefully. Elaine’s eyes grow wide and she starts to titter, her hand flying to her mouth at the recollection.

“Oh goodness. Elvis! I’d completely forgotten about that. You came barging in with your flashlight and ill or good intentions, I never could figure out which,” she muses.

“Then I drove ya home, real proper like,” he breathes quietly, placing a hand on her thigh, an echo of a memory. “And then,” he murmurs, tilting her head back, exposing her long, white throat, “I kissed ya, right…here…” His soft lips meet the pulse on her neck, pounding in time with her heartbeat.

Elaine shivers and swallows. “Naughty,” she whispers.

The magic spell is broken abruptly by a gum-chewing teenage waitress, knocking on their window. “Hi there! Can I take your order?” Her chipper cheerfulness is a stark contrast to their soft reminiscence. Elvis clears his throat and sits up, coloring slightly at being caught by this stranger as Elaine winks at him, leaning over to roll down the window to order their milkshakes. They settle in again, snuggling back together and regaling each other with stories from their beach day. Before long the milkshakes arrive, and they tuck in, enjoying the sweet sugar rush of the milky treat.

“God, how long has it been since I’ve had a milkshake?” Elvis wonders, sipping his strawberry concoction happily. Elaine doesn’t have the heart to tell him it’s been a good long while, that the Colonel doesn’t allow such simple pleasures these days. But she doesn’t want to spoil the moment so she settles for humming in response, squeezing Elvis’s knee as she slurps her chocolate one.

Elvis scoots a little closer to Elaine, forgetting about Rosalee squished between them. She startles in her sleep, her tiny arm flailing in the neon lights of the diner, inadvertently knocking Elvis’s shake from his hands. In a flash everything is covered in pink - it dribbles slowly down the dashboard and soaks into Elvis’s thin shirt, it’s even in his hair and a small blob drips down his right eyebrow. Elaine’s face is a mixture of horror and mirth, her perfect mouth a round o as she struggles to keep a straight face, staring at her husband who is frozen in place, covered in cold strawberry milkshake.

“Oh! Elvis…baby! I…” she starts, struggling to keep her voice steady, her hands fluttering around him, unsure of where they should try and help first. She bites her lip and an unladylike snort escapes as her shoulders start to tremble with held-in laughter. She starts to giggle, slapping her hand hastily over her mouth, her body shaking with silent laughter as she tries to keep quiet, not wanting to wake the children. Elvis’s blue eyes blink rapidly as the concoction runs down his cheek now, his mouth still hanging open in surprise. He starts to laugh, doubling over in his seat as Elaine reaches over and swipes a finger across his eyebrow and brings it to her mouth, sucking the sugary sweetness off her fingertip.

“You taste good, honey,” she wheezes as their laughter starts to die down and he remembers Rosalee between them, checking to make sure she’s ok and by some miracle she’s untouched by the ice cream bath she accidentally gave her father, still sleeping peacefully.

“Aw hell! My leather seats!” Elvis swears through hiccups, looking around for something to clean the car, and himself, up with.

“Shawbewies?” A little voice from the backseat whispers, followed by a blonde head sleepily popping up over the backseat. “I want some.” Jack opens and closes his tiny hands in a gimme motion, and Elvis and Elaine start to crack up again.

“Just perfect. Here Trouble, here’s some for ya,” Elvis says as he sweeps some shake off the dashboard with his fingers and leans back towards Jack, shoulder almost dislocating in an effort to feed the kid a taste. Jack happily laps it off his fingers like a kitten, licking them clean. His sleepy little face breaks into a happy grin and Elvis ruffles his hair. “That’s enough sugar for today, boy.”

Elvis looks at Elaine. She stares back at him a moment before another fit of giggles threatens to overtake them again. “Why’re we never alone in a car, baby?” Elvis whispers aloud, a comically pleading hint to his voice. Elaine reaches behind her, into the backseat, and snags a forgotten beach towel tossed aside by one of the children. She gently wipes his face clean before moving on to his hair, rubbing as much of the ice cream out as she can. It sticks up on end, making him look much like their cat Whiskers did whenever he got a bath.

“You’re the one who wanted to fill up my little house, remember?” she teases softly, her eyes drifting over their brood before returning to meet Elvis’s gaze. He raises an eyebrow, cheeks puffing out in droll amusement as he whistles lowly.

“Yeah, with somethin’ besides strawberry milkshake, I did.”

Hope y’all enjoyed!

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[lovergonebad]

Motor Mouth ~ *Choi Beomgyu*

Summary: Beomgyu and you can talk for hours at a time and never get bored with each other. However, the rest of TXT finds all the talking a bit obnoxious. That's why Yeonjun decides to propose a little bet between you...

Pairing: Choi Beomgyu X Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluffyish Drabble

Word Count: 1194

Warning: Bets

Masterlist

Taglist: @samepoisonsamevine @kpop-will-kill-me @maeleelee @mxnsxngie

The day you met Beomgyu was the worst day ever for the rest of Tomorrow X Together. That's because the two of you didn't know how to stop talking. While Beomgyu loved how nothing he said or did annoyed you, you were grateful to have an engaging conversation partner. Those who were around you when the two of you started talking had to suffer with all of the talking you both got done in a short amount of time.

"Are they still talking?" Kai asked, removing one of his earbuds.

Soobin sighed and shook his head. "Yeah. For the pasty forty-five minutes."

"It's amazing they still have so much to say to each other after four months of non-stop talking." Taehyun shook his head. "It's crazy. But I guess that's love for you."

Kai sighed. "Four months? That's crazy! You know, I bet the two of them can't go one day without talking to each other."

Yeonjun gasped, sitting up straight as an idea entered his mind. "That's it! Kai, you're a genius!"

"Thank you for finally noticing."

"We should get the two of them to stop talking for a whole day. See if they can do it because I know they won't be able to."

A grin stretched across Taehyun's lips. "We should! It'll be so funny to watch them struggle!"

Soobin, on the other hand, shook his head. "I don't know guys. I feel like that's going to do more harm than good."

"It's just for a day, Soobin. It's not like we're going to make them stop talking forever!" Yeonjun rolled his eyes. "If they can go twenty four hours without talking to each other, we'll try to convince the managers to let them have a whole weekend long date. If they can't do it, they have to do all of the dorm chores for a month!"

"You are cruel but fair." Taehyun shook his head.

"I think calling him just cruel is the right response." Soobin muttered. "But if the three of you are in agreement, you go right ahead and propose your little deal. Leave me out of it."

"Fair enough." With a nod, Yeonjun stood up and walked over to where Beomgyu was talking with you. "Alright, cut the chit chat. I have a deal to strike with both of you."

"A deal?" You tilted your head to the side at what he was saying. "What kind of deal?"

"The kind of deal that gets the rest of us out of doing chores." Yeonjun explained. "If the two of you can go twenty four hours without talking to each other, you guys can go on a weekend-long date. But if you can't, you have to do all of the dorm chores for a month."

"That doesn't seem fair." Beomgyu shook his head. "No, it should be two weekend long dates versus dorm chores for a month."

Yeonjun rolled his eyes. "Fine, whatever, but do you agree to this deal?"

Beomgyu glanced at you and squeezed your hand. "It's only twenty four hours. Do you think you can do it?"

You give a weak nod. "I can sure try."

"Then you have yourself a deal."

"Your time starts now."

At first, it was pretty easy. You decided to say goodbye to the boys and head back to your place. You did all of your evening chores, made dinner, and watched a movie. However, after your movie, you desperately wanted to call Beomgyu and tell him all about it. But you remembered the deal. Two weekend long dates just to not talk to your boyfriend for twenty four hours. You could do this. So instead of calling him, you began to plan out a weekend long date for the two of you.

The next day, things got even harder. There were no good night texts and no good morning texts. There was no update on his schedule for the day and you couldn't tell him about the cute puppy you saw as you went to get coffee. Your day at work dragged on for what felt like hours. Sure, you talked to your co-workers, but it wasn't the same. You wanted to talk to Beomgyu and tell him everything.

As you were leaving work, counting down the last three hours of the deal, you got a call from Soobin.

"Hello?"

"I have no idea why the two of you agreed to this stupid little bet in the first place." He began. "But you need to talk to Beomgyu."

"But what about the dorm chores?"

"Forget it! I'll still make them do all of their chores! You seriously need to talk to your boyfriend!"

"But..." You sighed. "Maybe this is a good thing. I know you guys think we talk too much with each other. I started to see it too. And I feel like we're too dependent on each other. Maybe this break is what we need in our relationship."

He scoffed. "Frankly, I think your boyfriend would disagree. But if I may ask, why do the two of you talk so much? I mean, I feel like after four months of non-stop talking the two of you would have run out of things to say."

You shake your head. "Oh no! Not at all! See, Beomgyu is practically the only person I can talk to about anything and everything I think of and not feel judged for it. He listens to all my crazy theories and answers all my dumb questions, and he enjoys it! Talking to him is what makes me feel the most loved."

"Wow, that is so sweet! I hope the rest of the boys heard it too!" Based on Soobin's words and sarcastic tone of voice, you realized you were on speaker phone and it made you blush.

"Soobin? Did Beomgyu hear that?" You quietly asked.

Instead of Soobin answering, it was Beomgyu. "Yes! Yes I heard all of it! I love you, I love you, I love you! And I never want to do this kind of stupid bet again! I want to talk to you all day and all night for as long as we both can!"

"I love you too, Beomgyu, but we lost the bet." You sigh. "Now we don't get to go on our weekend long dates."

"Don't worry about that!" Soobin interjected. "I made my own deal with the rest of the group. You both get one weekend together. Sounds fair?"

"More than fair! Thank you thank you Soobin!" You gushed. "I'll be right over, Beomgyu, and then we can plan for our weekend together!"

"Can't wait! I love you!"

"I love you too!"

"Wait!" Soobin added. "Before you go, the guys wanted to say something."

"We're really sorry about making the bet with you." Yeonjun said.

"We'll never do it again." Taehyun added.

"We didn't know how much talking to each other meant to you both. We're really sorry." Kai finished.

You couldn't help but give a little giggle. "Apology accepted. And never do it again. Or else Beomgyu and I won't stop talking for twenty four hours."

Yeonjun let out a whine. "Hey we said we're sorry!"

[ambrossart]

DANCING WITH MYSELF

— PART NINE 

summary: eddie crashes senior prom hoping to steal a dance with his dream girl, chrissy cunningham. instead, he spends the night stuck in the women’s restroom with you—her snarky, insecure best friend. ❖ pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader ❖ word count: 7,133 ❖ genre: fluff with some angst ❖ series status: complete ❖ warnings: no season 4 spoilers, some coarse language, body image issues, typical teenage insecurities, angst, jealousy, anxiety, secret crushes, childhood memories, happy ending, lots of 80s music, me knowing nothing about d&d, seriously none of the gameplay is accurate, consider yourself warned 

one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten

Eddie was more than a little caught off guard when you suddenly wanted to join his summer D&D campaign. 

You were popular, you were on the volleyball team, and he was just the trailer park kid whose father was constantly in and out of prison. “Eddie Munster”—yeah, that’s what they called him (because he listened to heavy metal, dressed all in black, and had the pasty complexion of someone who hadn’t seen the sun a day in his life). He was confident that ninety percent of the student body had no idea what his actual name was. To them, he was simply Eddie Munster, the kid destined to spend his life behind bars.  

Needless to say, Eddie was a little skeptical when Jeff called an emergency meeting in the science lab two weeks before the last day of school. He said he had a friend (“Well, actually she’s my lab partner”) who was interested in joining their summer D&D campaign, an intense and insanely immersive three-month-long crusade that Scott Sloman spent the entire school year working on. It was his pride and joy, his magnum opus, and Scottie would never waste such a masterpiece on a new player. 

Unless, of course, that new player was a girl. 

Scottie’s wandering hands came to rest on a clumsy stack of ungraded quizzes. He picked it up and tap, tap, tapped the pages neatly into order. 

“She cute?” he asked Jeff, with no shame at all. 

Eddie rolled his eyes. “No, Scottie, she’s not cute. She’s just really, really annoying.” 

“Oh, so you know her?” 

Eddie felt his whole body recoil from that grossly incorrect assumption. “What?” he said. “No, I don’t know her. I just… I just know who she is, that’s all.” 

Eddie first saw you at the middle school talent show. Corroded Coffin had just finished their first performance in front of a live audience. They played Judas Priest’s “Rock Forever” because it was the only song the principal didn’t immediately reject for having violent, anarchic, or offensively unchristian messaging. 

“Why can’t you boys play something peppy, something snappy… you know, like The Beach Boys or The Beatles?” 

“Dude, fuck The Beatles.” 

Eddie didn’t care. He just wanted to play some music. Throw himself in it. Lose himself in it. Forget about his shitty, miserable life for just three and a half minutes. 

That night, in front of a packed audience of students, faculty, family and friends, Eddie Munson strummed the final power chord and felt the notes clash against each other and crash into a concrete wall of pure silence. The illusion had shattered, and Eddie was back in reality. He was grounded in it. Sinking in it like quicksand. He staggered back and looked out, shielding his eyes from the glaringly bright stage lights, and in the silence he heard a sound that made his stomach drop. 

Someone was laughing. Laughing at him. 

Eddie tracked the sound, his eyes darting anxiously around the faceless crowd, and he found you giggling in the front row with your fist over your mouth, giggling yourself to tears. Eddie would never forget that sound for as long as he lived. 

“Oh, she’s that girl, huh?” Scottie swiveled around in the teacher’s chair like a movie villain. “So Munson’s little heckler has finally come to ruin D&D for him… Now that should make for a very interesting campaign. I like it. She’s in.”  

Eddie jumped to his feet. “Hey, you don’t get to decide that!” 

“Umm, I’m the Dungeon Master. It’s my campaign, and I’ll decide who plays it. Keep giving me lip, Munson, and you can find something else to do with your summer vacation.” 

“Fine,” said Eddie with a defiant shrug. “If she’s in, I’m out.” 

Grant gasped. “What? Dude, you can’t be serious!” 

And Jeff said, “Awww, come on, man. You can’t just skip the summer campaign. We’ve been looking forward to this all year.” 

Scottie called for silence with his hand. “Hey, if Eddie the Craven wants to run away from a twelve-year-old girl, let him. I mean Jesus, Munson, do you even hear yourself right now? So a girl laughed at you… Who cares? She’s not the first and she definitely won’t be the last. We’re freaks, dude. It comes with the territory. Either ignore it or embrace it, like I do. You can’t spend the rest of your life hiding from girls.” 

“I’m not hiding from girls,” Eddie said. “I just… Look, why do we play D&D?”

Jeff said, “Because it’s fun.”

Eddie pointed at him exuberantly, grinning ear to ear. “You’re damn right, it’s fun. It’s the best fucking game in the world! But even more than that, it’s an escape, right? It’s the one time when we can do whatever we want, be whoever we want, and we don’t have to worry about the cool kids making fun of us, girls laughing at us, being knocked around or thrown into dumpsters…” 

Scottie looked over at Grant. “You still smell, by the way.” 

Eddie went on: “My point is, D&D is our only safe haven, you guys. And yeah, maybe one day we won’t need it so much. I mean, shit, maybe we’ll get to high school and everything will magically get better. Maybe we won’t be seen as the freaks anymore. I don’t fucking know. But right now, we need it. And I’m telling you, if we let that girl in… if we let her into our safe haven, she’s gonna poison everything, man. She’s gonna make fun of our characters and laugh at us when we narrate their actions, and then we’re all gonna feel self-conscious and we’re gonna start to pull back, and then—shit—then the whole game becomes pointless. Then it’s just middle school all over again, and I don’t wanna deal with that all summer!” 

Jeff said, “She’s not joining to make fun of us.” 

But Eddie didn’t believe him. “Oh yeah? Then why is she joining? Y/N doesn’t even like fantasy, so why does she suddenly wanna join our campaign? Huh? If not to make fun of us, then why?” 

Jeff’s mouth opened and closed helplessly. He turned away. “Hey, you’d have to ask her that, man. I’m just the messenger here.” 

Scottie huffed impatiently and spun around in his chair. “Oh my god, this is getting ridiculous now… Look, how ‘bout we just vote, okay? Is that fair enough for everybody? Everyone who wants to hang out with a cute girl all summer—”

“I already told you, she’s not cute.” 

“—a girl who Eddie claims is not cute, but honestly he’s probably just saying that because he wants to keep her all to himself. If that sounds at all appealing to you, please raise your hand now.” 

Scottie’s hand flew up as soon as he finished speaking. Then, slowly, Jeff’s hand went up, too. 

“And all opposed?” 

Eddie and Grant raised their hands. 

“Well, it looks like we have a tie, gentlemen.” Scottie leaned back and plopped his feet on the teacher’s desk. “And when there’s a tie, the Dungeon Master gets the final say, so…” 

“Dude, that’s bullshit!” Eddie said. “Gareth isn’t even here to vote.” 

“Well, that’s because Gareth is doing finger paintings in elementary school right now. He’ll get a vote as soon as he hits puberty, okay? Until then, I’m pulling rank here, and I say she’s in. There. It’s decided. It’s happening. Get over it, Munson. Jeff, go tell your cute little female friend she can join our campaign.” 

“You can tell her yourself,” Jeff said. “She’s waiting right outside.” 

Everyone cried out at once: “WHAT?” 

“You brought her here?” 

“And you made her wait outside this whole time?” Scottie clawed at his acne-scarred face in frustration, digging deep furrows into his cheeks. “Oh my god, I’m surrounded by Neanderthals! See, this is exactly why we need a girl in our group. None of you know how to function in civilized society! You guys need to stop hanging out with Eddie and learn some damn social skills.” 

Scottie got up and started towards the door. 

Eddie’s hand shot out. “Hey, don’t—don’t open that!” 

And Scottie gave him a baffled look that screamed, Are you fricken kidding me right now, dude? 

“Damn, this girl’s really got your panties in a twist, doesn’t she, Munson? Yeah, she’s got you quivering in your boots like she’s the Big Bad Wolf or something.” He shook his head. “I’m tellin’ you, man, you better get your shit together before next year or else those high school girls are gonna eat you alive, bro.”  

Scottie opened the door and went out. Eddie reluctantly followed, for no other reason than to prove he wasn’t scared of the Big Bad Wolf. 

They found you in the hallway, sitting on the floor with your legs sprawled out in front of you, wearing a pair of embroidered jeans and an oversized sweater that hung on you like a sack. You were humming a wordless tune as you played with one of the paper fortune tellers Chrissy had made during your last period class. She said she had hidden a secret message in one of the folds, and you were determined to find it without cheating. 

You worked the fortune teller with your fingers. “B-L-U-E… and… one, two, three…” 

The door swung open. Eddie took one step out, saw you, then stepped right back and huddled against the doorframe. Casually, of course, as casually as he could. Then he caught you peeking at him with a mischievous little smile, and he felt his heart race with trepidation, thumping hard against his ribcage. 

“So,” you said, “am I in?”

Scottie wore a self-satisfied smirk. This is her? the smirk said. This is the girl that’s got you so scared, Munson? 

He approached you with an outstretched hand. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, m’lady. I’m Scott Sloman, but you can call me Scottie. I’ll be serving as your humble yet undeniably charismatic Dungeon Master this summer. I’m also the co-founder and lead singer of the critically acclaimed heavy metal band Corroded Coffin.” 

Your eyes widened in apparent awe. “Critically acclaimed, huh…? Remind me again: didn’t you guys get last place in the talent show? Or am I thinking of another shitty metal band?”

Grant piped up from inside the classroom: “No, you’re thinking of us.” 

Eddie shot Grant a sharp, disapproving glare, then turned back to you. “Hey, we didn’t get last place, okay? We got ninth.” 

“Yeah, out of like ten acts,” you said with a flippant shrug, “and the last act never even took the stage because Todd had a nervous breakdown and threw up all over himself backstage. We’re talking Campbell’s Chunky Soup. It was everywhere, you guys, like in his shoes and all over his creepy little puppet, and people were like walking in it and slipping in it. It was super gross but also kind of hilarious. Like, I would’ve totally given him first place for that, but I wasn’t on the judging panel, so…” 

Eddie made a weak gesture toward you. “See?” he said to Scottie. “This is the kinda shit I’m talking about. You really wanna listen to this all summer?” 

Scottie said, “Hey, I don’t mind a girl with some spunk,” and he knelt down in front of you, causing you to draw your legs all the way in and fold them underneath you. Scottie barely noticed. “That’s Eddie, by the way. As you can see, the guy has no sense of humor. Also, I’m pretty sure he’s scared of you.” 

“Really?” you said. “I can’t imagine why…” 

Then you looked up at Eddie with an impish twinkle in your eyes (how brightly they sparkled beneath the florescent lights), and he felt his whole body tense up with dread. This was all part of your plan, wasn’t it? First, you somehow got Jeff under your spell, corrupted his mind and turned him into one of your minions, and now you were slowly working your dark magic on Scottie. 

I see what you’re doing, Eddie thought. You’re trying to turn all my allies against me. Well, it won’t work because Grant’s mind is a fortress and Gareth’s as stubborn as a dwarf. They won’t be so easily swayed by your charm. 

Meanwhile, Scottie had taken out a pen and was writing his address on your hand. “Our first session will be held on the first Friday of summer vacation. We meet every Friday through Sunday, from 10:00 AM to 8:00 PM. If you can’t commit to that, don’t bother showing up at all because this campaign requires serious dedication from everyone. Okay? Also, if you miss more than two sessions, you’re automatically kicked out of the party. Think you can handle that?” 

Scottie posed this question to you with the stern glare of a shrewd businessman. Holy shit, you thought, this is actually happening! And with this realization came a great wave of anxiety. It crashed over you and consumed you, making you bite your lip in hesitation. Then your eyes drifted down to the fortune teller resting on your lap, and you clung to it like a life raft. 

Here, I made this one special… just for you. 

Oh? Did you write that I’m gonna marry Steve Perry? 

That… and something else. 

What did you write? 

Hey, I’m not telling! You have to find it yourself. And whatever it says, you have to do, okay? No going back. No hesitating. This is my prediction for your summer, and it’s set in stone. Got it?

You picked a number, your lucky number, and carefully unfolded the flap. 

Chrissy’s hidden message made you smile. 

Then you stole a glance at Eddie and felt your chest swell with a newfound sense of determination. No going back. No hesitating. 

“If that’s what it takes, then yeah. Let’s do it.” 

Scottie offered you his hand. You gave it a firm, decisive shake. 

“Welcome aboard.”

The summer started exactly like Eddie thought it would. You treated the game like it was a joke, spent each session wandering through Scottie’s fictional world like it was one giant amusement park made just for you. 

And it was. It truly was. 

Scottie had rewritten most of his campaign so that he could indulge your every whim. When he found out your character was a thief who had been betrayed and left for dead by her previous companion (a terribly cliched backstory, but Eddie expected no less from someone as inexperienced as you), Scottie created a brand new adventure out of thin air that forced the entire party into the Forest of No Return in search of your old companion’s secret hideout. Then Scottie inserted himself into the party through an NPC named Balon Blacktree, a “ruggedly handsome” (for some reason, Scottie felt the need to stress this) mercenary who would act as your guide through the dangerous and ever-changing woods. 

Scottie sat behind his screen and spoke in a deep, rumbling voice: “You hear a noise overhead—a flutter of wings. Just a bird maybe or, perhaps, something else. You look up but see nothing, only the mangled branches of so many dead trees. The moon, bright and full, hovers just beyond them. It glows with an eerie golden light. It is a witch’s moon.” 

You gasped. “A witch’s moon…” 

Eddie was sitting across from you, watching you respond to Scottie’s narration like a giddy preschooler at storytime. He smushed his cheek against his fist and huffed. “Jesus Christ, Scottie, can you just skip to the action, please?”

Scottie said, “Hey, I’m painting the scene!” 

“Well, paint faster, will ya? It’s been ten minutes already.” 

“Shhh!” you hissed, making Eddie’s face turn red with abashment. “You’re ruining my immersion! Go on, Scottie, tell me about the witch’s moon. It means a witch is near, doesn’t it?”

Scottie smirked, all too pleased to have your full attention. “That it does, sweet Elaria, that it does. An old witch, withered and hunched, lives in these woods. She hunts in them, seeking youth and beauty with a ferocious, insatiable hunger. She saw you enter the forest with your companions, and now she means to claim your vitality for her own. You hear her shrieking laughter rolling through the trees: Hee-hee-hee-hee! It’s close. In fact, it’s right behind you. You spin around, stumbling over your own feet, and you see a great crow, the witch’s familiar, perched upon a branch. It looms over you, staring at you with its black eyes, and in them you see your own frightened reflection…” 

You collapsed against the backrest of your chair, clutching your chest in distress. “Oh my god, my heart’s beating so fast right now!” Your hands flapped frantically while you considered your next action. “Okay, umm, I back away from the crow slowly, my eyes locked with it in terror, and as I go to take my next step, my foot lands on a twig. It makes a loud snap!” 

“The crow takes flight, extending its powerful wings! It lunges at you and slashes at your face with its sharp talons, but it only gets a five to hit.” 

You yelped in surprise and threw your hands over your head. Then: “Wait, which dice do I roll again?”

Eddie heaved a frustrated sigh. “D20 for defense rolls. How do you not know this by now?”

Scottie said, “Dude, relax, she’s still learning.” Then he turned to you with a smile. “You roll the D20, sweetie, and don’t forget to add all your modifiers and stat bonuses.” 

“Again, she should know this by now.” 

“Again, you need to calm the fuck down, Munson. This is her first time playing. Now go ahead, Y/N.” 

This went on for days. While the rest of the party was left to fend for themselves with minimal direction from their Dungeon Master, you and Scottie went off on these long and excruciatingly detailed expeditions that ate up chunks and chunks of precious time. 

In part, Eddie was glad for this because it kept you distracted and allowed him to focus on the game. He didn’t care that each of your turns took twenty minutes, that you constantly needed the rules explained and re-explained to you before you took any action. He didn’t care that your character never seemed to suffer damage or that she effortlessly avoided every trap she stumbled upon and passed every skill check with ease. He didn’t care that she clung to Balon Blacktree’s side during every battle and acted so impressed when he cut down low-level monsters with one swing of his greatsword. Meanwhile, Eddie’s character was single-handedly bringing down hordes of monsters and summoning demons with his dark magic, but Elaria didn’t bat an eye at that… no, that wasn’t worthy of any kind of recognition. 

He didn’t care that you giggled at all of Scottie’s lame jokes, that it was a completely different laugh than the one he always received. It was light and melodic and made your whole face glow with a radiant luster of pure joy. 

He didn’t care that it meant Scottie was totally right when he said, Don’t worry, man. One summer with me, and she’ll never look at you again. 

No, that didn’t bother Eddie at all. 

See, what bothered him, what really got under Eddie’s skin, was that you were always marveling at Scottie and hanging on his every word like he was some master storyteller. Yeah, that did bother him. It bothered him a lot. 

One Sunday, while Eddie was packing up his binder and dice and preparing to head home for the night, you surprised him when you came up and said, “Hey, I’m really sorry for… you know, kind of taking over the whole game. I feel like you guys are getting really bored.” 

Your smile was deeply apologetic, but also a little shy. It brought an unexpected flush to Eddie’s face. 

“Oh, no, that’s… that’s not your fault. Scottie always gets a little carried away when he DMs.” 

“Yeah, he really likes the sound of his own voice, doesn’t he?” 

You started laughing to yourself—a breathy, beautiful laugh—and Eddie felt the dice pouch slip out of his hand. Plop! It landed somewhere by his feet, but he couldn’t bring himself to pick it back up. Instead, he watched you lean against the table and gaze down at Scottie’s forest map, your face softening with an enchanted expression. 

“He’s really talented, though,” you said while tracing your finger over one of Scottie’s hand-painted miniatures. “Like the way he comes up with all these stories and describes every scene so vividly… I feel like I’ve been thrown into a fantasy novel or something.” 

Eddie pursed his lips into a hard, thin line. “Yeah, he’s really something, isn’t he?” 

You looked up at him, your eyes narrow with skepticism. “You don’t think he’s that good.” 

“Huh?” Eddie took a step back, shaking his head. “I - I never said that.”  

“You didn’t have to. I know sarcasm when I hear it.” Then you gasped loudly, as if you had just solved some great mystery. “Oh my god, you think Scottie’s a hack, don’t you?” 

“What? No, I don’t think he’s a hack, I just…” Eddie glanced toward the open door at the top of the stairs; then, lowering his voice, he continued: “He just tends to fall back on the same tired storylines, that’s all. Like the witch in the woods, and the crow, and saving the fair maiden from becoming a virgin sacrifice… He’s recycled that same adventure like fifteen times. I practically have it memorized by now. And after a while, it makes all his campaigns pretty stale, especially when you’ve been playing them for as long as I have.” He reached out and knocked over the miniature you had been admiring. The figure landed on its side and wobbled for a second or two before going still. “Trust me, Scottie’s no wordsmith. I mean… shit, from what I’ve seen, you could probably write a better campaign than he could.” 

“Oh yeah…?” You tilted your head curiously. “Well, what about you?” 

“What about me?”

“Could you write a better campaign?”

Your question caught Eddie off guard. He closed his mouth and thought about it for a minute. “Well, I… I mean, yeah, I definitely could. It’s funny you mention that, actually, because I started working on a campaign last year, but I never got around to finishing it.” 

“Really?” you said. “Why’s that?” 

“Uhh… I dunno, honestly. I guess I just lost inspiration.” Eddie could think of no better way to put it. One day, he simply set down his notebook and never touched it again. “Plus, Scottie doesn’t really let anyone else DM, so there’s basically no point.” 

“Well, that’s too bad,” you said. “I’m curious to see what kinda campaign you’d come up with.” 

Eddie felt his face get warm. What kinda campaign would you like? he almost asked, but the question got stuck in his throat.

You got up and reached for your backpack. “Anyway,” you went on with a nervous flutter, “there’s a second reason I wanted to talk to you. Actually, it’s the main reason I wanted to talk to you, so… here.” 

You handed him a piece of paper. Eddie looked it over, front and back. 

“It’s a character sheet,” he said. “You working on a new character or something?”

“No, it’s for you. See?” You poked the top of the page with your index finger. “It’s for your demon master—you know, the one that your character made an unholy pact with? The source of all your dark power? I made a character sheet for him… or it. Do demons even have genders?” 

Eddie kept staring at the paper, feeling both elated and overwhelmed by its existence. “Uh, I dunno, but… Wait, what is this for, exactly?” 

“Well, last night I was reading The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde because I’ve been on this really weird Gothic literature kick lately—you know, like Frankenstein, The Turn of the Screw, Dracula and, naturally, just about anything by Poe. Anyway, so while I was reading, I started thinking about your character” 

Eddie’s heart jogged. You were thinking about my character? 

“and the demon he made a pact with, and I thought it’d be kinda cool if there was a chance your character could get possessed by that demon for a little while, and he like becomes evil and tries to kill us or something. Then I got weirdly inspired at two in the morning—don’t ask why I was still up at two in the morning—and I made this!” You put your hands on your hips and beamed at him. “So, what do you think?” 

Eddie rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I…” He didn’t know what to say. Eddie had never given much thought to the demon featured in his character’s backstory, yet in one night you had managed to produce a fully customized character sheet for the creature. It was absolutely… 

“… stupid, isn’t it?” 

(You think my story’s stupid?)

Eddie lowered the paper and looked at you. Your once-brilliant smile had collapsed into a dismal, disheartened frown that seemed… strangely familiar. It brought a pang to Eddie’s chest. 

“You think it’s really stupid, huh?” you said while playing with the frayed hem of your sweater sleeve. “Right… Well, in my defense, I was really sleep deprived when I wrote that. Also, when I get an idea, I sometimes tend to obsess over it, you know? Like I go deep down that rabbit hole like Alice in Wonderland and I do some crazy shit, like writing an extensive and thoroughly researched biography for a character that isn’t even mine.” You opened your mouth to laugh, but nothing came out. “Wow, that sounds even more insane when I say it out loud! You know what, I’ll just take that back and, uh, burn it…” 

You reached for the paper. Eddie pulled it away. 

“You talk a lot,” he said. “Anyone ever tell you that?” 

You shook your head. “No… quite the opposite, actually. Most people think I’m really shy.” 

“Really?” said Eddie. “See, I never got that impression from you.”

A flush of modesty tinged your face. You looked down at your sneakers and responded in a quiet, bashful voice: “Well, that’s… because you’re weird.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, smiling at you for the first time in his life. He was surprised by how naturally it came to him. “Yeah, that’s probably why.” 

His smile grew. “First of all, don’t ever call your ideas stupid, okay? ‘Cause they aren’t. Second, this is really great. Thank you for taking the time to make this for me. It’s actually very impressive.” 

That made you stand a little taller, a little prouder. You pointed at the page. “See, I even drew a little portrait…” 

“Yeah, I saw that,” Eddie said, amused. “You’re a terrible artist.” 

For that, you gave him a half-hearted shove, giggling as you did. Eddie laughed along with you… until Scott Sloman appeared at the top of the stairs with a VHS tape in his hand. 

“Hey,” he said to you, “you wanna watch some Monty Python?” 

Your whole face scrunched up with discomfort. “Uh, no… I really should be getting home.” You slung your backpack over your shoulder and turned to leave. To Eddie, you said, “I’ll, umm, see you Friday?”

“Yeah… See ya.” A smile tugged at his mouth as he watched you go. Then, when you were halfway up the stairs, he said, “Get some sleep, okay?” and you gave him a look that made his stomach flip. 

“Right,” you said, catching your bottom lip between your teeth. “Yeah, I’ll try…” 

Scottie, blissfully unaware, fluttered a flirtatious farewell as you passed. “Bye-bye now,” he drawled, and once you were gone, he leaned against the doorframe and breathed a dreamy sigh. “Such a delicate flower… Don’t you love it when girls play hard to get?” 

“Not nearly as much as you do,” Eddie said while studying the character sheet you made him. One section in particular had him chuckling. Favorite food: the souls of his victims? Eddie imagined you lying on your bed, half asleep and drooling, as you scrawled away with your pen, and that made this line even funnier. He pushed his face into the paper and snickered. 

“What’s that you got?” Scottie asked, peering over Eddie’s shoulder. 

Eddie pressed the paper flat against his chest. “Hmm? Oh, it’s nothing. It’s just a character sheet.” 

(So why did he feel the need to hide it?)

“Oh?” Scottie said, sounding only mildly interested. “Are you developing a new character for the campaign? Finally retiring that angsty wizard you love so much?”

“He’s not a wizard, he’s a warlock,” Eddie said. “And, uhh… no, this is just something Y/N made.” 

“Y/N made it? For you?” 

“Yeah, I guess.” 

And that’s when Scottie took a huge step back, his lips curling into a Cheshire Cat grin. “Oh boy,” he said, as his eyes sparked to life with devilish glee. “Well, there it is.” 

“There what is?”

“You were wondering why she suddenly wanted to join our campaign, right?” Scottie motioned toward the paper. “Well, there’s your answer, pal. The kid’s got a little crush on you, Munson. Congrats, man, you finally caught one!” 

Laughing, Scottie mashed his palm into Eddie’s short crop of brown hair. Eddie knocked him away. 

“Yeah, okay, very funny…” 

“You don’t believe me? Okay, let’s recap, shall we? Uhh, she’s always around.”

“Like a harbinger of misfortune.” 

“She’s always giggling at you.” 

“Snickering. Cackling.” 

“She, completely out of nowhere, decides she wants to spend her summer in a stuffy basement with us losers instead of hanging out at the pool with all her friends.” 

“I have a theory about that, actually.”  

“Yeah, and I bet it’s as dumb as all your other bullshit theories.” Scottie put his hand on Eddie’s shoulder and said, “Dude, the girl created a character for you. That means she was thinking about you. In our world, that’s practically a love letter.” 

Eddie felt his chest tighten at those words. Scottie frowned and worked up some fake tears. “Awww, she’s gonna be so heartbroken when you leave… Let her down gently, will ya, Munson? They’re so fragile at that age.” 

“Dude, shut up!” Eddie said, and pushed Scottie’s hand away. “She doesn’t like me, okay? Can we please drop it now?” 

“Hey, I’m just as mystified by this as you are, but facts are facts.” 

“I mean, why would she even like me?” 

“Well, it’s definitely not because of your dazzling personality,” Scottie quipped, earning a glare from his best friend. “Look, I dunno, maybe she’s got a thing for socially awkward guitarists with daddy issues. Who cares? It’s a fricken twelve-year-old! Stick that tiny feather in your cap and move on. We’re going to high school, man. The big leagues!” 

“You’ve seen who she hangs out with, right?”

Scottie’s jaw dropped. “Why are we still talking about this? That’s middle school shit, man. We’re past all that now.” 

“All the cheerleaders, all the jocks, Jason Carver…” 

“And what, you think she’s a spy or something? You think Jason Carver sent her here to learn all our nerdy secrets? Listen to me, man: the popular kids don’t give a shit how we spend our summer vacation, okay? We’re just a passing amusement to them, dude, a way to kill time while they wait for school to end. As soon as they walk out those doors, we no longer exist to them, so stop giving them so much of your attention.” 

Eddie went quiet, letting those words sink in for a minute. Then he took a deep breath through his nose and said with absolute confidence, “She doesn’t like me.” 

“Oh my god, again with this…” Scottie put his head between his hands and squeezed. “Okay, fine! You’re right, Munson, she doesn’t like you. In fact, nobody likes you. Why would they? You’re a major downer, a single grey storm cloud in an otherwise sunny sky. There, you happy now?” 

“Yes,” Eddie said, “thank you.” 

“Yeah, you’re welcome,” Scottie said, and made a dismissive motion with his hand. “Now, do you wanna watch Monty Python with me or not?”

Eddie cracked a smirk. “No, I gotta get home.” 

He picked up his dice pouch and tossed it into the open pocket of his backpack. Then he carefully tucked the character sheet into his binder, admiring it for a second before putting it away. On his way out, he said to Scottie, “Oh, by the way, I think I’m gonna try something new with my character at the next session.” 

Scottie stood at the bottom of the stairs, blinking in disbelief. “You, Eddie Munson, wanna try something new?” 

“Yeah,” Eddie said, feeling inspired. “Yeah, I do.”

And that’s when everything changed. Not suddenly, but gradually, naturally, as naturally as the winter snow melts in the spring, as night fades and turns to day. 

No longer was Eddie Munson the one who took the game way too seriously, the one who stuck firmly to the rules and shut down anyone’s attempt to deviate from them, the one who never so much as cracked a smile because that would betray the very essence of his dark and brooding character… Yeah, that guy was long gone, lying at the bottom of the trash bin along with Eddie’s old crumpled-up campaign, and Eddie had no intention of ever digging him out again. 

For the first time in a long time, Eddie was excited about what the future had in store for him. Every day felt like a brand new adventure, full of twists and turns that had him smiling, laughing, gasping, and (sometimes) screaming. 

On Thursday nights, he would barely be able to sleep because he was so eager to wake up the next morning and rush to Scottie’s house… 

to that basement… 

where you were sitting, waiting for him.  

Eddie rested his head on his palm while he watched you update your adventure journal, something you did during every break like it was a homework assignment. The rest of the guys were eating pizza in the kitchen. You and Eddie were supposed to join them a while ago, but neither of you were in a hurry to head upstairs. 

Your lips curled into a smile when you caught Eddie staring at you. “What?” you whispered, as if you weren’t the only two in the room. 

“Nothing,” he said. “I’m just wondering what you write about in that thing.” 

“In this?”

“Yes, in that. I’ve never seen anyone keep such a detailed log.” 

“Oh,” you said. “Is that weird?”

“No, not really. I just never took you for a diary keeper, that’s all.” 

Your nose wrinkled adorably. “Yeah, I’m not. Or not usually, anyway. I’m just trying to keep a record of everything: all the quests my character’s completed, all the people she’s met, funny things she’s witnessed…” Your face darkened all of a sudden, and when you spoke again your voice was small and tight, as if you were struggling to hold something in. “I just don’t wanna forget all this once the campaign’s over, you know?” 

Eddie smirked, thinking he understood. “Well, at the rate we’re going, I don’t think we’ll ever finish this campaign.”

Honestly, he hoped you never did. 

“So,” he went on casually, “have you written anything about me?” 

“Eh, a little… maybe like one page.” 

“One page?” 

“Well, the back of one page.” 

“The back of one page? I don’t even get a full page? Wow, I really need to step up my game, huh? Clearly, my performance isn’t cutting it for you.” 

“Yeah, it really isn’t.” Your smile was teasing but so, so sweet. “You’re not fully committed to your character, Munson. I just don’t feel it, you know? I need more. I need you to completely let yourself go, okay? I wanna see you jumping on chairs, running around, getting in people’s faces…” 

“So, basically, you want me to make an ass of myself.” 

“Oh yes. Always.” You tossed your head to the side and giggled. “I wanna see you totally unhinged, Munson. When you get possessed, I need you to go full Linda Blair with that shit. I wanna see some head-spinning, projectile-vomiting… I could do without the crucifix thing, though, because that would be a touch too explicit for your general audience.” 

Eddie said, “Yeah, I don’t know what any of that means.” 

“Linda Blair? The Exorcist?” 

“Never seen it.” 

“Seriously, you’ve never seen The Exorcist? The greatest horror movie of all time? Well, you know, apart from Night of the Living Dead, but that’s just my personal preference. I love George A. Romero.”

Eddie shrugged. “Yeah, I don’t really like horror movies.” 

“Really?” You sounded genuinely shocked, and a little disappointed. “But you’re so Halloween-themed.” 

“Halloween-themed?” Eddie grimaced. “What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Nothing, it’s not an insult or anything… In fact, Halloween just happens to be my favorite holiday.” You nudged Eddie with your elbow, and he pulled away. That made you go quiet for a second, sulking like a child who just got scolded for something they didn’t know was wrong. “It’s just, I dunno, you’ve got this whole Prince of Darkness vibe going on. Naturally, I always assumed—”

“I’m Eddie Munster,” Eddie said with a sneer, “so I must be obsessed with horror movies, right?” 

“Hey, don’t put words in my mouth, okay? I didn’t say that. And just for the record, I’ve never bought into the whole ‘Eddie Munster’ thing, anyway. It’s a lazy joke, and it doesn’t even make that much sense. You don’t look a thing like Eddie Munster. He’s got that crazy widow’s peak and he’s a werewolf, which always kinda confused me, if I’m being honest. Like, his mom is Dracula’s daughter and his dad is one of Frankenstein’s monsters… How do genetics even work in that universe? Like, is his mom also part werewolf? Is lycanthropy a recessive gene? These are the kinda questions that keep me up at night.” 

You were going off on another tangent. Eddie patiently waited for you to find your way back; and once you did, your eyes went straight to him. 

“My point is, Eddie Munster’s a very stupid nickname. Whoever thought that one up is seriously lacking brain cells.” 

The corner of your mouth rose into a half-humorous smile, causing Eddie’s stony gaze to soften and glow with adoration. He sat there for a while, spellbound and speechless, and when his voice finally returned, it blurted out a question that startled you both. 

“Why are you here?” he asked, and you drew back a little, your brows knitted together in confusion. 

“You’re… popular,” he went on, “and you play volleyball and—”

“So because I play volleyball, I’m automatically a jock or something?” You scoffed at that, your mouth hanging open in wry amusement. “I’m on the gold team, Eddie, the worst team. We’re basically a bunch of rejects that would’ve gotten cut if there had been actual tryouts. My parents thought it’d be good for me to join a sport, so I picked volleyball because… why not? And it’s kinda fun, I guess. We almost beat the white team once. It was almost this huge upset.” 

“Wow,” Eddie said, “I’m almost impressed,” and that made you laugh for a minute, but only for a minute.

“I’m not popular,” you said, “not even a little. My best friend, Chris, she’s the popular one. She’s the one everyone wants, and I’m just her carry-on luggage. And yeah, I guess that gets me a seat at the lunch table, but that doesn’t exactly make me part of the club. Her friends aren’t my friends. They hardly even talk to me. Chris could drop me tomorrow if she wanted, and then I’d be eating lunch alone.” You winced a little as you said this, then hung your head and sighed. “I’m not popular, Munson, but it’s very flattering you think I am… I mean, at least I have somebody fooled, right?” 

You picked up your pencil and flipped to a new page. The resulting silence made Eddie’s chest hurt. 

“You wouldn’t have to eat alone,” he said, and saw your hand pause in mid-stroke. “There’s always an open seat for you at our table.” 

A faint, melancholy smile touched your lips. “Yeah, but you won’t be there.” 

Eddie drew in a quiet breath. As he looked at you now, you seemed so far away.

“Oh, right,” he said. “Yeah, I almost forgot.” 

Now all of Scottie’s jokes made a little more sense. (Let her down gently, will ya, Munson?) Now all of your diligent note-taking made a little more sense. For the longest time, Eddie thought you were just being overly sentimental about your first campaign, but that wasn’t it at all, was it? No, you were preparing for the end. Immortalizing your last campaign. 

The last campaign you two would ever play together. 

“You should go eat,” you said to him in a stuffy voice. “I’ll be up in a little bit.”

It’s amazing, the amount of clarity that comes with heartbreak. This dawned on Eddie Munson now, as he sat alone on the dirty floor of the women’s restroom. Here I am once again, getting ready to move on to the next stage of my life, and all I can think about is how badly I wanna stay with you.

Eddie’s hands closed around the bundled fabric of his jacket. It smelled a little like you now. 

I shouldn’t have walked up those stairs. I should’ve stayed down there with you and told you to fuck off when you tried to force me to leave. I should’ve told you that you had nothing to worry about. That I wasn’t gonna forget about you once I went to high school. I should’ve told you a lot of things that day, but I didn’t. You told me to leave, and I left. I walked up those stairs and I ate that cold, shitty pizza while you sat down there all alone… probably crying your eyes out. I was fourteen and an idiot. I’m still an idiot, but at least I have the balls to admit I like you now. 

And if you think I’m not about to get up and go running after you… well, then you’re an even bigger idiot than I am.

_____________________

PREV // CURRENT // NEXT

[goldenamaranthe-blog]

Blake and or weiss meet yang/rubys parents for the first time. Was thinking something similar to the goodnight kiss story, but do what you want lol. I ain't gonna force you to do anything.

Hey, @chaosbloot! I think I got something for this.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Goodnight Kiss in Vacuo pt. 2

Shade Academy

Blake: (tossing and turning in bed) Can't sleep... (glances at the door to the bedroom and bites her lip as she watches shadows pass underneath the door) No. No. It's too soon for that. We didn't even technically share a bed at Jaune's house in the Ever After.

Yang: (muffled laughter on the other side of the door along with two other voices)

Blake: But it was nice being so close.... (remembers the warm, floaty feeling she got from sleeping within close proximity to Yang)

Blake's Heart: (butterflies and warmth and floaty feeling with warm fuzzies) Go get our girl already!!!

Blake: Okay. Okay. Okay. I'll go ask. (Takes a deep breath and peeks out the door into the little dormatory common room)

Yang: (wheezing with laughter) No way! Qrow, you never told us that you wore the school skirt for a week when you were a student!

Qrow: Your dad told me it was a kilt!

Raven: Don't put all the blame on Tai, Qrow. Summer played along with it.

Qrow: You're just mad that my legs looked better than yours in that skirt.

Raven: Hardly the case now. I don't think those pasty white legs of yours have seen the light of day since then.

Yang: (laughing so hard she's crying silently and goes to wipe a tear when she notices Blake standing in the doorway) Hey, babe! Sorry, are we keeping you up?

Blake: Oh! No. Not at all. I just noticed that it was getting late and you hadn't come- GONE! Hadn't gone... to bed.

Raven & Qrow: (arch an eyebrow with a smirk at the slip and glance at each other)

Yang: (oblivious) I'll go to bed here in a minute. I was catching up with Qrow and hearing how Raven came around to help.

Raven: (gives Qrow a look of: "Can you believe this kid?")

Qrow: (exchanges with a look of: "She has Tai's obliviousness and your romance disasterdom. What do you expect?")

Raven: (rolls her eyes and stares pointedly at Blake) Hey, if you want to sleep with Yang, you're better off asking her directly instead of beating around the bush.

Blake: (blushes and steam billows out of her ears)

Yang: (blushes and sits ramrod straight) U-Uh... Blake?

Blake: Yes!

Yang: Did you... want to share a bed?

Blake: (ears flicker as her eyes flit between everyone in the room) I... wouldn't be opposed....

Qrow: Do you want to sleep with my niece or not?

Blake: Not like that!!! (Balks) Not yet anyway!!! (Gags at her words) I MEAN!!! YES!!! I would like to share a bed with Yang! (Turns to Yang) When are you coming to bed?!

Yang: (a flustered and blushing mess) I'll be there in five minutes!

Blake: Okay!

Yang: Okay!

Blake: I love you!

Yang: I love you too!

Blake: (stomps over to Yang in embarrassment, kisses her cheek, and sprints back into her bedroom)

Yang: (eyes flicking between red and lilac from embarrassment)

Raven: You were right. I do like her. I was a little worried after spying around post fall of Beacon.

Qrow: Told you. (Drinks his decaf coffee) Better get going, Firecracker. Your lady awaits.

Yang: (stammers and sputters) Right! Uh! Goodnight! (Trips over the chair as she rushes to the bedroom)

Raven: (sips her tea after the door slams closed) I give them six months before they're talking about marriage.

Qrow: I'll see your six months and put my money on our little Firecracker asking.

Raven: Please. That little shadow is clearly a woman who knows what she wants. My money is on the Faunus.

[eraldkarma]

Its pride month and it would be a crime to not draw my favorite shapeshifter.

I love this stupid little guy! But seriously morph is pasty they need a sun hat and they are applying sunscreen ever five minutes to prevent being turned into burnt charcoal.

[wordsmithwhumpsandfluff]

Okay you'll forgive me being sooo self indulgent with this ask, but: Sickie Aiden + Caretaker Spirit + tummy rubs. I NEED to see this girl be a softie towards him, I've been thinking of them all week

First request from the ask game!! Love this so much! Thank you, Soup!!

————————————————————————————————————

The brewery/restaurant that was only a five-minute walk from campus had been a bold choice for Aiden’s lunch.

The place had those Mexican-style egg rolls and insanely good jalapeño burgers with thick patties. On any other day, Aiden would have been smart enough to know better than to get such a heavy and greasy meal. But after two morning exams and no breakfast or snacks, he had been too exhausted and too hungry to be smart.

Two Mexican eggrolls, a jalapeño burger, garlic fries, and a large Sprite is what he got himself. In the moment, it didn’t seem like a bad idea to him. But as soon as he finished his Sprite, he realized it was a major mistake

Thankfully, he didn’t have any more exams that day, but he did have to sit through a long and painful lecture while his stomach was gurgling horribly. He kept burping quietly into his fist, being as quiet as possible. He broke into a cold clammy sweat before the lecture ended, and he immediately left as fast as he could once the class was dismissed.

He found himself in the bathroom, on his knees in a stall while gagging dryly over the toilet. Nothing came up, even though he stayed for twenty whole minutes.

When he gave up on trying to puke, he was pasty as a ghost. He splashed some water on his face and went on his way. He felt like a zombie with a stomachache. He just wanted to go home, take some tums, and sleep.

He was so thankful that he didn’t live too far from campus. On the drive over and while going upstairs to his apartment, he kept letting out small airy burps that didn’t bring him any relief. Once inside, he immediately got the box of tums from his kitchen, popping two in his mouth on his way to his couch. Laying down, he used his fist to muffle a string of burps that burned in his nose and made him grimace.

He was dizzy with nausea, and just needed to close his eyes. It’ll pass, he told himself while planting a hand on his bloated stomach. It was straining against the black sweatpants he wore to class, and he pushed the waistband down to relieve the pressure.

Despite feeling tired and just wanting to sleep, he just couldn’t. He was so nauseous, but all that kept coming up was little annoying burps. He felt so shitty.

He stayed on the couch for so long, wishing to just fall asleep. But suddenly, he startled and his eyes opened when he heard a knock at his door.

He groaned, figuring it was one of his neighbors or something and hoping that if he ignored them, they’d just go away. More knocking. A bit more.

Then Aiden’s phone began to ring, and with an annoyed sigh he took it out of his pocket and looked at it. Suddenly, his eyes widened and he sat up too quickly, causing him to clamp a hand over his mouth as he felt his stomach leap. Nothing but a long, wet burp came up.

He’d forgotten Spirit was coming over. Over the last two weeks, they’d had maybe two or three more little movie hang-outs. And tonight was one of those hang-out nights.

He mentally cursed at himself for forgetting. He didn’t answer the phone and forced himself to get up and go the door, pulling his pants back up on his way there. Lo and behold, Spirit was standing there, holding something rectangle-shaped and wrapped a page from the school’s newspaper.

“Hey,” she said, and Aiden couldn’t help but get caught up on how beautiful she looked with her hair in messy twin-buns and wearing a ‘I SHOULD HAVE STAYED HOME’ t-shirt that went all the way down to her knees. The scars and bruises on her face hadn’t gone away completely just yet, but they added a sort of dangerous aspect to her beauty.

Meanwhile, he knew he looked pathetic in comparison to her. “Hey,” he said tiredly.

Spirit slightly raised her brow. “Were you asleep?”

He put on a smile and shrugged. “Um. . . not exactly.” He stepped aside so Spirit could walk in. “What’s that?” he asked, nodding to the rectangle-shaped thing in her hands.

“Oh,” she said, looking up at him with a smile. “I got you something.”

They went over to the couch and she handed him the gift. He ripped open the newspaper-wrapping and smiled as he looked down at 3 different books.

“They’re all thrifted, so the covers are a bit worn and there’s some fold-lines in the pages, but there’s no stains or notes or missing pages. I thought you’d like these.”

The books were ‘Wild Bird’, ‘Jellicoe Road’, and ‘Magnolia: Flower of Death’. Aiden had never seen or heard of any of these.

“There not super popular,” Spirit said with a shrug, “but I like them.”

“They look interesting.”

“‘Jellicoe Road’ and ‘Magnolia’ both have a little bit of a romantic sub-plot, so you might not be that into it, but—”

“Nah, I like romance,” Aiden said with a shrug. “I once read ‘The Summer I Turned Pretty’ because my mom wouldn’t shut up about it, and I actually liked it. Romance is cool.”

Spirit’s eyes widened with genuine surprise. It took everything in her not to smile because it was lowkey adorable to think that this big guy was a fan of romance books! Spirit blushed and prayed it wasn’t too obvious.

“This one doesn’t have any of those newspaper or author review things on the cover,” he said, holding up ‘MAGNOLIA: Flower of Death’.

“Yeah. It was written by some teenager who self-published. It’s not that popular, but it’s really good.”

Aiden nodded, putting the gifts on his coffee table. “Thanks so much,” he said, smiling at Spirit.

She smiled back.

They wound up putting on an action movie rather than a horror one this time. Aiden was thankful that Spirit was so enthralled by the movie that she didn’t notice him muffling a few small burps. However, she did notice something wrong with him when his stomach abruptly growled loudly, and he went about two shades paler.

“You okay?” Spirit asked, studying him.

Aiden tried his best to smile reassuringly. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Clearly, he was lying. That was the moment when Spirit learned this boy was a horrible liar.

“You look off,” she said, pausing the movie. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” he assured her, but he looked anything but and he wound up muffling another burb against his fist while Spirit was still studying him.

She frowned. “Are you sick?”

Aiden was about to deny it, but he realized there was no point. With a sigh, frowning, he nodded reluctantly. “It’s not a bug or anything. Lunch just didn’t settle right with me, but that’s my own fault.”

Spirit now noticed that Aiden’s belly was clearly bloated underneath his shirt. Now it made sense why he looked so tired when she got there.

“Do you want me to leave so you can sleep?” she asked. Aiden’s eyes widened at her question (or rather because she sounded a bit disappointed when she asked it) and he immediately told her he didn’t want her to leave.

“Let’s finish the movie,” he said to her. “Really, I don’t want you to leave yet.”

Spirit couldn’t help but smile a bit at him. “Okay.”

She pressed play on the movie. Now that she knew Aiden was sick though, she was more aware of him hesitantly rubbing his own stomach and the little burps he kept muffling. Eventually, an idea came to her that had her blushing just from thinking it.

“Hey,” she said to him, getting his attention. “Do you. . . would you want me to rub your stomach?” Just asking that made her blush with embarrassment. His eyes widened a bit, surprised by the offer, and Spirit noticed his pale cheeks turning a bit more pink than usual. She prayed that her own face wasn’t too flushed. 

He nodded, and Spirit wound up grabbing a cushion from the side of the couch and putting it on her lap. She patted the cushion, signaling for him to put his head there. 

Aiden hesitated for a second before moving down a bit to lay his head on the cushion, laying on his side. Spirit turned red, but thankfully Aiden didn’t see her at that moment.

She reached her hand down to his stomach, rubbing it over his shirt. She could feel how bloated and gurgle it was, and she let out a sympathetic sigh. “That probably feels gross,” she said, and he hummed in agreement.

Spirit kept trying to watch the movie, but her focus kept getting drawn to Aiden’s head on her lap. She had the overwhelming urge to run a hand through his tousled hair. She got lost in the motion of rubbing his stomach. She pressed in a bit, making his stomach gurgle louder than it had before and they both startled when a loud belch came up, and Spirit saw Aiden’s ears turn red and he sat up, covering his face with a hand. “Oh, God,” he groaned. “That was so gross. I am so sorry, Spirit.”

Spirit put a hand on his back, rubbing between his shoulder blades. “It’s okay,” she assured him. “A bit gross, yeah, but it really is fine.”

Aiden, still completely embarrassed and beet-red, looked at her. “You sure?”

Spirit smiled and patted the cushion on her lap again. “C’mon. I’ll keep rubbing your belly.”

Still red, he laid back down and Spirit kept rubbing, pressing in and making him burb a few more times, each time making him redder.

Eventually, Spirit was able to focus on the movie while still rubbing Aiden’s stomach. He eventually stopped belching, but Spirit didn’t stop massaging his upset gut.

”You feeling any better?” Spirit asked him eventually. She got no answer.

She leaned forward a bit to get a look at his face, and she had to bite her cheek to keep from grinning too much when she realized he was asleep with one of his limp hands on her knee.

She didn’t dare to wake him. Thankfully, she could grab the remote without moving. Still rubbing his stomach, she let him sleep and stayed.

There wasn’t any part of her that wanted to leave.

[reorientation]

femme transmasc here. i went to a gay club the saturday before halloween wearing a tight short black dress, no bra or binder, and the top part of the dress has a cutout that my breasts sometimes fall out of (so i wore black heart pasties over my nipples). a straight guy immediately sniffed me out (legit within five minutes) and made a connection with me, he charmed me and flirted with me and it felt so good. he admitted he was straight but "with exceptions" and when i made sure to tell him i was trans he smiled so big and said that didnt change anything for him.

i was seriously soaking my lace thong and kept giggling and looking at his lap needing his cock, its insane how quickly he had me under his spell. every sexual comment he made had me closer to pulling my breasts out and showing him how good of a girl i would be for him. we were sitting so close wrapped up in each other all evening and the intimacy was electric.

we didnt go anywhere to fuck (so many red flags even other than the fact that he was straight, i dont think the straightness would have been a dealbreaker but some other comments were concerning safety-wise) but i wanted him to take me with every fiber of my being. i wanted my breasts to fall out accidentally and to have him laugh at me and grope them. i wanted to be a woman for him and feel him empty himself inside of me. to tell him my real name and listen to him moan it as he knocked me up. fuck i think im getting really close to giving in and accepting my womanhood. i dont think i can deny myself this raw pleasure for much longer. what should i do?

It hardly feels like you need my advice - if that straight stranger had been just a bit smarter about not scaring you off, you would have done your best to make him a daddy.

I truly enjoyed hearing this, though. You went to a gay club, but tarted yourself up to put firm emphasis on your breasts and your femininity - repelling anyone there who would have wanted to fuck you as a "man", while advertising yourself to any man who came there looking for an easy girl to fuck. When one found you, you instantly got giggly and wet and ready to have his babies.

It's stories like this that show me there's something special about "transmascs": there's a real sense in which you're better girls than normal girls, you know? Getting a normal girl in the sack usually takes effort, and they tend to be wary about fucking strangers or taking it unprotected. Femininity is a background condition of their sexuality.

But if you pump a girl full of testosterone and lies about how she's "really a man", and pay her a little attention, and let her think that it's a sexy taboo thing to be called her real name... Suddenly just the fact of her biology turns her on, and you have a little whore who's ready to get knocked up within an hour of meeting you.

So to answer your question, Anon: no, you won't be able to deny yourself much longer, and you know what you should do. You lost the protection of normal womanhood when you decided to be a "femme transmasc" instead. All that's left for you now is to be a good girl.

[hazbinhotelexpansion]

Oh I was BORN to answer your request, prepare for all of my random discord quotes

Are you climbing the inside of the elevator??? ..........maybe

"I want them Zoloft boys"

"ok I think the phone has been in the microwave long enough"

She could run a kingdom, people would listen to her, she's very loud!

I'll sop your wet! ... I'll wet your sop? No, neither of those sound right, joke canceled, goodbye

You know me I love dead people

You want me to go straight to bed? Why not gay to bed???

"this tastes like battery acid, but if battery acid was tasty"

Gusty showers sounds like a terrible name for a retirement community

What happens if you have nipple pasties that just look like nipples? "Then you need nipple pasties for your nipple pasties" Nipple-pasty-ception "Get a bra that looks like boobs and put nipple pasties on that"

Yeah I'm like canonically allergic to chihuahuas in specific

"Jesus told a tree to off itself and then he threw a table"

"am I a Honda or a person?"

"NOW GIVE ME YOUR FACE AND DONT ASK QUESTIONS"

Gasp! Someone cheesed him!

WHY WOULD YOU MAKE MY LITTLE BOY INTO LEMONADE

"using my telekinesis to lift my daughter out of her crib just in time for her father to see her levitating randomly"

"why are we talking about bacon now I thought we were talking about your daddy issues"

I do not have a gender, I have a question

oh pants stopped happening like 30 minutes ago

just calling me Charizard is unhelpful team

I AM THE PICASSO OF MEMES

Ope there goes angel climbing into the China closet again

EVIL JELLO MY NEW GENDER

"I have a *weird* problem, are you ready to hear about my *weird* problem" "always" "my brownies are too oily"

"Before I can own a pigeon, I need to get my bird permit" Your..... Birdmit

It doesn't have to be a bunch of sad white women drinking wine sitting in a rented conference room with a bunch of tables all done up in tablecloths with droopy streamers and half floating balloons

he can be a soft boi *and* a crackhead!!!

"they're Jean shoes" YOU GOT THE FUCKIN JHOES???

Please refrain from happy biting the cannibal

WOOHOO KEVIN GOT BOOPS

Two pigeons, chilling on the sidewalk, five feet apart cause they're not gay

"you're watching a weiner schnitzel be made? Isn't that a dog?"

"she wouldn't hit a cows arse with a banjo"

About husk: probably grumpy enough to overpower catnip by the sheer force of cynicism

About niffty being drunk: she's a spastic caffeinated squirrel in traffic that's just taken a nice long inhale of, uh, snow

no actually I think you're right! I like my impulsive, self destructive behaviors

don't turn yourself into one of those cooked children in the backseat you're always hearing about, Pls don't cook yourself over your trauma

YEAH WE HAVE CHILD LABOR ON THIS BUS!

Mickey mouse voice: you can't spell drunk driving without U and I!

He has the mcdonald's headset of infinite wisdom

*angrily* IM GONNA TURN YOU INTO TREE FOOD

Sudden vox in my head: and now introducing, this.... Fuckin thing..... *gestures to cursed cat alastor on a small runway behind him*

HOPE THESE HELP YOU GUYS IM LOOKING FORWARD TO SEEING THE NEW CONTENT!

Friend, I am

CRYING

[dyinglikenarcissus]

Stripped Naked

Warnings: 18+ only! Contains: Virgin reader, stripping, alcohol, vaginal intercourse, a couple consenting adults having a good time. It’s pretty vanilla but sometimes all you want is vanilla

Please don’t copy or repost my work, thanks! Plagiarism is rude

Comments, likes, and reblogs are always appreciated ☺️

Part I

You really didn’t want to be here.

This was the last place you wanted to spend your Saturday night but it was your friend’s bachelorette party and you were willing to go along with it for her. You put money toward a private booth and a lap dance but you couldn’t focus on any of it.

You got there and followed the group of laughing, chatting women through the throngs of people with men and women dancing on poles and against guests and each other in just their thongs and pasties. Some were even completely naked! You attempted to avert your gaze to all of it.

It’s all so…embarrassing.

You try to keep up with the conversations with the women around you while they talk about getting away from their kids and husbands. You can’t relate at all. Not only do you not have either of those things but if you did, you’d hope to love them enough to not want to leave them at home for an evening. You wish you had a little family to cuddle with and watch a movie but right now all you have is a cat and you’d rather be curled up at home with him then watch someone grind against your high school friend.

It was just one evening.

You could do this.

You can’t do this!

You went to the bathroom for five fucking minutes and when you came back, they were gone. They were your ride and your phone was dead leaving you stranded. There was a pay phone but the only number you know by heart is you mom’s. You try to explain Uber to her over the phone but she has no idea what she’s doing so you just give up.

You let out a soft sob after hanging up just as someone walks behind you.

“Are those tears? Hey, what’s going on? Are you alright?”

“No,” you whimper. “The people who I thought were my friends left me and my phone is dead and I don’t have a way to get home.” You vent into this random person before turning to see who you’re actually talking to and your eyes go wide. A tall, buff, blond looks down at you in nothing but a patriotic thong while holding a large red, silver, and blue shield. “You-you’re one of them! Y-you-Captain America!” You feel faint having one of those amazingly attractive dancers so close to you. With so few clothes on.

“Call me Steve. I’m just a guy who takes off his clothes for money,” he smirks trying to cut the tension but you can’t stop shaking. All of your emotions are going wild. “It sounds like you could use a phone and a ride. I’m off in ten minutes and I can give you both.” You nod not knowing what else to say and being completely desperate for a way home. “Alright. Give me a second to change. I have one more dance then I’m all yours.” His blue eyes glance beyond you for a second before lighting up. “Nat, you busy right now?”

“Nope. Next dance is in twenty.” A beautiful red head in a black leather lingerie set steps next to you almost making you jump by how quietly she approached.

“Do you mind taking care of…I’m sorry. I never got your name,” he laughs and your cagey demeanor almost cracks at how beautiful his smile is. You quickly introduce yourself and he smiles and repeats your name and your heart melts a little. “Get her a phone charger or something maybe?”

The red head smiles and turns toward you. “The name’s Natasha.” She leads you to a dressing room with few other women preparing for their next dance but it’s quiet otherwise. The thumping music is muffled by several walls and doors. Natasha pulls on a robe before digging through her bag for something. “Phone charger and a sweater. You look cold. What’s going on with you? It takes a lot to get Steve into super hero mode.” You explain what happened and how you got ditched and left alone. “They don’t sound like very good friends.” Natasha sighs while fixing her makeup. She digs though her bag again and pulls out a bundle of clothes and begins to strip. You instantly stiffen and avert your gaze. “Chill. We’re all girls here,” she laughs while pulling on a pair of fishnets. “Or at least identify as girls.” She grins down to a woman doing her makeup on the other side of the room who bursts into giggles.

“It’s just-just so…” you trail.

“Conservative family?” The red head guesses and you nod slightly ashamed by it. “I get it. I was barely allowed to have my own thoughts growing up. Look at me now,” she grins showing off her red thong and string bra with black stilettos.

“You look amazing,” you whisper, unable to keep your thoughts to yourself.

“Why, thank you. I’ve gotta get out there but Steve will come find you.” You nod and stare down at your phone. It was still displaying a picture of a red battery leaving it utterly useless.

You sigh and glance around the room when the same woman Natasha was joking with earlier speaks up.

“Go watch the show. Nat’s one of the best.” You cringe away at the idea of seeing more naked people but your morbid curiosity gets the better of you. You sneak out of the dressing room to peak around the corner at the stage.

“Wow,” you breathe. Natasha is up there, completely lit up and beautiful while she dances around the pole. She’s like a ballerina and a fighter all in one. She looks so poised and dangerous.

“She’s amazing.” You squeak and almost jump out of your skin at the deep voice behind you. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you,” Steve laughs gripping your shoulders.

“No. I’m just a little on edge,” you admit, turning to face him. He’s much less…naked and you can actually focus on his features. Strong jaw, plump lips, god, he’s gorgeous.

“You ready to get out of here or do you want to watch the show?” You feel your face heat at the question. Ten minutes ago, you’d be begging to leave this place but now…

“Can we watch her?” You ask timidly. Steve just grins and takes your hand, leading you to a bar stool with an amazing view of the stage.

“This is her new routine. She’s been working on it for months,” Steve mutters close to your ear making you shiver. You try to press the feeling down but he’s so close. It’s hard to completely focus on the dance. But she’s so good, it still manages to draw you in. It’s not so sensual as much as it is artistic. You could easily get past the idea that she was slowly removing her clothes. She truly is someone that demands attention.

“My phone has enough battery. I’ll just order an Uber,” you insist to the blond after exiting the dressing room once more.

“Nah. It’s sketchy around here. I wouldn’t feel right leaving you in the hands of a stranger this late at night.” But Steve is a stranger, too. Sure he rescued you but could you trust him any more than an Uber driver?

You reluctantly follow Steve to his car which is surprisingly nice: a very new looking Range Rover. You weren’t sure what to expect from him. He opens the passenger door for you before closing it behind you. It even smells nice.

“Alright, where to?” You give him directions to your house and he sets out. “Nat’s got a strip off next Friday with probably the only person who can rival her. It’ll be epic. You should come see it,” Steve invites.

You squeak an “oh” at the idea, stiffening up.

“What’s the ‘oh’ for? You busy next weekend. More outings to get left at?” You smile at his joke despite your nervousness and shake your head. “You came in with that bachelorette party, right?” You nod before whispering an affirmative reply. “Your bride coped a feel on my best friend.”

“What?” You cry abruptly turning on the blond.

“Yup,” he chuckles. “Totally palmed his balls. He was going to have them kicked out but then they just left. I’m guessing that’s when all of tonight’s drama went down.”

“D-do you think they meant to leave me?” You whisper.

“Nah. They probably got scared and ran off. Either way, not the best kind of friends.”

You sigh and focus back out of the passenger window. “We’ve known each other since high school and it’s just kinda hard to make friends as an adult so I just stuck with them.”

Steve hums softly. “Yeah, I get that.”

“I’d rather stay home most of the time, honestly.”

“I really get that,” Steve laughs and stops in front of your home. “So, you want to leave home long enough to be my date Friday night?”

“Date?” You almost choke on the word. This gorgeous Adonis was asking you out on a date? That can’t be right…

“Too forward?” He smiles.

“A little,” you whisper squirming in your seat.

“You aren’t seeing anyone are you? I just assumed since you tried to call your mom first,” he trails and you can’t help but laugh at how ridiculous it all sounds.

“No, I’m not seeing anyone,” you clarify finally facing him. He is gorgeous. High cheek bones. His lips must feel amazing.

“Then I’ll pick you up Friday at 7:30 for not a date?”

“Not a date, huh?” You smile shyly. “Okay,” you whisper.

“What was that?” He jokes.

“Okay,” you say a little louder.

“‘Okay’ what?”

“Okay you can take me out on not a date!” You almost shout making him laugh. You’ll be thinking of his laugh all night.

“Oh, now you’re making demands?”

“Steve,” you giggle.

“I’ll see you Friday,” he grins and lets you out of the car.

What does one wear on a strip club date?

Steve picks you up Friday on a sleek black motorcycle and takes you back to the club but it doesn’t look open. You grip his arm as you walk in and it indeed isn’t. Dancers line the stages stretching, doing tricks in leggings and sweats, holding up outfits to be judged.

“Stevie,” they call in a chorus as the blond walks in.

“I thought you were off today,” a tall dark man asks walking up to the two of you. He doesn’t notice you until he gets close. “Hey, you’re new. I’m Sam.” You whisper your name which earns you a smirk. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“This is her?” Another giant man grins walking up to you. “James, but you can call me Bucky,” the new man introduces.

“Hi,” you whisper.

“Damn, Stevie. She is cute,” Bucky laughs before walking away making your face heat as you bury it in Steve’s arm.

“Hey,” Steve laughs putting his other arm around your waist comfortably. “It’s true.”

“Oh my god,” you mutter into his sleeve making him pull you closer and laugh harder.

“You’re back,” you hear a familiar sultry voice call making you peak out.

“Um, Natasha, hi,” you smile shyly.

“You made a friend already,” Steve grins.

“Want to go learn something?” She asks holding out her hand.

“I don’t want to be in the way or anything…” you deny gripping Steve’s arm a little tighter.

“I promise you won’t be in the way. Besides I’m bored out of my mind. Come on. It’ll be fun.”

“Go on,” Steve encourages holding out the arm you’re gripping for dear life. You reluctantly let go and follow the red head to a free pole.

“I’m glad you’re finally getting back out there,” Sam grins leaning back against the stage Natasha took you to.

“Took a while,” Steve sighs and takes the seat across from his friend. “What do you think?”

“I’ve heard her say three words, man,” Sam laughs. “But I’m glad you’re bringing her around. It’s already a better start.” Steve nods and averts his gaze to you doing your first spin on the pole. You look so shy and adorable and, God, you look hot in those skinny jeans and tall boots.

“You know I trust your opinion with these things, almost more than Buck’s. I just want to do this right.”

“Well then, in my opinion, you’re off to a great start.” Sam grips Steve’s shoulder and walks away. You make your first jump at the pole, sliding down gracefully, looking like an absolute natural.

“You ever thought about dancing?” Steve asks, leaning forward in his chair.

“Oh my god, no!” You laugh following Natasha’s instructions.

“You’d be great at it,” the red head encourages. “You’ve got the body for it.”

“No, no, I don’t,” you deny quickly making them both smile.

“Keep getting lessons from Nat and you’ll be coming for her spot soon.”

“One more time then I’ll let you and Steve play,” Natasha smiles and you repeat the steps she taught you once more.

Steve takes a large step up onto the stage making it look so easy with those long legs and grips your waist. “Jump,” he instructs and lifts you much higher than you could ever get on your own. “Wrap this your leg and hold this leg out.” When you hesitate, he steps a little closer. “I’ve got you,” he assures. You slowly follow his instructions. “Right hand on the pole above your head and I’m gonna let you go.”

“No!” You cry leaving him chuckling into your back.

“I’ll be right here. Promise.” You tentatively move your hand and Steve lets go to let you spin down the pole slowly. “Beautiful,” Steve grins.

“Really?” You whisper.

“Wanna try it again?” You nod and he quickly has you back up on the pole.

Soon the night begins and actual paying customers start to flood into the building forcing the two of you to vacate to the bar. You’re already having a much better time then last weekend. Steve orders a beer and you get a cocktail to sip on while he asks all those getting to know you questions. It’s actually very fun. He has a good sense of humor. You learn that he’s known Bucky since he was little and he served in the military and that’s where he met Sam. Steve started stripping for some extra income since being an artist didn’t guarantee a pay check. “Those two biters found out how much I was bringing home a week and started a week later,” he rolls his eyes at the statement making you smile. “It’s starting.”

You spin in your chair to watch the show just in time for them to announce that the Scarlet Witch is making her entrance. A gorgeous strawberry blonde saunters onto the stage in a burgundy body suit. “She’s beautiful,” you breathe.

“That’s Wanda,” Steve intones in your ear. “Can you believe she just had twins?”

“No way! She looks amazing!”

Steve was right. If anyone could beat Natasha, it was Wanda. Her dancing wasn’t as poetic and precise but there was so much passion. It was like comparing a contemporary dancer to a ballerina. The way she flowed was like water or the wind. It was all so natural.

Then they announced the Black Widow and all of Natasha’s precision and perfection entered the stage. It was all calculated and not a hair was out of place. This performance was even better than the one last week and you didn’t think anything could be better than that.

“How do they choose a winner?” You ask Steve as he stands behind you, arms comfortably wrapped around your waist. You didn’t even notice when it happened.

You never wanted him to let go.

“The audience decides. Who do you think did better?”

“They we’re both amazing,” you sigh. “How is anyone supposed to follow this?” You laugh.

“Well, Bucky’s up next and he never needs to do much to get people riled up.”

The women end their performance with a tight embrace and the announcer comes out to help decide the winner.

“Come on,” Steve requests before votes can even be cast.

“But-“ you whimper before seeing the playful glint in his eyes. “Okay.”

You’d follow him to the ends of the earth with that look.

He leads you to the back of the club and up a couple of flights of stairs to the roof.

There’s a large blanket and pillows laid you with utensils and plates and a bottle of wine waiting for the two of you.

“You did this?” You ask looking up at the tall blond. Steve just blushes and leads you to your spot, helping you into a seated position.

“Um, the bar doesn’t have the most extensive menu so I hope you’re okay with pizza.”

“Pizza is perfect,” you grin.

A margarita pizza is brought up to the roof with large salad bowl.

“This is feeling more and more like a date,” you observe while putting some salad on your plate.

“Good!” Steve grins then immediately drops it. “I mean, I’m not making you uncomfortable, am I?”

“No, I’m just warming up to the whole dancer thing. I don’t think I was with the right crowd last week.”

“The right atmosphere will do wonders,” Steve sighs and fills your wine glass.

“I do have one kinda weird question…” you trail sallowing a sip of wine and feeling a little more bold with more alcohol in your system. “Do you…have…sex?” You whisper the last word like it’ll bite you if you say it too loud.

“Like, in general?” Steve laughs making your face heat as you bury it in your hands.

“No!” You cry dramatically. “I mean, like, for money.”

“Would it be a bad thing if I did?”

“No,” whisper. “I’m just curious…”

“No, I’m not a sex worker. It honestly sounds like too much work to fake orgasms all the time. I have sex purely for pleasure. I’d love to show you sometime.”

“Steve!” You whine.

“Too forward?” He winks making you smile.

“Just a little,” you joke.

“Come here,” he beckons you closer and wraps an arm around your shoulders as you lean into his side. “So are we having sex next weekend or should we plan an actual date?”

“Steve!” You gasp and swat his chest. His pecs are so firm.

“Already trying to feel me up? We can head to my place right now.”

“Stop,” you cry burying your face in his chest. And he smells so good.

“You’re okay with me being a dancer?” He asks taking a sobering tone.

“Why wouldn’t I be? A job is a job. I just wasn’t the most comfortable being surrounded by naked strangers.”

“I get that,” Steve nods. “Normally women are kinda turned off by it. I like you, I mean, I really like you, and I just don’t want to get my hopes up too soon.”

You watch him for a moment while he stares out at the city skyline. You know there’s some trauma there but for right now, you just want to snuggle into his embrace.

“I like you, too,” you admit and reach up to press a kiss to his cheek.

His face blushes and it’s the cutest thing you’ve seen in a long time.

Steve grabs a pillow and pulls it behind his back to rest on, pulling you down into his chest.

“Who do you think won?” You ask while drawing shapes into the fabric of his shirt, feeling those hard abs just below his skin.

“That’s a tough one. Nat is the crowd favorite but Wanda is a little more personable. Should we bet on it?”

“What are the stakes?” You ask sitting up to watch him. He’s got mischief written all over him.

“If you win, you owe me a kiss. And if I win I get to pick next week’s date.”

“Both of those benefit you!” You argue making Steve grin.

“You asked me what the stakes are!”

You pout for a moment while watching him before laying back down against him. “How about if I win, you owe me a kiss. And if you win, I get to pick next weeks date.”

“Nah, I like my idea better,” Steve laughs. “Who are you betting on, sunshine?”

“Sunshine, huh?”

“Mmmhumm,” Steve hums squeezing you a little tighter.

“I’m betting on Natasha,” you finally decided.

“So, I’m betting on Wanda?” You nod. “Alright.”

Sure enough, Wanda won, leaving you at Steve’s mercy for your next date.

What does one wear for a sex date?

Part II | Master List

[joonlaksme]

October 17th

Park Jimin x Camboy

Contains: Gender Neutral Reader

Word count: 700+

Kinktober Masterlist

-

“Today, I wanted to show you these…things I found.” Jimin starts buttoning down his shirt. “For some reason, you really wanted to see my chest so I worked really hard to make it look pretty for you.”

Covering his nipples are heart shaped pasties that are a nice shade of red. All over the rest of his chest and stomach is covered in red glitter. It’s a light bringer in person than on camera but his viewers are going crazy. Men, women, and everyone in between are in love with everything Jimin but this is the first time in his 2 year long camboy career that he’s shown his chest.

“What should we do today? Any suggestions?” He leans in closer to his monitor and reads the fast messages. “Take them off? I don’t think so. I’m a bit nervous about that.” Jimin is lying but he enjoys slowly revealing himself to his fans rather than just giving them what they want. It keeps them coming back for more, pointing out a new slither of skin when they see it.

Jimin wiggles down his shorts a bit along with his underwear, his cock hitting his glitter dusted stomach. “I’ve been actually hard for a bit. I had this really…interesting dream.”

And immediately his viewers ask what it was about.

Immediately his imagination flashes with thoughts about you. Guilty, he takes his cock into his hand and strokes it, lips subtly mouthing your name before he starts telling the details of his wet dream.

“They were wearing this…really eye catching black dress. A lot of it was blurry and we weren’t even in a fancy place or a club or anything like that. We were in my room. They were dressed for me, I think.” He huffs out. “They never said a thing the whole time. They just looked at me…like they were ready to devour me.”

Jimin sits back in his chair, closing his eyes to relive and soak in his memories. He could remember this particular dream feeling and looking more realistic than his typical nonsensical ones. Edges were blurry but you were there in complete detail. “I felt weighted, too. Like I had to get on my knees.”

He opens his eyes again, this time they’re glossy. He glances at this chat and chuckles. They’re begging for him to get to the best part already, anticipating this story and what exactly had Park Jimin hard all day.

“They never took off any of their clothes but they pushed me on my bed. I remember them…” and he exhales.

He’s already close at the thought of what you did next. You, his coworker at his boring office job. His job where no one knows his secret camboy side work. Why he’s able to afford all these name brands, and the apartment he lives in at his age.

No one knew expect for you. You never held this knowledge over his head but you did look at him in a different way. You flirted with him and bent over to pick up pens a little too often. You knew the way it affected him so you would smirk and blow a kiss his way. He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about you these past few days.

He hopes you’re watching right now.

Jimin cums in his hands before he can finish his story, quickly apologizing to his viewers. His cheeks are flamed pink with embarrassment. He could usually last long than that but today seems to be the exception. For the duration of the stream, after cleaning up, he spends the last five minutes conversing and making promises to edge in his next one.

He says bye with his lips pursed and then lays back on his chair with a sigh. What a mess, both literally and figuratively. Then he hears his phone go off in a call. It’s not often that people call him so it peaks his interest and he’s standing up and grabbing his phone from his carefully crafted, wooden bookshelf. You’re calling him.

He doesn’t hesitate to answer but maybe he should have. “He-“ His voice cracks and he clears his throat, “Hello?”

There’s silence at first. A thick silence. But then you’re telling him your address very slowly. You tell him to be there as fast as he can. You finish the call by saying that you’d like to hear him finish his story. Jimin lips part but then he’s rushing to shove his wallet, phone, and keys in his pockets.

He’s so glad you knew he was thinking about you.

-

All likes, reblogs, and comment feedback are appreciated for stories like this. Friendly reminder that reblogs spread more than likes!

All rights are reserved © joonlaksme

[honeysuckleharrington]

hi! im so excited for this sleepover 🛏🧸💤 i have my jammies on and all!! can i request hermoine granger with #9 & #14 from the fluff prompts?

— 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬, 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐬 | 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 ⋆･ﾟ:⋆･ﾟ

❛ 𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 ❜

❛ 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲'𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐟-𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 ❜

yay!! i have my jammies on too, i hope yours are so cozy!! enjoy the party!!

the early morning light crept through the curtains of the large windows lining the walls of the common room. you opened your slightly bleary eyes to an already wide awake hermione, organizing your books and papers from your late night study session that was evidently cut short by your need for sleep.

you were leaned over, resting your head on top of your herbology textbook which hermione was now gently taking from under you.

“good morning,” she whispered, smiling softly, giggling at your sleepy state and messy hair. she kissed you lightly on the lips. you could smell the sweet scent of her rose shampoo, hair still damp from her morning shower. it always amazed you how much of a morning person she was and even more, how much of a morning person you weren’t.

once ready for the day, the two of you walked to the great hall together for breakfast, meeting your friends there but not before deciding to take the long route just to spend some few extra minutes of peace and quiet together first. hermione wasn’t too fond of public displays of affection. it wasn’t that she didn’t want to show you off but more that she just liked being affectionate when people weren’t there to watch. that didn’t stop her, however, from holding your hand on the way to and from classes or linking her arm around yours while perusing the library.

at dinner that night, you felt yourself grow increasingly tired as the night before started to catch up to you. you yawned, leaning over and resting your head against her shoulder. continuing her conversation with neville, she absentmindedly intertwined her fingers with yours, sipping pumpkin juice with her free hand.

“so anyway, professor sprout was showing me this rare plant that she’s been taking care of… she even gave me a bud so i can grow one myself!”

“that’s great, neville!” she said, “really exciting!”

“hey, ‘mione,” ron interjected, gesturing to harry with his hand, “we’re heading back to the dormitory,”

the four of you usually walked together after dinner, debriefing the days events. hermione nudged you gently with her elbow, “come on, sleepyhead,”

“what’s the matter with her?” ron asked, eyebrow raised.

“she decided to attempt an all nighter in the middle of the week,”

“blimey,” he replied, looking both bewildered and amazed, “and you still made it to all your classes?”

“barely,” you admitted, laughing at his amazement.

when you all got settled back into your respective rooms, you and hermione were the first two back from dinner, meaning you got a few extra precious moments of quality time together before the day’s end.

“oh, i almost forgot!” she fished through her bag, that rested on the foot of her bed, “i saved you a pastry,”

she handed you the dessert, wrapped gingerly in a napkin. your eyes widened and you gladly took it from her.

“i got you something too, actually,” you said, reaching into your robe pocket and handing her a small bouquet of daisies that you picked on your way back to herbology, tied together with a stem.

she beamed, taking it from your hand and placing it on her nightstand, on top of the book she was currently reading. you sat down next to her on the bed and nibbled on the sweet pasty. while she told you enthusiastically about her day. she laid down, resting her head on your lap as she talked. you wrapped your fingers around her soft strands of hair and listened intently to every detail.

too soon though, did the voices of your other suit mates grow closer as they reached the door. hermione huffed, “just five more minutes,” she said, dramatically, placing her hand against her forehead.

you giggled, getting up and climbing into your own bed, laying on your side to face her, “same time again tomorrow?”

“and everyday for the rest of my life,” she said, with no doubt that this was how she wanted to spend her time forever.

[the-oaken-muse]

Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse

Dannymay Day 24: NASA

Read it on AO3, if you dare.

Of all the places in the Infinite Realms Juno could have sent him for community service, it had to be the fucking Ghost Zone. He never thought he’d miss the Netherworld, but at least there he didn’t have to deal with Warden Pasty Face and the stick up his entire ass.

He banked a hard left, bobbing and weaving through the zero gravity obstacle course provided by the ectoplasmic landscape. Behind him, the thud of armor against rock let him know he was down a pursuer, as one of the guards collided with an island of floating debris.

God, this place was a dump.

He dove through a thick patch of green fog before ducking behind one of the many floating doors littering the not-air; grateful that he didn’t have breath to catch. Walker’s goons zoomed past his hiding place, following his previous trajectory on a trail that didn’t exist.

Ha! Suckers!

He may have evaded them for now, but he would have to keep moving. When they realized that he’d lost them, they would fan out and search, leaving no stone unturned until they eventually found him and dragged him squirming back to that hell hole of a prison to be crushed under Walker’s boot once more. He needed to put as much distance between himself and this part of the Zone as possible. Or better yet, find a way to the human realm.

He looked to his left, green. He looked to his right, green. He looked down, an endless abyss of green stared back at him.

Looks like he was going to have to ask for directions. Great.

The next door he came across was a deep shade of plum with intricate panels of solid mahogany and a crystal knob. He yanked it open.

“Hey! Anybody home? Hello? I’m lookin’ for—”

A sopping wet sponge splashed against his face. It lingered there for a moment before slowly sliding down, down, down and falling into the chasm below, leaving his face dripping suds. “…the ...nearest portal to Earth.”

The door slammed shut.

“Ugh, soap.” He wiped his face with his sleeve, smearing it with fresh grime.

He floated over to another door, this one a dark weathered indigo with a heavy iron latch. He pulled it open with a loud creak, “Wazzup!”

A burly, tattooed arm emerged from the dark interior and slapped him across the face with a dead fish before slamming the door shut.

Jesus, the ghosts here were rude. At least it wasn’t soap this time.

Next, he spun the wheel on a silvery lavender hatch until it popped up with a hiss.

“Hullo down there!” his voice echoed back. “I’m lookin’ for a human portal! Can ya help a brother out?”

A thick tentacle, in a green so dark it was almost black, snaked out of the hole. In a blink, the tentacle lashed itself around his neck, crushing his useless windpipe.

“Look, I’m a hugger as much as the next guy, but this is a little forward, don’tcha think?” he wheezed.

In response, it whipped him back and flung him into the infinite green like a pitcher throwing a fastball.

He soared, eyes watering, hair whipping, and jowls flapping, for what felt like an eternity, but the five watches on his arm all agreed was only a few minutes.

His flight ended abruptly when he splatted against a strange metal structure. Its surface hummed with energy, vibrating his entire being. He peeled himself off, smoothing out the dents its rivets left in his skin, and took a look. A swirling vortex brighter than the surrounding ectoplasm filled its patchwork steel frame. Unlike the other doors, it remained fixed in place rather than floating up and down gently in a sea of green; it was anchored to something, to another dimension.

Bingo.

He stood on the edge of the portal, plugged his nose, and dove into the pool of light.

The portal spat him out in a large room made of the same patchwork metal as the doorway. Though the scent of death was strong here, in the glowing green of the machinery and in the air, it was mixed through with the unmistakable vitality of the living.

Perfect. Now he just needed to… find a way to get his powers back again…

He slumped forward and groaned.

Living people with The Sight were one in a million, and of those, the ones that were dumb teenagers were even fewer. There was no way Lydia was going to help him out again after the whole fiasco with their wedding either. He needed a new plan, a new pawn… well, there was no time like the present to start looking.

He floated up, poking his head through the ceiling into a modest kitchen. There was a table for four in the middle of the room, but only one chair was occupied. A pair of faded blue jeans and beat up red sneakers bounced impatiently and he could hear the scratch of pencil on paper. Sounded like homework. Bo-ring!

Like a shark fin cutting through the waves, the top half of his head glided across the floor to the fridge. Maybe they had beer.

A small pile of brown crumbs just under the door caught his attention. He sniffed at them, chocolatey. He floated a little higher so that his mouth breached the tile and licked up the remains of someone else’s fridge raid.

“Mmm, fudge.”

The kid at the table startled and looked over in his direction. He could almost believe they were making eye contact right now.

It couldn’t be that easy, could it?

“Who the heck are you?”

Looks like it could. He cracked a rotten grin and rose fully out of the floor.

“I’m the Ghost with the Most, pleasure to meet ya, kid.”

He held out a hand to shake, a centipede skittered down his arm and around his dirt-crusted knuckles before heading back into his sleeve. The boy just stared at the proffered digit in disgust.

“The most what? Grease stains on your shirt?”

“That and so much more! You name it, I’ve got it. Charm, good looks, STDs—”

“Modesty.” The boy deadpanned.

“Hey! I’ll have you know I wear pants at least…” he began counting the fingers on one hand, “thirty percent of the time!”

“That’s not what I— You know what? Give me one good reason I shouldn’t soup you right now.” The boy snatched a thermos off the table and waved it threateningly.

Jeez, tough crowd.

He wasn’t sure what kind of soup was in there, but something told him he didn’t want to find out.

“Beeecauuuuse…” His eyes darted around for something he could use to turn the situation to his favor. Math worksheet? No. Half eaten sandwich? Maybe later. NASA t-shirt? Perfect. “I’m a star, kid.”

“Oh yeah? What kind of star?” The boy narrowed his eyes skeptically.

“Red supergiant, Orion constellation… I’m sure you’ve heard of me…”

He crossed his fingers behind his back. Please work, please work.

“Betelgeuse?”

“Got it in one, kid.” He swallowed his relief and winked. “You’re even quicker on the uptake than Lydia!”

“Who?”

“Uhh, no one! Hey, what’s that?”

Betelgeuse darted over to a group of photos on a shelf and picked one up.

“Who’s the chick in the tight blue suit?” He whistled, letting the back of the frame fall open and the picture to unfold. “Really doesn’t leave much to the imagination does it?”

“Um, ew! That’s my mom!” The kid snatched the photo out of his hands and inspected the back of it. “How did you even do that?”

“I’d let her be my mommy any time.”

“…I will literally do anything for you to never talk about my mom ever again.”

“Anything?”

“Like, within reason. I’m not gonna, you know, kill anybody or anything.”

“Would you… be willing to… maybe… say my name three times in a row?” He bit his lip in anticipation.

The kid considered him suspiciously. “Is this like a kink thing?”

“What? No! Pshhh! No! Well maybe sometimes… Absolutely not, no. Cross my heart! See!” He drew an X on the right side of his chest.

“Yeah, no. Still don’t trust you.”

“C’mon kid!” He skidded to his knees in front of the boy. “Please, please, please! I’ll owe you one! I’m good for it! Promise!”

He clutched at the NASA shirt desperately. He couldn’t let this kid slip through his fingers, it might be another hundred years before he found another living person who could see him. He’d tasted the blood of freedom and he wanted more.

The boy grimaced and tried to pull away, Betelgeuse scrabbled after him. “I’ll get out of your hair, promise! Just three little words! Just three!”

“Okay, jeez, fine. If it’ll get you leave,” the boy groaned.

“YES! I mean!” He cleared his throat, “Yes.”

“Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse. Now get out of my house.”

Power surged then fizzled within him.

“Wow. That was anticlimactic.” He deflated. “Ah well, a deal’s a deal! See ya kid!”

He flew up through the ceiling with a sloppy salute.

What a chump! That was almost too easy.

 -later-

 That was definitely too easy.

Betelgeuse scowled as yet another hand reached through his head to grab a jug of milk.

His powers had been on the fritz ever since he got them back. One minute he was turning the floor into a writhing mass of roaches, the next, poof, they were gone! The unsuspecting sap he’d been about to scar for life left… unscarred.

He could tap someone on the shoulder, but when they turned around, they just looked straight through his carefully crafted horror show of a face; he’d hidden in dumpsters to jumpscare people taking out their trash, but they didn’t even see him; and his fruit fly cream pies went right through their targets.

Figures, it was just his luck that the one fucking human in this whole damn city who could see him was fucking defective.

Betelgeuse opened the glass door and stepped out of the grocery store refrigerator, he needed to find that kid.

[bullet-prooflove]

Hallmark!Series Part Nine: Family - Mike Duarte x Reader (feat: Joe Velasco)

Tagging:   @resonmalvo @@littleone65  @thesandbeneathmytoes    @mydarkestsecretlol    @evee87   @wooshwastaken  

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Hallmark Series: 

Hallmark (feat: Mike Duarte) - Joe watches you fall in love with another man.

Be With Me (feat: Mike Duarte) - Joe tells you how he feels.

Placeholder (feat: Mike Duarte) -  Mike fears he’s a placeholder.

Think About It (feat: Mike Duarte) - Joe recalls what happened the night of Fin’s engagement party.

Positive - Mike finds out about what happened between you and Joe.

Five Months - You and Mike catch up.

Baby Talk - Joe and you have a frank talk about co-parenting.

Replacements - Joe and Mike discuss their issues.

Mike is working an undercover operation when you go into labour, the baby is two weeks early and Mike’s phones off because the op requires his full attention. It’s a clusterfuck from the start. He has an officer in deep with The Southern Front and they’re moving a huge shipment of fentanyl. There’s uncertainty surrounding their UC, they’re not sure if her identity has been compromised. Mike’s on site posing as the buyer and to provide back up.

It’s all over by the time he comes up for air.

He sees the three missed called from Velasco and then the picture message of you beaming, holding a tiny bundle wearing a pink hat.

Leah Velasco – Munoz

Seven pounds, 12 ounces.

Mom and baby are doing fine.

He’s both furious at himself and elated.

It’s late when Mike gets to the hospital, he has flowers, a balloon and a fresh pasties from the bakery you love not far from your home. It isn’t much by way of apology but it’s the best he can do because he feels fucking terrible that he missed the birth of your baby.

You’ve just finished breastfeeding when Mike enters your room. It’s mostly shrouded in darkness, apart from the light above your bed. He spies Velasco in the visitor’s chair asleep, his arms crossed over his chest, his head tilted back.

“Hey.” You greet him as you cover yourself up. “Are they pastries from Fernando’s?”

“He says congratulations and that he can’t wait to meet the new baby.” Mike tells you before he sets them down on the nightstand along with the flowers and the balloon. “Mi Vida I’m sorry…”

You shake your head, holding up your hand to silence him.

“I’m not mad.” You reassure him, shifting so the baby can rest more comfortably against your chest. “It all happened very quickly; one minute I was in labour and the next here she was, little Leah.”

You move over on the bed allowing some space so that Mike can slot in alongside you. His arm comes to rest around your shoulders, before he reaches out and adjusts the baby’s blanket just a little.

“I have to say Mi Vida, you do make beautiful babies.” He tells you, his fingertip caressing Leah’s plump cheek.

“I do, don’t I?” You murmur as his lips brush across your temple. “You wanna hold her?”

“Yea.” Mike says, a small smile crossing his features. “I’d love to.”

***

Velasco stays over most nights on the daybed in Leah’s nursery. He wants to spend as much time with his baby girl as possible before he goes back to work and the best way to bond with her is to be present. Mike doesn’t begrudge him for it, he would do the same if he was in the other man’s position.

When Mike comes home from work, he usually brings dinner, something hot and healthy because you and Velasco need to take care of yourselves, and he knows Leah is already a handful. He takes the baby after dinner, to give you both a break. He cradles her close and swaying from side to side as he sings the lullaby that his mother taught him. She’s almost asleep by the time you give Leah her final feed before bed and Velasco puts her down for the night.

When he curls up in bed, his arms wrapped around you, his face buried in the curve of your throat he thinks of the weird little family you’ve created.  Leah, Velasco, you and him, it’s not conventional but Mike’s never cared about convention. The four of you are happy and that’s all that really matters.

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