#now that this post has a few reblogs: its fun to read the tags

[gammija]

he would not say that, podcast/book edition:

[booksandabeer]

Stucky, Fandom Longevity, and "Primacy Bias"

There’s this post that's been floating around the past few days about how the Stucky fandom in its heyday produced fic and art masterpieces like they were all collectively possessed by an unprecedented spirit of creative insanity. It’s a good, fun post and I agree with the person who wrote it. (not rb'ing because I didn't want to hijack their post with something that's only tangentially related).

It was indeed a magical time and the creative output in both quantity and quality in the two-year period following the release of CA:TWS is—with perhaps a few exceptions—unmatched by anything that I’ve seen before and since. However, going through the notes on that post, I noticed something that left me a little irritated and quite frankly sad since it is in congruence with, and to a certain extent the confirmation of something that I’ve been thinking about a lot lately.

For one thing, there are so many people in the notes expressing sentiments along the lines of “it was such a wonderful time; I wish I could go back; I miss these fics; I want to read these fics again,” etc., etc., you get it. And it feels a little silly pointing this out, but…you can just do that? Almost all of these fics are still right there, waiting for you to be (re)read. Yes, a lot of people left the fandom after The Great Devastation of 2019, but their stories didn’t just disappear. It's not like there is now a big, black hole where the Steve/Bucky tag used to be on AO3. So, if you miss these fics and you want to revisit them—just do it. Chances are the authors will be delighted that people are still finding and enjoying their stories all these years later. And—since apparently this needs saying, too, judging from the notes on that post: A lot of people seem to be very concerned with losing ‘coolness points’ for openly admitting that they still miss the ship and often feel tempted to dip their toes back into the Stucky pool. I don’t know how to tell you this, but if someone tries to shame you for simply enjoying or missing something, they are an asshole. Not to mention that all this is happening on tumble.com—'coolness' doesn't exactly live here. And that is a good thing, to be clear. Fandom is not about being cool. It’s about being as enthusiastic, as silly, as absolutely fucking unhinged about the things you love as you want to be. So, stop caring what other people think and enjoy yourself.

The other thing is that there seems to be a pretty widespread misconception that the Stucky fandom hasn’t produced any good fanworks after 2016.

First, that is patently and demonstrably untrue. There is so much incredibly good fanfiction and fanart still out there. Not as much as back in the day, sure, but it still exists. And more is being posted every day! Even some of the OG Big Names are still around. One of the most beloved Stucky series that started all the way back in 2014 was updated as recently as December of last year. The artist, who I believe the op is referring to as creating ‘baroque’ paintings, posted their latest Stucky art not even two months ago.

Second, I find this “primacy bias” more than just a little insulting to the many hardworking and incredibly talented people who are still putting their blood, sweat, and tears into creating for this community. And it’s one thing if people who have long left the fandom believe or say something like this, but it’s frankly irritating when I see people who are still very much active—and therefore definitely should know better—feed into that same false myth. Yes, it sucks that the Stucky ship isn’t as big as it used to be, but that doesn't mean there isn't any 'fresh talent' to be found anymore. I’m also not saying we shouldn’t still celebrate and recommend older works—I do it all the time! And it sure as hell doesn't mean everyone has to reblog absolutely everything all the time, either. Your blog, your rules.

But maybe we should put a little more focus on the good things, on the creators and the community we have now, especially if we want that community to still exist in another ten years. I mean, imagine you’re a person who’s just gotten into the fandom (because yes, there are indeed still new people discovering Stucky all the time) and one of the first things you’re being told is “eh, nice that you're here, but you’re about 7 years late; the big party is already over.” Does that seem like a fun space to hang out in to you?

So. Let’s all—and I do not exclude myself from this because God knows, I love to complain—spend a little less time mourning the ‘good old days’ that are never coming back anyway, and instead focus our attention on enjoying and appreciating both the incredible treasure chest of an archive we have AND the wealth of high-quality art and fic that is still being created by this wonderful community every single day. With this in mind:

🥳🎊Happy Stucky Week 2023!!! 🎊🥳

*I want to make it very clear that this is a general thing that’s been on my mind lately and that I’m trying to work through here—probably not very coherently. I'm not trying to tell anybody 'how to do fandom' and I’m most definitely not vagueposting about any particular incident, person, or group in this fandom. This isn’t a callout post. It’s an I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about this and I don’t know what else do with them post.

[pedrostories]

UPDATE! New deadline: 20 August (Sunday)

PedroStories 1000 followers celebration

PedroStories hit 1000 followers in May, around the same time the blog had its 2nd birthday, so we decided to celebrate it with the fandom’s writers and readers!

We prepared with a few general quotes, other quotes from Pedro and his characters and with some fanfiction tropes. You don’t have to stick to the character whose quote you choose – actually, we encourage you to mix and match any of them as creatively as you want! The celebration starts today and lasts until 20 August!

Please read the rules carefully, then you will find the list of prompts under the cut.

Rules

We welcome pairings with readers/characters of any gender, non-romantic pairings or even fics with no pairings. 💚 The rating can be anything from general to explicit.

Choose at least one quote from any of the quotes lists (you can use more prompts in one fic) and choose at least one trope. You can write as many fics as you want using these prompts!

It’s not necessary to let us know what prompts you’ve chosen! Just let your creativity flow - this challenge is completely open!

Please mention in your post that your work is for @pedrostories’ celebration and use the special tag #pedrostories1k, just so we can track and queue every single entry.

Please post your work until 20 August – we will track the special tag until that day, and in a few days we create a masterlist of all the fanfictions. You can keep using the list later and we will queue them as usual if you tag the blog, but we won’t track the special tag anymore and won’t update the event’s masterlist.

Please make sure you use tags and warnings properly – we take tagging stories seriously to help our followers find the story that caters to their needs and avoid those they don’t want to see on their feed - If there’s character/trope/dynamic/etc. you would like to avoid, you can easily blacklist tags on tumblr, you can find a tutorial about it here! 

Please remember that even though this list has quotes from Pedro, we don’t reblog real person fics (aka fics about Pedro himself)– this blog is for fanfiction written for characters played by him.

Following the blog in order to participate in the game is not mandatory, but it’s very much welcomed! 🤗

Send us an ask if you have any questions – we will use the tag #pedrostories1k questions so you can check previously answered asks about the event.

Signal boosts about this event are appreciated!

Have fun! 🌻

List of prompts below the cut!

List of prompts

Quotes

General Dialogue Prompt List: 

“The price of my affection is high.” 

“You pushed me off the bed!” - “I’m sorry?”

“I got shot and I’m fine! Relax, would you?” 

“If I (…) will you behave for me?” – „Only if you kiss me first.”

 “I can’t believe I ever thought you were different.”

“You’re not going to believe this” 

“Not again”

“Run!”

 “Do you trust me?” 

“Please, just listen to me!” 

“You’ve lost.”

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“I hate that I can’t seem to live without you!” 

“Oh, don’t be modest, just kiss me.” 

“Has anyone ever told you that your eyes sparkle in sunlight?” 

“You can’t go until I tell you” 

 “Do I really have a choice?” 

“You’re the reason I wake up every morning.”

 “I hate you.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me right now.” 

“You wanna go save the world?” 

“I don’t think that’s exactly what I had in mind.” 

“‘Sorry’ just isn’t going to cut it anymore.” 

“Come back in five more minutes”

Pedro Pascal Cinematic Universe Quotes: 

Pedro Pascal quotes:

“I’m not short”

“But bad guys are more fun!”

“Smack me, I deserve it” 

“That bad?”

“I really need to stop eating the sticker on the tomato”

“I’m sitting in the dark. I like it.”

"You naughty dog.”

“That me. Working on the buns.”

“But those were MY CRISPS!”

“I’m going straight for that bottom.”

“Somebody gimme a hug.”

“If you're freaky you're hot, if you're hot you're freaky.”

Dieter Bravo quotes: 

“I’m trying to care, but it’s hard.”

“We’re fucked” 

“Do you wanna have sex with me?” 

“This is creepy, but I like it”

“I’m not giving this up!”

“Hold my hair!”

Javi Gutierrez quotes: 

“I fucking told you” 

“Honestly, I’m too nervous” 

“I think I need to go to bed” 

“Whether you like it or not, you have a gift.”

"Sometimes circumstances get in the way of love. That's just the way it is."

“We need to open our minds to the infinite possibilities of what the cosmos has to offer."

Din Djarin quotes: 

“I know everything that’s in there”

“This is a pile of junk”

“I’m not leaving my fate up to chance.”

“Your song is not yet written. I serve you until it is.”

“Take it off.  Or I will.”

“I like those odds.”

Javier Peña quotes:

 “You're breaking my fucking heart, baby.”

“Sleep with a communist? That would be downright un-American.”

“Things don’t always go according to plan.”

“I got a better idea.”

“Fuck this!”

“Well, what have we here?”

Dave York quotes:

“ There is no sin. No virtue.”

“Who did this?”

“There’s no coming back from this.”

“You do what you have to do and you move on.”

“It’s who we were. It’s what we did.”

“You shouldn't start a war with us.”

Jack Daniels quotes:

“Whoo. I feel like a tornado in a trailer park.”

“What are we doin’?”

“Looks like we’re hookin’ up with a chick at a rock concert.”

“It's a lasso.”

“How would you like to ride home on a real cowboy?”

“Now, is that any way to welcome a visitor from out of town, moonshine?”

Pero Tovar quotes:

“Maybe you can fool them, but I know what you are.”

“The time before that I saved your life!”

“You can never undo things you have done.”

“Is that the best you've got?”

“I want to eat.”

“Have you lost your mind?”

Frankie Morales quotes:

“Alright baby, alright baby. Come on now.”

“This is not what I signed up for.”

“What the fuck we’re gonna do with that thing?”

“Move. Move!”

“Yeah, I don’t think so.”

“It's not a big deal. Actually, it's a big deal.”

Fanfic Tropes

AU fic 

Forced Proximity

Time Travel 

Roadtrip

One Bed

Second chance romance

Friends to Lovers 

Enemies to Lovers 

Fake dating

Redemption

Forbidden love (legal)

Hurt/Comfort

Soulmates 

Secret identity/billionaire/royal

Blind Date 

Platonic Relationship 

Body Swap

Love Triangle

5 times this and 1 time that

Opposites attract

[scribbling-dragon]

don't turn out the lights (kiss yourself goodnight)

summary:

“Hi,” Martyn continues to grin, even as it turns awkward and even guiltier. “I'm coming over. Can I come over?” Martyn pauses on the bridge then, as though just realising his presence might be unwanted after ditching him all morning. “I don't know if I should let you,” he says. It’s not an answer either way.

(ao3 link)

(7,119 words)

[hi! talking in bold so this catches your eyes ooOOooo anyway! this is the FINAL PART of this series! it's done! this is the end! meaning, everyone dies in this fic. there's your warning! there's gonna be death, injury, blood, etc. all the fun stuff! so just keep that in mind when you read it. also! it'd be really nice if you could reblog this because it took me a long time and i put a buncha effort into it! comments in the tags are even cuter- they let me know you liked it! i write for fun but i post because i want other people to also enjoy what i make, letting me know that you did quite literally makes my day.

anyway! hope u enjoy! <33]

The Isles is almost eerily quiet.

It is expected. The losses they had experienced only a day prior are enough to stun even the loudest of people into silence. It seems their world is only mirroring their mourning, not even birds singing to greet the dawn. Instead, it leaves everyone to prepare for their day, silence permeating the air around them. Even the sun appears muted, watery, as it tiredly heaves itself over the edge of the water, already beginning to chase away the deep purples of night.

He doubts any of them will be around to see another miserable sunrise such as this one.

Scott runs a cloth over the dull edge of his sword, wiping the dried blood away as best as he can manage with only a scrap of damp fabric. It’s already stained red, beyond any kind of repair. The dried blood remains stubborn, clinging to his blade as the last few echoes of others’ lives.

It flakes away as he scrapes against it with a single, sharp nail. The dried blood of friend and foe alike clumps together as it gathers beneath his nail, forcing him to stop his task and pick it out once he can no longer stand the feeling of it. He flicks it to the ground beneath him, hoping the flecks of red will become lost amongst the yellowing grass he sits upon. He still finds his eyes picking it out, like berries nestled amongst the dry stalks of grass that are determined to catch his eyes whenever he glances over.

He pauses at the sound of creaking floorboards above him, a few grains of sand pattering down onto his head. He cocks his head to the side and listens a little more intently as more creaking follows. Martyn had still been sleeping when he got up, curled comfortably in their shared bed. Scott had been tempted to stay and enjoy the peace a little longer, but his own mind was restless.

He hadn’t wanted to disturb the last few peaceful moments Martyn would probably get before this is all over, rising and attending to small tasks that didn’t really need to be done; tasks that were there to busy the hands rather than be productive. He doesn’t have that sort of time to waste, still target number one, certainly, his clock ticking down from higher numbers than everyone else, but his time is as limited as the rest of them.

His sword had been cleaned and sharpened. The blade, previously coated in dried blood so thick you could barely see its shimmer now gleams in the rapidly strengthening sunlight.

The purple hue of the skyline has been almost completely wiped away, leaving a pink sky in its wake. The light of it dyes the ocean a deep red, churning against the edges of their island as though it can hardly wait to devour it all once they're gone.

He continues to listen as footsteps echo overhead, uninterested in continuing to prepare for murdering his friends, waiting for Martyn to poke his head through the doorway and begin chattering away. He’s always more talkative in the morning, as though he has to make up for not speaking all night.

He looks over at the sound of a quiet splash, sitting up and sword forgotten as he stands a moment later. He pokes his head out of their storage room, watching as Martyn swims away from their island and towards the mainland. He dips beneath the waves a few times, swimming quickly.

Scott lingers in the doorway, watching as Martyn emerges onto the sandy shoreline, not even bothering to rid himself of the water he’d collected on his trip over as he usually would. Instead, he looks around, searching for…something. Scott isn’t certain what it is that he’s searching for – they hadn’t even had a conversation yet that morning to go over what should be done, who to avoid, who to target – and apparently not find it as he trudges into the treeline, quickly disappearing into the murky darkness that seems to cling to any dark oak forest, still soaking wet from his short swim.

Scott withdraws into their storage room, confused and more than a little hurt. His mind races a mile a minute, barely giving him a moment to process anything before he’s thinking of another potential explanation. Did they have a conversation last night that indicated Martyn was going to do something like this? Did Martyn assume he had already left and gone searching for him?

Only, Martyn had swum over there like a man possessed, like he would die if he didn’t reach the shoreline as quickly as he did. And yet – and yet – the moment he reached his destination he had looked around, as though uncertain of where to go.

Scott likes to think that he can read Martyn quite well, after the multiple times they’ve gone through these games together, and also the time they’ve spent together on this very island. He likes to think he can read Martyn well. And the way Martyn had looked around, on that shoreline, had not been with the intent of finding something lost, it had been done with the confusion of someone that had walked into a room and forgotten what they were going to do.

But, there’s no point in catching up with him yet. No reason to dive after him and catch up; see if he can shake any answers loose from the man. Not when he still has arrows to make and a bow to restring.

They can talk later. It’s fine. It’ll be fine.

=== === ===

“Now, I'm not a professional,” he tells Cleo, hopping down a few more blocks and squeezing into the gap he’d left for himself. There’s no redstone involved in this, only the tiny guide in the back of his head that’s jumping between steps as he attempts to remember how to do this, struggling to reconcile the new information he had with the idea that he’d already gotten it right.

He’d done it wrong last time, his hands still stinging from the hot blast that had gotten him before he managed to shove his shield in front of himself, letting that take the brunt of the explosion rather than absorbing it with his face.

“Never said you were,” he feels a shadow fall over him as Cleo leans down to peer at what he’s doing. “Reckon you're gonna blow the both of us up again?”

“I wouldn’t stand so close,” he chuckles, feeling rather than seeing as Cleo steps back. He slowly, carefully, places another bundle of TNT into the minecart, feeling the thing rattle with the weight of how much TNT he’s shoved into it. The sculk clings to his hands as he sets it down onto the block, gripping onto him as he attempts to pull away, unwilling to release him.

He continues pulling his hands back until the sculk accepts its loss, releasing his fingers and withdrawing back to the dirt block he’d provided for it. He watches as it curls itself into the dirt block, then simply engulfs it. He has no better words to describe the way it simply spreads over the block, too fast for him to even track with his eyes, until the entire patch is made of sculk.

He withdraws even more carefully, slowly easing himself out of the hole. He’s aware of the way the dirt clings around his shoulders. One wrong move could set off the trap he’s just spent the better part of ten minutes setting up, and he’d probably be blown to bits alongside it.

Cleo waits until he’s completely free of the hole before continuing to speak. “Where’s your other half today? Didn’t think you came as a single package anymore.”

“Very funny,” he forces a laugh as he turns to glare at them. “I don't know,” he answers. Not at all bitterly. “He ran off this morning before I could even get a chance to speak with him, went off to do…something.”

He sees Cleo frown, eyebrows creasing together. “And you haven’t tried to find him?”

“He needs something, then he’ll find me.” He dismisses Cleo’s worries easily – he’s been dismissing his own all morning, ignoring them in order to actually get anything done. Dismissing Cleo’s probing questions and slightly worried glances is far easier. “He’s been acting all funny recently anyway. If he’s gone off to sort himself out, then that’s fine.”

“Wait, Scott,” Cleo moves around him, pressing their hands down onto the small tunnel entrance and blocking him from poking around in there a little more. He leans back on his heels, knees digging into the ground as he glares up at her. “That’s not at all like Martyn. He sticks around other people as best as he can, even if it means bouncing between several groups. You're telling me he’s disappeared and you're not even worried?”

“Of course I'm worried, Cleo.” He huffs out a breath, resisting for only a moment before he raises his hands to his face, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. It relieves a little of his stress, and also means he doesn’t have to look them in the eye anymore. “But there’s nothing I can do about it, so I just have to wait and sit tight and hope he shows up.”

“You said he was acting weird,” Cleo asks, after the silence has hung between them for a moment. “Weird…how?”

“I don't know,” he sighs, dropping his hands. Cleo stares at him. “Ugh, I guess, like, spacing out? He was acting really weird after, uh, yesterday and the whole,” he waves a hand, “canary business. But I thought that was just the shock of all that, and then all the stuff after that. I didn’t even speak to him this morning, but there was this weird air around him. It was really fucking strange, Cleo, and I don't even know what it means!”

“Yeah, alright, alright,” Cleo hesitates for a moment, before patting him on the shoulder. “I think that’s just how he gets at this point. I think he was like this last time? I’d have to repeat myself several times for literally anything to get through to him.”

“I keep forgetting you were partnered with him last time,” he huffs out a laugh. “So he just gets like this every time? Why doesn’t anyone say anything?” He pauses. “Have you said anything?”

“To Martyn? No.” Cleo glances over at a shout from the Clock Tower, then back at him. “To anyone else? …Also no. I didn’t think it was my place to pry or ask around, and I guess that’s the common sentiment. Maybe he’s done it every single time. Maybe he only started doing it last time. Who knows? Maybe he's just gone insane.”

“Pretty sure that’s Joel you're thinking of,” he jokes, and then regrets when it opens up a pit in his stomach.

“Maybe go find him,” Cleo says. They both ignore the slightly heavier air around both of them, the mention of Joel souring their moods rather quickly.

“Yeah,” he brushes the dirt from his hands. “Yeah, I will.” He stands, eyeing the inconspicuous path ahead of them. “Thanks, Cleo.”

“No problem. Hope you find him.”

So do I, Scott doesn’t say. Hope you're still kicking around when I’ve found him, he keeps to himself too. He knows the Clockers aren’t doing well for time, all of their clocks far lower than his own, even after donating some of his time to Scar earlier.

He can feel Cleo watching him. Maybe they're giving him some of their own well wishes.

=== === ===

Going onto Skynet is never his favourite thing. But he’s been poking around on the ground for long enough that he’s rather certain Martyn isn’t hanging around there. Unless he’s dug himself into a hole underground as it currently hiding there until his clock runs out, he’s not on ground-level.

Meaning, into the skies he goes. The ladder is wonky and the rungs are thin enough that they threaten to snap under every step he takes upwards.

He can feel his hands growing sweaty the higher he ascends, nervousness making him glance down and come to terms with just how high he was in the air. With nothing to support him but a quickly and shoddily built ladder to nowhere.

He hauls himself up onto the main chunk of Skynet, grateful for the ground beneath his feet; solid despite being a thousand feet in the air. A drop from here would definitely kill him. A real risk, he realises, when an arrow thunks into the ground at his feet.

He glances over in the direction where it came from, dropping into a crouch. He’s not certain whether that shot was a mistake or a warning. It could have been fully intended to send him stumbling backwards and over the edge. But another arrow doesn’t follow, leaving him staring across the gap between their bridges, the group of three staring back at him.

…Three?

He can just barely see Etho crouched behind the makeshift wall he’s thrown up, the very tips of fuzzy white ears peeking over the edge of the dirt barricade, and Tango beside him is distinctive with his hair aflame. Meaning, no, his eyes are not deceiving him; Martyn really is crouched over with the other two, watching as they shoot at him.

He straightens up, almost planting his hands on his hips and yelling across the gap then and there. For Martyn to just ditch him earlier, and then for Scott to find him with people that have been relentlessly hunting him? Unacceptable. He only holds his tongue because shouting across such a wide gap is embarrassing, and not at all conducive to a proper conversation.

He stares across the gap a little longer, before holding a hand up in the universal gesture for wait.

He then takes a very brave step away from the main landing pad at the top of the ladder, the bridge narrowing even further and leaving him running quickly across the thin branches of Skynet. He keeps his shield held loosely at his side, and can only pray that Etho and Tango – or, gods forbid, Martyn – decide to get in an easy kill and shoot him.

He gets onto the same bridge as them before they start shooting at him, close enough for Scott to start talking to Martyn, even if it means he has to yell to be heard.

“Etho!” He jerks to the side as an arrow skims past his face, close enough that he can hear it whistle as it passes him. “No need!”

He hears Etho chuckling easily enough, even hunkered down behind his own makeshift shelter, only daring to peek over the edge once a moment has passed and his heart no longer threatens to leap from his chest. Martyn, Etho and Tango all peek back at him, lined up near perfectly. Scott might be tempted to take a photo if he wasn’t so irritated.

Another arrow shoots past his face and he scowls, pulling his own bow out and firing right back at them. He sees Tango jump in place and duck down as the arrow goes right over his head, far too high to actually hit anyone.

Several arrows embed themselves in the front of his small defence within a few minutes, making it easy to reach over and collect them up, adding them to his own quiver. “I've got arrows for days!” he calls over to them, grinning and urging them to continue shooting at him.

He notches another arrow, back pressed against his barricade before popping back up again, aiming and ready to fire.

Martyn visibly startles when he reappears, halfway across the bridge connecting them. He almost falls, Scott thinks, teetering dangerously on the edge as he readjusts his balance, shield held cautiously but not protectively in front of himself.

“Martyn,” he warns, not releasing his arrow but not dropping the bow either. He keeps it carefully trained on Martyn’s face, even as Etho and Tango continue to watch the two of them curiously. Martyn glances upwards from where he’d been watching his feet, smiling guiltily. Good.

“Hi,” Martyn continues to grin, even as it turns awkward and even guiltier. “I'm coming over. Can I come over?” Martyn pauses on the bridge then, as though just realising his presence might be unwanted after ditching him all morning.

“I don't know if I should let you,” he says. It’s not an answer either way. Something that Martyn seems to realise too, as he doesn’t keep moving forward, remaining rooted in place on the stupidly thin bridges that TIES built on a whim and everyone else decided to use. “Why are you with them?” He jerks his bow towards Etho and Tango, taking it off Martyn for a single second.

A single second which is, apparently, long enough for Martyn to run across the rest of the space and drop down beside him, both of them huddled far too close behind this too-small barricade. His knee knocks against Martyn’s, their legs pressing together when he lets them. He’s twisted awkwardly to continue aiming the bow at Etho and Tango, reluctant to take his eye off of them even if Martyn demands his attention with pleading eyes.

“Because I've not seen you yet today,” Martyn’s hand is warm on his arm. Near burning at the point of contact as he pulls at him, urging him to lower his bow. He holds the string of his bow tense for only a moment longer before heaving a great sigh and loosening it gradually, allowing the arrow to fall free from where it had been notched and into his open palm. Martyn continues, seeing him giving in, “I woke up and there was no-one here. There, wherever,” Martyn shrugs. “And then I just…” he trails off, eyes sliding to the side.

The hand on his arm slackens a little, turning from a comforting grip to a weight on his arm. The point of contact no longer burns, his skin warming up and adjusting to the sudden heat of another person.

“And then you just…?” Scott prompts, frowning when Martyn doesn’t give him a response. He’s still watching something off to the side, but when Scott turns to look where he is, there’s nothing there. No person trying to kill them or mysterious floating entity that would cause the kind of look Martyn currently has in his eyes.

“Hey,” he waves a hand in front of Martyn’s face, frowning when that continues to get no response from him. He rests his hand on Martyn’s cheek, growing even more concerned when that fails to get a reaction from him, sliding his thumb along Martyn’s cheekbone. His hand slips lower to cradle Martyn’s face, bringing his other hand to pat him on the cheek, like trying to wake someone up.

Martyn blinks, eyes refocusing, and then jolts. Scott holds onto him, keeping him in place as he regains his bearings from…whatever the hell just happened.

“When’d you get so close?” Martyn asks, clearly going for joking and missing it by miles. He lands somewhere around confused and worried instead, which only concerns Scott more.

Scott pauses for a moment, considering his next step. “Aw,” he tilts his head to the side, thumb still brushing against Martyn’s cheek affectionately. “Don't tell me you got so caught up in seeing me that you forgot to pay attention?”

Martyn laughs, leaning in a little closer, close enough that their noses are just shy of touching. His eyes are completely focused now, not drifting over Scott’s shoulder to look at something only Martyn can see. It eases something in his chest, something he hadn’t realised was so tight until it loosened all of a sudden.

“Well, it really is quite easy to get lost in your eyes. The depths of them are like an unexplored ocean-”

He shoves Martyn away from him with a laugh. “Don't you start with that,” he warns, mock angry as he wags his finger at Martyn. “That’s a terrible pick-up line, and one that doesn’t even work right now! My eyes are as red as they can be, so don't be silly.”

“Then your eyes are like the ocean in the morning,” Martyn counters. “Did you not see how red it was this morning? Like the sunrise itself had spilled into the waters.”

“How romantic of you.” He doesn’t mention how this morning was the only time the waters were dyed such a colour by the rising sun. Martyn wouldn’t know that, as a late riser, but Scott has watched those waters shimmer beneath the sunrise every morning since they were dumped here.

“Get a room!” Etho very bravely yells over at them, still hiding behind his barricade. “We wanna get past you!”

“Run on past then!” Scott yells back. “What’s there to be scared of!”

“What we might see!” Tango contribute, popping up beside his teammate. “I don't know what you two’re doing behind that!”

Scott scoffs in disgust at the idea. Not only is the entire place made of dirt, but they're also miles in the sky. Not exactly something he’d jump at the idea of.

“Go the other way then!” he yells, getting to his feet. He pulls his shield up just in case, but no arrows come his way. He offers Martyn his hand as he watches half of TIES (two-thirds, his brain supplies helpfully. Two-thirds.) deliberate over their next course of action.

“Cowards!” Martyn yells as Etho begins retreating.

Scott laughs at the offended noise Tango makes, loud enough for them both to hear it. Laughing is easier than thinking about what just happened. Easier than turning Cleo’s words over and over in his mind.

Easier to take Martyn’s hand and lead him away as though none of that happened at all.

=== === ===

He can see Etho watching him as he climbs, ears twisted backwards and crossbow held at the ready. He’s just as pleased to be up here as Etho is. All roads lead to Skynet, apparently, meaning he’s back on the hellish thing, praying that nothing breaks.

“We’re just here to talk,” he assures, crouching on the lip of cobblestone just above the ladder, reaching a hand down slowly for Martyn to take. He feels it slot into his hand easily, burning hot against freezing cold.

“Promise?” Etho keeps his crossbow held tightly in his hands. Not that Scott blames them. This is the time for temporary alliances, certainly, but he doubts anyone is above faking a temporary alliance to get closer to someone just to kill them.

“Promise.”

Martyn settles onto the ledge beside him, though Martyn sits down, legs swinging off the edge as he watches Martyn. Scott remains crouched, one hand flat against the cobbles, hunched over like some kind of gargoyle.

He probably looks like one, too. Fish-like spines and fins make it rather hard to hide the changes he’s undergone since going red. The scales layering over his skin and remaining thick until his elbows make it even more so. He can only be glad that he still has his legs, or that It didn’t decide to give him some kind of tail to weigh him down further.

“Okay,” Etho takes a step closer, and, in an incredible show of good faith, tucks his crossbow away so none of them have any weapons. “Let’s talk, then.”

Scott grins, more than a little satisfied with himself. It’s always risky reaching out for another alliance this late in the game, but taking the risk is better than leaving the ending unknown. This is a way for them to have a better shot at winning.

“The biggest hour- time, thingy, is the Nosy Neighbours,” he starts. “Pearl and Grian have the most time right now.”

“And they're a pretty strong team,” Etho glances over in the direction of the Neighbours’ tower, expression considering. “There’s three of them in it.”

Martyn hums something that vaguely sounds like agreement, but when Scott looks over at him, he’s staring off into space again, not at all registering the space around them. Scott shuffles a little closer to him, pressing his hip into his side in the hopes that the contact can bring him back from wherever his mind has wandered off to. Contact has helped, in the previous moments where he’s been like this.

“And we’re two sets of two,” Scott says. He feels momentarily guilty for pointing it out when Etho looks saddened by the reminder that Tango is gone now, too.

“Well,” Etho rocks back on his heels. “I can’t find Impulse at the moment- not a clue where he’s wandered off to.”

Maybe Etho’s words summon him, because Scott watches a blur plummet down onto the Mansion, disappearing under the water for a moment before resurfacing. Even from their distance, he’s able to make out the distinctive yellow ‘i’ on his shirt.

“Grian fell from Skynet,” Martyn says, blinking back to reality.

“Uh, no,” he gives Martyn a confused look from the corner of his eye. “That’s Impulse.”

“I- what?” Martyn glances over at the Mansion, “Oh! Yeah, yeah, that’s Impulse. Yeah.”

Etho gives them a funny look, eyes squinting as he studies Martyn.

“We can summon him over here,” Scott says, distracting Etho before he can ask too many questions. He’d been hanging out with Martyn earlier, could have seen his spacy-ness. Could identify it as something to be used later. Something that Scott would prefer him not to do. “Tell him we have Etho.”

“Like some kind of hostage situation?”

“Ooh, yeah,” Martyn nods along with Etho’s suggestion. “Let’s take him hostage.”

“Or we can just go down and meet him?” Etho suggests. He doesn’t look excited at the hostage idea, go figure. “I don't want to make him climb all the way back up for nothing.

“I don't really want to climb all the way back down there,” he complains, but its for nought as Etho clambers up to where they're sitting, leading the (very slow) charge down to the base of the ladder. His arms feel shaky by the time he reaches the bottom, from both exertion and exhaustion. He feels like he hasn’t slept properly in weeks.

Scott taps out the message on his comm, feet firmly planted into the nice sandy ground below him. It’s a comfort, to be back on truly solid ground again, even with the TIES’ wonky tower casting a slightly uneven shadow over them all.

<Smajor1995> come to us

He follows behind Martyn and Etho absently as he continues to type, hopping over the small blast craters easily and circling around the larger ones just as easily. He has to pause for a moment to bat away a zombie, sword slashing straight through its chest and sending it dissolving into a pile of dust.

<Smajor1995> we have etho

He knows its an ominous message to leave it on, especially when the two of them have been separated for who knows how long. Etho chuckles a little at it, but doesn’t send a message to reassure his teammate. A sense of urgency makes for swift feet, and they want to deal with the Neighbours as quickly as possible, he supposes. Better to do it now than when their timers are about to run out.

“What do you mean you have Etho?!” Scott spins on the spot to greet Impulse.

“As a friend!” he calls back. “We have Etho as a friend!” A skeleton shoots him as he speaks, managing to actually hit him when he’s sluggish on putting his shield up. It’s enough to make him realise how surrounded by mobs they’ve gotten, closed in on all sides, each of them beating back at least two mobs at a time.

“Let’s go!” he calls out, looking around for a place for them to actually go. He only manages to spot the little cave entrance by chance, remembering the little nook beyond that they can hunker down in for the night. Martyn catches up with him quickly when he realises where Scott’s heading. “Told you framing it like we had Etho as a hostage would work.”

“Yeah, wasn’t you he tried to run through with his sword.” Martyn mutters.

“He didn’t try to run you through with his sword,” he rebukes softly, speaking quieter as they enter the cave, aware that their voices will echo over to the following pair.

“He was thinking it,” Martyn says darkly. “I could sense it; hear it in the air.”

Scott doesn’t even get to ask what the hell that means, because Impulse is suddenly slamming the door shut and saying something about “not letting the zombies in too!”

The plan is laughably easy to make, once they get over their bickering and the small taunts they throw at each other. It’s hard not to point out Impulse’s attempts to blow him up earlier, something that Impulse receives with good grace and lets go as water under the bridge.

It’s only worrying how often Martyn spaces out, only ever chiming back in with something that nearly has Scott questioning how he knows Grian is currently away from the base, or that Pearl is up on Skynet, nevermind that all of them are underground and have been for the better part of twenty minutes, formulating the plan they're going to use to try and eliminate their biggest threat. How Martyn knows this is a mystery, but not anything that anyone is questioning, for some reason?

It doesn’t stop Scott from inching a little closer, until they're close enough to touch. So Scott can make sure he’s still real, still there. Not yet gone and seeing things that only the dead are meant to see.

It’s unnerving, how Martyn’s eyes go far away when he thinks about something, considers a question that he realistically shouldn’t have the answer to.

It’s terrifying when he tilts his head to the side, as though angling himself to listen to something more intently.

=== === ===

Oh this is new, he thinks, when he enters the tower that he knows BigB is in, and there’s no-one there. He holds his sword steady, laughing a little as he looks around.

He’s not invisible, no small swirls of smoke giving away his position as he moves. There’s absolutely no indication of where BigB is, other than the faint impression that there’s a person right in front of him.

“Oh, you're invisible,” he says aloud, mostly to himself.

“Am I?” BigB’s voice comes from a little to the left, and he swings for it, sword sweeping in a wide arc as he hopes it catches on flesh. It jerks to a stop as it embeds itself in…some part of BigB. He stares hard at that spot in front of him, but his eyes refuse to focus, sliding away whenever he tries to look for longer than a second.

“You are,” he confirms, ignoring BigB’s small grunt of pain as he yanks his sword back towards himself, holding it up defensively. This entire fight just got a lot harder if BigB isn’t the one doing this. It can only be one other doing this, sabotage against him. Something to make him fall a little easier. He loses track of where BigB is, the empty tower around them making his footsteps echo and hard to track. “I'm sure this fight will be easy enough, though.”

“No it won’t!”

Gotcha.

He swings around, spinning on the heel of his foot to make it quicker, flipping his sword at the last moment and slamming the blunt edge of his blade into BigB’s side, winding him rather than slicing him in half.

He swings his sword up to block at the shing of a blade being unsheathed, feeling the invisible weapon press down against his hands, heavy and forcing him to bend beneath it. He bends his knees, sinking a little lower. BigB laughs, excited at this upper hand he’s gained.

Scott holds it a little longer, ignoring the way his arms begin to shake from the strain. Only when he’s certain BigB is pressing most of his weight down against him does he slip away, dropping his sword and darting out of range as fast as he can.

‘As fast as he can’ is apparently not fast enough, feeling the cool metal of a blade dig into his back before he manages to slip completely away, hissing through clenched teeth at the burning sensation that quickly spreads over his back.

“Hah!” BigB cheers at this small victory, even as Scott turns back to face him. The wavering outline of something vaguely resembling a person is all he has to go off of. It’s like the wavering air above stone on a hot day. “Still confident?”

“Of course,” he scoffs. He ignores the way he has to readjust his grip on his sword, hand sweaty as he backs up another step. Whatever invisibility gift this is, it’s not fair. He has a rather good idea of who is doing this, and he cusses them out silently in his mind. Maybe They’ll be able to hear his swearing. “You think I’ll go down that easily?”

He can feel the blood soaking through his shirt rather quickly. For a surface wound, it’s bleeding a lot, and really quite painful.

He still swings when BigB comes at him again, the sound of feet on the cobbles his only indicator. Swinging in such a wide arc wrenches something in his shoulder, and he swears he can feel the flesh tearing further, strained apart like the threads of a garment, stretched beyond breaking point.

In the end, BigB catches him unawares. A rather easy feat, considering he can’t see the other man.

He gasps at the feeling of a blade piercing his flesh, stumbles back – tries to stumble backwards, finds himself stuck on whatever weapon he’s just been impaled with. The weapon he can’t see, but his mind still registers the pain pain pain of a slow death. Still registers the blood blossoming around the puncture.

He can see his insides, vaguely and through a distorted lens. It warps, as though he should be seeing something other than the tearing of his blood vessels and his parted flesh. He can see organs you're not meant to see, curled around himself in the way that he is, can see the puncturing of these probably vital organs which is not a good sign for his continued survival. His flesh is darker than he thought it would be, and bleeds for far longer than he expects.

He lasts far longer than he expected, shallow breaths wheezing out of him as he crumples to the ground.

“Woah, hey,” hands he can’t see lay over his arms, the faint feeling of pressure against his skin the only thing his mind registers. He can see his skin indent where hands press against his forearms, idents that can only be created by hands holding onto him. Hands that he cannot, for some reason, see. “It’ll be over in a sec, I’m sure.”

Scott tilts his head back and allows himself a small groan. He’s bleeding out slowly and sluggishly, he thinks he can afford a singular moment of pain amongst this shitshow.

He almost reaches the point of asking BigB to just slit his throat when the room spins dizzying circles around him, and words are coming from an unseen mouth, unseen hands brushing up and down his arms in what is probably meant to be a reassuring gesture, but is actually just unnerving.

He chokes on the blood in his mouth, and wakes with it still coating his teeth.

=== === ===

“Do you want to get BigB again?” Martyn asks, turning to him with a gleam in his eyes.

Scott hasn’t decided whether he likes this new Martyn yet or not. The Martyn of earlier, with his listless expression and drifting thoughts was not fun to deal with nor exciting to observe, but the Martyn of the here and now, the Martyn with an anticipatory gleam in his eye and a pep in his step at the thought of killing someone else is also not reassuring.

“Not really,” he replies, as casually as he can. “I got my time back from him.”

“And you don't want more?”

“Uh, not really, no.” He and Martyn are alone right now, Impulse and Etho splitting off from their little group momentarily. He doubts they’ll join back together again, everyone’s clocks hanging far too low to trust someone you only made a temporary alliance with.

(For just a moment, Scott wishes they’d come back. Come and act as a buffer between him and the ally that he no longer recognises. The gleam in his eye is dangerous, it warns. A herald of what is to come. He considers, briefly, slipping away into the night and disappearing until his clock runs out of time. Until that last grain of sand in his hourglass slips through and buries him completely. He’s not sure he wants to see what will happen if it’s just him and Martyn. When it’s just him and Martyn.)

“Alright,” Martyn drags the word out, as though he doesn’t believe him. Maybe he doesn’t, with the red-blindness that seems to descend onto everyone at this point, looming over their shoulders like a particularly grim reminder. He can almost hear the clocks ticking down, beat by beat, moment by moment. “If you say so.”

“I do,” he says. “I do say so.”

Martyn considers him for another moment longer. Watches him with those red eyes that seem to hold nothing but calculations behind them. A measure of how long it would take to overpower someone, how long it would take to bleed them dry of their blood and their time. How many arrows to divert someone from their chosen path. How many swings of the sword before their time can be claimed, like the spoils after a hunt.

Scott hates it. Hates this. Hates what his friends become. Hates what it is – who it is – that makes them do it.

Martyn shrugs and turns away. His walk is casual, deceptively so. He moves quickly, off to kill whoever it is that he’s set his mind on. Possibly the Nosy Neighbours, eyes set on them as a target, like a dog with a bone, relentlessly gnawing on it as though that will force it to produce something more.

Ah, yes. That’s what it is.

Martyn watches him as though his heart no longer beats, as though he is nothing more than a chunk of flesh to be devoured for the benefit, what he might gain from it.

Scott walks in the opposite direction to Martyn and hopes, rather selfishly, that they don’t have to cross paths again.

=== === ===

All paths lead back to the clock. All lead back to the timer ticking down, hanging heavy over their heads and around their necks; a slowly tightening noose.

Perhaps it is fitting, then, with his clock at a negligible amount that they arrive at the Clock Tower. Built at the centre of their little world. Everything revolves around the clock, and the Clockers have made sure they cannot forget that.

The face of it peers down at them, despite Scott not being able to see it from where he stands now. He can feel it. Can feel the ticking of the hands, the shifting and grinding of the gears that allow it to turn. Will allow it to turn long after each of them is dead.

Martyn and Impulse watch each other warily, watch him warily. He watches them back, far less wary than either of them.

He can see how this plays out, can see the end already in the tight grip of a hand upon a sword. Can see the way such a hand refuses to release the last weapon he holds, refuses to give up his one advantage here. Can see how the hand hesitates when moving to unstrap his armour, to unbuckle the plates and let them fall loosely to the ground.

Scott undoes the strap in one unceremonious movement, only grimacing slightly at the clatter as it hits the ground, rolling uselessly around his feet.

Martyn watches him, suspicion misting his eyes. His hand continues to falter, resting over his heart and over his chestplate. One that has still to be removed. Impulse’s armour lays on the ground, too, scattered around in pieces as though he’d simply tossed it aside carelessly in his eagerness to get it off.

Scott tilts his head to the side, almost imperceptibly, watches the way Martyn tracks the tiny movement. The way Impulse does not.

There is a question in his eyes, one that he is not sure Martyn can read anymore. The Martyn of yesterday would have been able to. The Martyn that still cared to scrub his hands free of blood, the one that cared enough to clean beneath his nails, so not even the slightest speck of blood would continue to stain his hands.

The Martyn of today is not the one he has spent time getting to know better. He is not the one that could read a question in the tilt of his eyebrows or the squint of his eyes. He is not the one that would be able to read the question in his eyes right now, swimming just below the surface. Maybe Martyn reaches for that understanding he once had, but the explanation slips away easily, a fish disappearing beneath the surface once more.

So maybe he doesn’t read the implicit permission. The silent question that doesn’t need an answer. Because Martyn might not be able to read his eyes, might not be able to read anything from him at this point, but Scott can still read him. Can still see the plan in his eyes, the way it whirrs in his brain as he smooths out the crinkles and finalises it.

Still, despite Martyn’s plan being finalised, set in stone and ready to be carried out regardless of what anyone says, Scott gives him a small nod that he might not catch. A granting of permission. A better you than anyone else. Martyn might not understand it. May have lost the ability to read him entirely.

He still ends up with a sword through the heart, pulled out slowly, longingly. Blood coats the inside of his mouth, and when he coughs, feels it spilling over, it feels like a parting kiss.

[missmaywemeetagain]

Pink Scarf - PART 14 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)

Prompt: You are part of Elvis Presley's coveted inner circle, and the currently-disgruntled wife of one of the members of Elvis' famous entourage, the Memphis Mafia. After Elvis' dynamite first performance in Vegas, you find yourself in deep water when his magnetism finally gets to you after all these years.  [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: Blood. Assault in various forms. Miscarriage. Death/Mourning. Pregnancy. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.  

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)        ||     Word Count: 7.6k

A/N: I'm so sorry in advance, y'all, cuz this one might knock you on your ass with its dramatic angst and give you whiplash after the last few chapters. Honestly, I hurt myself a bit with this one! *sob* Needless to say, the tone is a bit different here. Please make sure you read the trigger warnings for this part because there are some sensitive topics!

While I hesitated to make a part all in flashback, I couldn't seem to avoid it without creating a ridiculously giant chapter, and I also didn't want to make you wait that long, so here it is, complete with a cliffhanger!

Speaking of that, thank you for being so patient while I got this out. Life is kicking my butt a bit, and I SO appreciate you hanging in there with me!

Also, look out for some fun 1960 Elvis posts/reblogs later so you can get the full visual of his March 1960 glory, in case I haven't described it well enough LOL. I included a Rollerdome pic at the end as well.

As always, to all my babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments you've given me have been a blessing beyond expression. You all are the best community a writer could ask for! Thank you so much for your support. I am loving getting to know y'all better! I love every reaction and comment and ask, and I'm sorry if I don't get back to them all as soon as I'd like but know that I love you all and am so excited to be making new friends! And a big "Hey, Y'all!" to Elvis Twitter, who stumbled into the Pink Scarf vortex and are now with us in the chokehold of '69 Pink Scarf Era Elvis and are supporting and sharing this lil' fic over there--I see you and appreciate you! 👀💋

If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks)! I think I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues or if I missed anyone. There seem to be some issues with tagging that I can't seem to fix, so please know I'm not leaving you out intentionally! Also, if you comment on a previous part that you want to be tagged, I might not always see it, so feel free to message me if I miss you!

I imagined this with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat! 

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch. 

(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my long-neglected AO3 account (which some of you already discovered!), so if you are so inclined, you can check it out over there, though it's not all updated yet!)

March 1960

You shouldn’t feel nervous. It’s just Elvis. But having not seen him in person in over 18 months, or even really being able to talk on the phone, you wonder if too much time has passed, if too much has changed, if the man who went into the Army two years ago is still the friend you cherished.

You wait in front of Graceland in the icy March air with Jack and a multitude of other close friends and relations for Elvis to arrive, shivering in your heavy coat. It’s a strange limbo you all are in, this energy of the end of one thing and the start of something new and unknown. You can’t help feeling that everything is different somehow, that a new era has begun.

This feeling is compounded by the secret you are keeping. You had been wary to accept that your greatest hope is finally coming true, but after your appointment yesterday afternoon, you are finally starting to settle into the fact that new life is growing inside you. You haven’t told anyone yet, not even Jack, since Elvis’ imminent arrival has taken over everyone’s minds. While you have no need to be the center of attention, you also know that the news would get lost in Elvis’ return. No one could compete with Elvis for any sort of attention. It would be a losing battle.

Honestly, you are glad to sit with the knowledge on your own for a moment, to give yourself a minute to adjust to your new reality. And part of you is still quite scared that this could all be over in a flash. It’s still early, the doctor said, even though you were further along than you’d originally thought. But after two years of nothing, there is a piece of you that doesn’t want to get your hopes up.

Perhaps that is truly why you’re feeling nervous and it’s nothing to do with Elvis at all.

Everyone around you starts to buzz, snapping you out of your thoughts, and you look up to see the police cruiser, lights and sirens and all, coming up the long drive. When it finally pulls up in front of the house and Elvis gets out, everyone explodes with liveliness.

It takes a moment for the small crowd to clear enough for you to see him fully. When his tall frame comes completely into view, you feel like all the air has been knocked out of your body. You have to stop yourself from gasping out loud.

He looks beyond incredible. So incredible, in fact, that your heart is suddenly fluttering in your chest like a schoolgirl’s. You have seen him in his uniform before, of course, but the last time, he was so miserable after the death of his mother that the uniform seemed like a prison, an unforgiving punishment almost. Of course, you’d also seen pictures for publicity and ones he sent home which would occasionally show him in his uniform. He always was handsome, to be sure, but now…now, something was different.

You try to put your finger on it because it really has thrown you for a loop. You aren’t some fawning, adoring fan, for god’s sake. But you cannot help but openly stare at the man in front of you. He positively glows. His blue eyes sparkle with the happiness of being home, but it’s not only that. Taking off his cap and tucking it under his arm, he surveys the small crowd and his home with joy. The blue of his dress uniform brings out the reddish-blonde of his natural hair color and the blush on his cheeks. His hair is long again on top, grown out and curled up and mussed from his hat. Compared to the Army buzz cut, it is more reminiscent of his signature coiffed 50’s style, but somehow more mature yet rebellious at the same time. It suits him very well, you think, highlighting high cheekbones, long face, and his now quite chiseled jaw.

Elvis’ whole face is lit up with happiness, that signature grin white and wide, as friends and family gather around him. You can’t help but feel warm and fuzzy to see that smile again in person. When you finally catch his eye, you feel like the whole world stops. It’s ridiculous really, the way your heart throbs in your ears, but you swear his face changes almost imperceptibly when he sees you. You’re not exactly sure how, but it softens somehow, imbued with just a little more warmth than he’s already exuding. His eyes travel over you only briefly before Jack reaches out to embrace him, but in that short moment, you suddenly feel self-conscious.

Once his eyes leave you, you let out a deep breath that you didn’t know you’d been holding. You look down, clasping your hands in front of you, but when you look up again, Elvis is looking at you from over Jack’s shoulder. You are absolutely caught in his blue-eyed gaze.

Stop being stupid, it’s just Elvis.

Perhaps your sudden intimidation by your dear friend is that he left Graceland a boy but has returned a man. Even though he’s thin, it’s in a leaner, more carved, more refined way than before. He still retains a bit of his baby face, but his countenance is different, settled, more worldly.

After exchanging words with Jack that you are too overcome to hear, Elvis steps around him and comes towards you, his attentions focused completely on you.

“Hey there, y/n darlin’,” he says gently, his voice still heavily accented, high and bright.

“Welcome home, Elvis,” you say. It barely sounds like you, you think, too quiet and soft and breathless. You ring your hands nervously.

He begins to open his arms and you know he means to embrace you, and all of a sudden, you are certain you are going to faint. It’s as if you know that if he touches you, right here and now, looking as he does and with the way his essence is radiating around you, something will be irrevocably changed. Your heart flutters and your breath rate increases, and you almost panic as he closes the gap, those eyes of his looking at you in such a way that you feel completely, utterly exposed. You want to run away, but you are frozen to the spot.

Just as he steps up to you, he’s attacked from the side by his young cousin. The moment between you is thankfully interrupted, and you instantly step back and behind Jack as the boy wrestles Elvis.

“Jesus, kid, a little warning next time!” he shouts playfully, putting the kid in a headlock and rubbing his knuckle into his head. He catches your eye for a fraction of a second, his face somewhere between regret and chagrin at not being able to hug you. You manage a small smile, but practically hide behind Jack, grabbing his hand as you warily look on.

The horde gratefully moves inside, out of the cold late winter chill. The look that flashes over Elvis’ face as he crosses the threshold is one of trepidation, grief. You realize being home must come with mixed emotions; after all, the last time he was here was when his dear mama passed, and this was the home he’d gotten for her.

You’re not sure that anyone else catches how his breath hitches and how those pretty eyes become anxious. In that moment, you forget all about the strange reaction you had to him not a minute ago and you ache to go to him, to pull him into your arms and tell him it’ll all be okay.

It seems like both forever and just yesterday that he wept in your arms on the stairs, bereft and inconsolable, as his mother lay in the other room in her casket. He had refused to leave her, petting her, and talking their baby talk to her for so long that they had finally placed glass over her to dissuade him. Even then, he had sat vigil by her side and as you all looked on in collective grief, as the concern for him and his deteriorating state was palpable. Almost no one was able to get him away for longer than a few minutes—first it was the Colonel near shoving him and Vernon out the door and into the arms of the vultures with the cameras outside. Then, Sam Phillips was able to console him for a bit. Jack and the boys and Anita all tried to pull him away, but they were only swept up by him to go see Gladys, and his tearful ramblings continued about how beautiful she looked and her tiny little “sooties,” and then his wailing and sobbing would commence once again.

His mama had always been more than kind to you, and you cried for her loss, but it was truly Elvis’ grief that had the tears rolling down your cheeks. But you hadn’t wanted to overstep your bounds. However, he’d stopped eating and drinking, and looked positively exhausted, eyes rimmed with dark circles. Eventually, you could stand it no more.

“Elvis, honey, I need you…” you’d said, putting your hand on his shoulder gently. He’d looked up at you sharply, eyes so bloodshot and filled with tears that the blue of his irises seemed unnaturally bright, his innocence and grief leeching out of them. You faltered then at the state of him, stumbling over your words, wanting to be as kind as possible. You cleared your throat, continuing, “I need you to come with me, sweetie.”

And somehow, against all odds, he listened to you, of all people. Wordlessly, he’d stood, drawing you tightly to him, his arm gripping your waist and his tall frame leaning on you for support, nearly knocking you over. You’d stumbled with him to the stairs, and he’d just collapsed into you, his head buried into your neck, clinging to you as if drowning in his grief and you were his life preserver. His heart wrenching sobs had silent tears flowing down your own cheeks, and you’d held him, petting him, cooing at him, your protective gaze shooing the onlookers away.

Eventually, after some time, he quieted. You could feel the heat of his head through the now-soaked top of your dress. “Oh, E, you’re burning up,” you’d said, feeling his face with your hands. He’d worked himself into such a state that his body was rebelling against him, and you’d whispered to someone nearby to call the doctor.

At that point, he’d had little fight left in him, and Jack and Sam had helped get him up to bed once the doctor had come. But he’d still clung to you, not letting you leave him once in his ornate, darkened cave of a bedroom. Elvis wouldn’t settle or let the doctor administer the much-needed sedative until you were in the huge bed with him and he was curled in your lap. You had looked to Jack wide-eyed for some sort of support, part of you feeling a little scandalized by being invited into Elvis’ bed, but none of the men knew what to do, and you were the only one so far that had been able to get him away from Gladys. You just got harried looks of bewilderment from everyone, and the doctor had just nodded to you, as if giving you permission to climb up in with him, doctor’s orders. Anything to calm Elvis down.

So you had, your heart breaking for him, confused as to why it was you who he needed, not Anita or Vernon or Jack. Regardless of how strange it was, you were his friend, and you’d do anything to help, no matter your own comfort. You’d stayed with him through the night, back leaning up against the headboard awkwardly, staying even after the sedative took hold because when you’d tried to leave, he’d still clung to you, heavy and feverish.

For hours you’d held vigil over him, hand rubbing soothing circles on his back, eventually drifting in and out of sleep, though any movement from him had you startling awake. And when you woke in the morning, stiff as hell, and Elvis blinked up at you with those huge, grieving puppy dog eyes, the pang in your heart was evident and confusing.

After those few horrid days, you never spoke of it again. You never asked him why it was you who’d been able to reach him through his grief, and beyond a whispered “thank you” in your ear before he left for Germany, he never mentioned it again. Not that you’d seen him for him to do so. Maybe that is why you are nervous, you think, because the last time you saw him, he was so utterly lost, and for whatever reason, you had been a lifeline in one of his worst moments. And that feels significant somehow, though you aren’t sure exactly how.

That look you see in his eyes now reminds you too much of that look from 18 months ago. But there are a bunch of family and friends between the two of you, crowded in the entryway, bustling with excitement, all seemingly oblivious to Elvis’ distress.

It angers you a bit, the way they all clamor over him without truly seeing him. You stand as rooted as he is, as if your being able to move is tied to him somehow. He looks at you then, sensing your gaze or your thoughts in that almost preternatural way of his, and you see the overwhelm in his eyes. The way the endless blue of them seems clouded over with pain and grief. The way they almost beg you to save him.

This, out of everything, gets you in motion, stepping towards him in the crowded space, but there are so many damn people that you can’t get to him. By the time you sidestep cousins and friends, you’ve watched as his face changes, a mask slipping over those handsome features so seamlessly that it takes you aback. You stop short, amazed at the way he now smiles and laughs at the antics around him, as if nothing happened.

You realize he must’ve had to do this to survive over there. There was no way he could show that kind of vulnerability during tank maneuvers or whatever they had him doing. He’s protecting himself, you think.

But it still rubs you the wrong way. The ease with which he switched emotions was disconcerting to you. Somewhat bitterly, you think that he certainly didn’t need your help through his pain this time.

Oh, stop, you chide yourself. He’s been home all of five minutes and first you wanted to run away from him and now you’re mad his grief isn’t crippling him? What’s wrong with you?

“Okay, okay, y’all, I need to go get changed! The press is gonna be here any minute,” Elvis chuckles and waves you all off, climbing the stairs. His eyes catch yours in the briefest of moments and you swear there is something unsaid in them. And then he’s gone, up into his room.

A shiver passes over you, your stomach flipping, and then a wave of nausea comes.

Jack sees you and comes over with concern in his eyes, cupping your cheek. “You alright, treasure? You look a little green in the gills,” he says.

“I…uh…my stomach is upset, sweetie. Excuse me,” you say quickly, the bile rising, and you make quickly for the bathroom down the hall. Once safely locked away, you rush to the toilet, sick. Luckily, once out, the queasiness passes quickly.

The doctor said this could happen, you think, looking at the reflection of your red face in the mirror. You rinse your mouth out and splash your face with cold water. It certainly has nothing to do with Elvis. That would be absurd.

It’s just the look in his eyes is haunting you and you don’t understand why. Maybe it’s just your hormones being in overdrive. Yes, that makes sense. You are on edge and not seeing things clearly. Or maybe too clearly.

After a multitude of deep breaths, you straighten your dress and hair, then head back out into the fray. You find yourself in an empty house. You wander about to find that most everyone has gone back outside to witness Elvis’ triumphant return to Graceland as procured by the press.

They have arrived, littering the snow-dusted lawn and taking photographs and recordings of Elvis as he sits in front of a huge guitar shaped cake. You peek over someone’s shoulder and your jaw nearly drops at the sight. Clad now in all black, his wool coat is appropriate for the chill, but his black shirt is open halfway down his torso, a large gold medallion resting on his bare chest. If he’d looked like the All-American boy getting out of that car not 30 minutes ago, now he looks like the perfect combination of sweet and sinful.

Oh, dear lord.

His chestnut hair is perfectly imperfect, a rogue lock falling over his forehead. You think perhaps he’s added a little shadow and mascara to his eyes, or maybe he’s just exhausted from the long journey home, but whichever it is, the slight darkness on his lids gives him a stunningly beautiful look, his blue eyes popping and dancing with a combination of mischievousness, aloofness, and candor. Somehow, he has retained the youthful swell of his cheeks while also now having a jawline that could cut glass.

As you watch Elvis pick at the cake, deftly putting pieces of it in his mouth with his fingers, the innocent gesture seems almost obscene and that lightheaded feeling comes over you again, this time with a swell of warmth.

You want to look away, you really do, but you’ve forgotten your friend’s natural charm, how his essence pulls even the most unwilling into his orbit. His beauty is one thing, but the feeling that surrounds him is another thing all together. It’s not just you caught in the pull, however. Friends and family gather around, too, though they are likely not experiencing the same type of reaction as you.

Oh, this is utterly ridiculous, you think. Elvis has always been pretty and alluring. Get ahold of yourself.

You think it must be the pregnancy hormones, the way your body flushes from head to toe just watching him eat his cake and play to the camera. You force yourself not to follow as they direct Elvis towards Vernon’s office for the press conference, his tall frame gliding across the lawn in the most confident and nonchalant of ways. He commands his audience as though he’d never left, born to be at the forefront of everything. Focused on the cameras, he does not see you, or so you think, until he catches you staring and quirks his brow.

This finally prompts you to move, turning away quickly and heading back into the warmth of the house. You are glad for the cold, as it gives a reason for your cheeks to be as red as they are, and it douses your heated body with a much-needed chill.

You are embarrassed by your behavior. Elvis is not some idol to be gawked at, not by you. Perhaps it is because you feel so removed from him in his absence, or it is the unasked questions that linger in your mind from before he’d left, but your nerves buzz annoyingly.

You manage to avoid him after the press conference, as he’s utterly exhausted from his trip back home and all it had entailed and sends everyone on their way with the promise of a party the next evening.

Later, lying in bed, you wonder what in the hell came over you. It’s got to be the nerves and excitement about the life growing inside you colliding with the trepidation of your friend’s return all at once. You also know that pregnant women have a multitude of strange physical symptoms, especially in the early days, which would explain nearly everything.

That must be it. It’s not about Elvis at all. It’s your body telling you that you are pregnant.

Finally.

The thought sends a flutter of a different kind through your chest. It’s one of excitement and hope and a little fear. You place your hands on your belly, imbued with a sense of motherly responsibility. You drift to sleep thinking of holding your child in your arms.

*

The party the next night has Graceland lit up in a way it hasn’t been in years. An air of celebration surrounds the place, chasing away any of the leftover morbidity from Gladys’ passing. You hold Jack’s hand tightly as you enter the mansion, that strange anxiousness from yesterday threatening to ruin your night.

Maybe you should have told Jack about the baby before you came, but no moment seemed quite right. Telling him before work would have distracted him and telling him before the party still seemed to be stepping on the toes of Elvis’ return. Tomorrow, I’ll tell him for sure tomorrow, you think pointedly.

The warm air of the house nearly overwhelms you, and the two of you strip your heavy coats and head towards the sound of Elvis’ boisterous laughter. Your dress is fitted only at the waist and not over the belly, which you are glad for, even though you are hardly showing yet.

You manage to find a seat in the corner with Jack far enough from Elvis that you can breathe, as the fact that he still looks incredible has not changed in the last 24 hours. Why you are so completely stuck on his shocking handsomeness and consumed by whatever prowess he is exuding, you still do not quite know, but it continues to affect you and keep you wary. Shaking off your unhelpful thoughts, you busy yourself talking with Anita, Pat, and the other girls as the men joke and play. After a while, this finally settles your nerves, but you are very conscious of not letting yourself get too close to Elvis as the night goes on, as if being too near will disrupt the tenuous equilibrium you are trying to maintain.

Later in the evening, you excuse yourself and head to the restroom. You can’t help but look in the mirror, rubbing your belly even though it’s impossible to tell yet. This puts a smile on your face, your sweet little secret. And this is how you exit, smiling, stepping into the dimly lit hallway.

“Hey, darlin’.”

“Shit!” you gasp, jumping out of your skin at Elvis leaning casually against the wall across from you. Your heart gallops against your ribcage, one hand flying to your heart and the other to your belly in a protective gesture. “Elvis, you scared the hell out of me!”

“Sorry, y/n,” he says, pushing off the wall, eyes remorseful but watching you carefully.

You find yourself barely able to look at him with him being this close. You will your heart to slow, will yourself to act normal, but it’s like you can’t. You can’t quite meet his eyes, you can’t quite breathe and escape is all you can think of. You awkwardly gesture to the bathroom, thinking that it’s why he’s lurking in the hallway, and then you step away from him without another word.

“Hey, now,” he says from behind you, perturbed, “You wait just a damn minute.”

Elvis’ long fingers circle around your wrist, grabbing you, and it feels like fire. Startled, you turn back and look down at how he holds you firm. You hardly have a moment to process that he’s touching you before he’s pulling you into a room across the hallway. Yelping, you have no choice but to follow—he’s much stronger than you—and he holds fast as flips on the lamp and then shuts the door behind the two of you. He releases you, then folds his arms over his chest with a scowl.

“Elvis…” you start, confused and shocked and trying to process whatever is going on.

“Did I make you mad or do something to offend you?” he interrupts, his voice laced with hurt. Those intense blue eyes of his lock you in place, betraying his churning emotions.

“What? No, what are you—?” you sputter out, faltering under his gaze and needing to look away.

“That! That right there. You can’t even hardly look at me!” he points, voice raising angrily. “You barely said three words to me since I been home!” He steps towards you and instinctually you step back, a hand flying to your belly, as the intensity of being this close to him has you completely overwhelmed.  

His eyes widen. “Look at you, you can’t even be in the same room as me without skittering away like a little bird. I thought I was imaginin’ it for a minute.” Elvis pauses, looking you over. “Are you afraid of me?” he asks quietly, the hurt palpable in both his body and voice.

Your heart aches at the sight of him like, forcing you to relax and be more mindful of your actions. “No, of course I’m not afraid of you, Elvis,” you breathe. You aren’t, truly.

“Then what did I do?” he asks with such childlike innocence, such hurt, that your heart breaks for causing it.

“Nothing, E, you didn’t do anything, I swear,” you insist, going to him, unable to bear the look on his cherubic face. You force yourself to get close, pushing through your silly fears.

“Why ya bein’ so strange then, baby?” Elvis asks, eyes scanning your face. This close, you realize you could fall and drown in their oceanic blue intensity.

How can you answer that? You certainly cannot say, “Yes, Elvis, I’m being strange because you came back too handsome and your charming presence overwhelms me, and I don’t know where I stand with you, and oh, by the way, I’m pregnant.”

Your brain scrambles for an answer as the tension between the two of you increases to a level that has you sweating, and you blink up at him, flustered. “I…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be like that…I guess I am afraid that you’re different, or that things have changed too much while you were gone, or that it’s been too long and that you might not, I don’t know, you might not see me as your friend anymore?” you prattle on, the honesty in your words surprising you. The idea and the truth of it brings tears to your eyes.

His beautiful face softens, his mouth popping open as emotions flash over his features so quickly that you cannot grasp them completely. You feel utterly caught up in him, the loss of control and your feelings frightening you.

“Never,” Elvis whispers finally, “Never in a million years could that happen, baby.” The way he looks down at you is charged, confusing, intense.

Your heart flips. A rogue tear slips down your cheek. Stupid hormones.

You are close enough now that you can feel the energy of him pulsate around you. It makes your breath catch when he brushes the tear off your cheeks with the backs of his fingers. You’re not sure if you can bear him touching you more than that because it sends a shockwave through your body.

“So, you missed me?” he asks, a sideways grin beginning to widen on his face.

“’Course I missed you, you idiot,” you sniffle.

“Some way of showin’ it,” he jokes now, breaking some of the tension.

“Well, I’ve had some things on my mind,” you say pointedly. “Life didn’t stop just cuz you were in Germany, ya know.”

You don’t realize that your arm has been wrapped over your belly all this time. Elvis narrows his eyes at you, steps back, and then looks you over very deliberately. Self-conscious and confused under the scrutiny, you blush.

“What?” you ask nervously. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

A huge smile spreads over his features and his eyes light up. “Congratulations, doll,” he grins at you.

He knows. Elvis, of all people, knows your secret after spending less than five minutes with you.

You are shocked enough that you don’t try to deny it. “I…How…?” you stutter out.

“You bein’ so skittish and protective, and the way you been holdin’ yourself this whole time is different. Explains that real pretty glow about ya, too,” he says, booping your nose playfully.

You blush harder. “Elvis, I just found out. No one knows yet, not even Jack, so don’t you dare go saying anything yet. It’s still real early,” you say in a warning tone.

Elvis nods, practically bouncing with excitement.

“Seriously, E, not a freakin’ word, promise me!” you say. He is a terrible secret keeper.

“Okay, okay, I promise!” he grins.

“Lord, with the way you’re buzzing, you’d think I was having your baby!” you laugh.

Something changes in his eyes, but it’s gone so quick that you can’t put your finger on it. He does still a bit, though, and you look at him quizzically. He doesn’t say anything and just looks at you openly. The air has shifted once again.

“Well, we should probably get back out there. Everybody must be missing the man of the hour,” you say, clearing your throat and turning to leave.

Before you can go far, Elvis’ fingers dance over yours, reaching, as if wanting to hold your hand and pull you back but hesitating as if he shouldn’t. Your breath catches, an odd feeling blooming in your chest, like you are falling. You look back and down, seeing and feeling his fingers graze yours in such a strangely much-too-intimate way. He doesn’t stop, fingers brushing and winding through yours. You can’t help the way yours start to move around his in the now heavy silence. Your eyes raise to meet his, heart racing.

“Y/n, I—” he starts to say, voice low and gaze intense.

“EP!! Where the hell you at, man?” Red shouts from the hallway, startling you both, causing you to drop your hands as though they were suddenly on fire. As if you were caught doing something you shouldn’t.

Elvis visibly shakes himself off and crosses in front of you to open the door. It opens a crack and then he stops, turning back to you quickly, mouth open as if he wants to finish what he was trying to say. He must think better of it, though, because he just shakes his head again and sucks in his cheeks before heading out the door without another word.

You pause, frozen to the spot, as your heart thunders in your ears. Befuddled, you try and process the last few minutes, try to piece out what the hell just happened. Your hand splays on your belly, your face hot and your body warm.

You were right, you think, a lot has changed. Everything and nothing, all at once.

*

After that, things move quickly. With Elvis’ new knowledge, you tell Jack immediately about the baby, pulling him aside at the party. He is thrilled.

A few blissful weeks pass. You’ve been feeling okay physically, just some nausea and lightheadedness, but your nerves are still a bit on edge. The strange moment between you and Elvis the night of the party lingers in your mind, just under the surface, and every time you see him, that odd falling feeling comes over you for a moment. It doesn’t help that when he sees you, something in him changes. It’s so subtle that you doubt anyone notices; in fact, you think you could be imagining it if not for the charged, unreadable look in his eyes. But to you he seems overly attentive to your every move, protective even.

You try and chalk this weird intuition and the way your body feels up to the pregnancy. Your body is changing a little each day, and maybe this is just a part of it.

Elvis has been enjoying his few weeks at home before everything starts up for him again, and consequently, so have all of you, finding yourselves pulled back into his orbit easily. He’s travelling down to Miami soon to be on Frank Sinatra’s show and then he starts filming his next movie in April. You have mixed feelings about this, dreading him leaving so soon again, but you also think perhaps it is a good thing to be away from him considering the tricks your mind seems to be playing on you.

Tonight, he rents out the Rainbow Rollerdome for an evening of what he dubs the “Roller Skating Wars.” You, of course, will not be skating in your condition, but that certainly doesn’t stop you from putting on a cute polka dotted dress and going to observe the chaos you know will ensue.

Jack, unfortunately, stays home, struck suddenly in the afternoon with a sore throat and fever. You tell him you will stay home and take care of him, but he brushes you off and tells you he’s just going to be sleeping anyway, that you should go and have fun. He practically pushes you out the door.

When you arrive at the Rollerdome, you quickly find the girls and plant yourself in one of the big booths with a coke, some popcorn, and some candy. Your cravings for sweets have been intense this last week, and you pick delightfully at the confections as you watch everyone skate around.

Elvis has a silly grin plastered on his face as he wheels up to your table, his hair so long and fluffy on top that it bounces with him, product keeping it standing nearly straight up. On anyone else, it would look absolutely ridiculous, but with Elvis being Elvis, it just seems to highlight how incredibly handsome he’s become. Honestly, he nearly takes your breath away in his dark polo with the popped collar, his eyes electric and dancing, his face long and jaw chiseled.

At least you know that you aren’t the only one noticing the change in his looks, because the other girls seem to blush and smile more as he looms over you all, the skates putting him nearly six and a half feet tall.

“Ladies, everybody got their skates?” he drawls charmingly.

Everyone giggles and there’s a chorus of “Yes, Elvis!” as they show off their skates. For a moment, you are a bit upset that you can’t skate, but that is quickly banished by the excitement of the life growing inside you.

“Well, go on then!” he motions, and the ladies scurry, happy to be summoned.

After they clamor out of the booth, Elvis looks at you more seriously.

“No skating for you tonight, right?” he asks protectively, cobalt eyes narrowing.

Your heart does that falling thing for a moment before you respond. “Nope, feet planted firmly on the ground, thank you very much!” you smile.

He nods, pleased by this. “Where’s Jack? I haven’t seen him,” he asks, looking around.

“Oh, he’s at home, sick. Booted me out of there. I think he was annoyed at me hovering, to be honest,” you chuckle.

“You gonna be okay over here? I don’t want you to be by yourself,” Elvis says, concerned.

“Oh, I’ll come and watch you all here in a minute. My back’s bothering me a bit, so I’m fine to sit for a spell.”

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks again, brow furrowing, as if sensing something about you that you couldn’t sense yourself.

“Yes, E, I’m fine. Don’t you worry about me. Now, shoo, and go have some fun, but for god’s sake don’t go killin’ yourself or anyone else out there!” you laugh.

Elvis looks at you in that unreadable way of his for a moment, then a wide grin spreads across his face. “No promises!” he shouts as he skates away.

You let out a breath after he leaves. His presence is still overwhelming to you, no matter how much you try to logic it away, so for now you are just accepting it. Such is living a life with Elvis in it.

Your back really is starting to bother you, which you attribute to the obvious, and after a few minutes alone, you realize you would rather be around people than not. You get up from the booth, then a wave of dizziness overtakes you and you grab the edge of the table for support as you blink away the spots in your eyes.

You wonder for a moment if you might be coming down with whatever Jack has, but your throat is fine. After a moment, the wave mostly passes, so you make your way to the skating rink to watch the group from the sidelines. There are a few people on the sidelines, and you have fun making small talk and watching the antics in the rink. After a bit, most of the girls come back out as Elvis and the boys are getting pretty rough, and part of you is a little glad Jack isn’t here to get injured.

You ignore the ache in your back (it’s just something you’ll have to get used to, after all) and another wave of lightheadedness hits you as you all head back to the table. You are starting to feel distracted, your stomach churning now a bit, too, and you remind yourself that being pregnant isn’t necessarily a picnic. You feel a bit claustrophobic now, shoved in the booth with the other ladies, and excuse yourself to the restroom, thinking it might be time to go home.

Something’s wrong, you think, a feeling of dread coming over you. Forcing yourself to breathe, you remind yourself again and again that you are just pregnant and these are symptoms of that. You pause at the water fountain to drink, hoping the water might settle your stomach.

As you are bent over, someone zips behind you on skates, then suddenly you feel a hand groping your backside.

Yelping, you choke on the water and jump, turning around.

“Hey there, pretty girl,” a man you don’t recognize leers at you, way too close for comfort.

“Excuse me,” you say haughtily, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest, making your lightheadedness even worse. “I think you have me confused with someone else.”

“Naw, you’re the prettiest girl in here. Why ya all by your lonesome?” he purrs at you, the sound setting off every warning bell in your body, adrenaline clashing with your dizziness and churning stomach. He leans down, as if to try and kiss you and you push him back.

“Leave me alone!” you say, your voice raising in both volume and pitch. You try to sidestep him, but he grabs you hard and presses you into the wall. You think you might vomit all over him.

“Don’t be like that! All I want is a little kiss,” he says, one wandering hand groping your chest as his lips come at you.

“Don’t touch me! Stop it!” you shriek, trying to squirm out of his grasp as his disgusting mouth roams over your face and neck. Your body betrays you, though, your back throbbing, weakness overcoming your limbs, and you can’t fight him off. You curse the fact that the bathrooms are so far back from the rest of the group, and you pray that someone hears you.

“Get off of me!” you try to scream, but he’s trying to silence you with his hand. Panic overtakes you now as you realize this man is going to hurt you, but in your current state, you are unable to fight.

“What the fuck are you doin’?!” You hear the low growl before the horrible man boxing you in is yanked backwards and sideways, his eyes bulging in surprise. You gasp as you watch Elvis collide with the man, his momentum from how fast he must have been skating sending the man flying.

The man stumbles and rolls, flailing and falling, and Elvis looks like you’ve never seen him before as he spins around. His eyes are dark and lethal, his jaw clenching and unclenching as his chest heaves with his breath. He looks terrifying, his focus singular, and you are almost afraid for the man. Almost.

“I asked you a fucking question,” Elvis growls again, pulling the dazed man upright by his shirt. “What the fuck were you doin’ to her?!” he yells, pulling back his arm and then socking the man in the jaw so hard you can hear the crack. The man is stunned for a moment, blood beginning to seep from the corner of his mouth, but he recovers, taking a swing at Elvis.

It barely grazes him and doesn’t even phase Elvis, who seems possessed. “Don’t you ever fuckin’ touch her!” Elvis shouts, then punches the man in the face again, hard, sending him flying.

Things are happening so fast, you can barely process it. You can hardly breathe, the waves of dizziness pouring over you, making it hard to focus.

Elvis goes for the man again, and suddenly you are fearful he might kill him because he seems so blacked out with rage. Elvis hits him again and the man falls to the floor in a heap, bloody and bruised.

“Elvis, Elvis, stop!” you try to call out, but your voice is too quiet, wavering, and he is too far gone. You need to stop him before he does something he cannot take back, and you know something is wrong with you because you can’t get your body to move the way you need it to.

It’s then that a sharp, searing pain burns in your abdomen, and a primal scream bursts from your lungs. A shockwave of agony rolls through you, knocking the breath from your body. It’s so sudden and all-encompassing that you see red, and you clutch at your belly, your head spinning, fearing the worst.

The baby.

Your cry finally snaps Elvis back to reality because he’s with you in a flash, fear and concern flashing over his features, replacing the fury that was there mere seconds ago.

“Y/n! Y/n, what is it? Did he hurt you?” he gasps, looking you over as tears stream down your cheeks.

You can’t catch your breath, and your heart is beating too fast. Then, you feel hot liquid spread from your belly downwards, life spilling out of you, running down your legs. You feel sick as you look down, Elvis’ gaze following your own. That’s when you see the dark red begin to stain your dress and your stockings.

It’s over, it’s over, the baby, oh god, runs through your head, a dismal chant in your mind. You look at Elvis with resigned horror, but you are feeling so lightheaded, you can barely focus on anything. Even the pain starts to wane and feel distant. You know this isn’t normal, even for a miscarriage. Something is terribly wrong.

“No, no, no, no, no,” you hear him beg, his hands on your face, your shoulders, his eyes wild with terror now. “We need help over here!” he bellows, never taking his eyes off you.

They are so beautiful, those crystalline eyes, those dark lashes, you think absently as you begin to slump over.

You are somewhat aware of his strong arms catching you as he slides down with you to the floor. They feel so warm and comforting, you think. You blink up at him, your vision starting to dim.

“Y/n, no, don’t you dare, you stay w-w-with me, b-baby,” Elvis says in a panic, shaking you, pulling you into his lap. A sharp metallic smell permeates the air. “Somebody c-call a damn ambulance!” you hear him shout. You can hear the terror in his voice, in his stutter, and you wonder why he’s so scared. You’ve never heard him this scared.

“Elvis?” you whisper. You try to keep your eyes open, but it’s so hard.

“Yeah, b-b-baby?” his voice shudders. You can feel his chest heaving as he presses you into him, rocking you, tucking your head under his. He always has to be moving, his energy always vibrating around him.

“I feel so strange…” you say, and you do. You’re aware of the pain but it feels so far away. Everything feels far away except for the heat of Elvis, which feels like a blanket around you. With the warmth pouring out of you, you start to feel cold.

“I-I-I know, baby. Come on, you stay awake, now,” he says in your ear as your eyes start to close. He shakes you again. You force them to flutter open. You think whatever is happening must be really bad if he’s so scared.

“Tell Jack I…I love him,” you breathe quietly, just in case.

“You tell him yourself, damnit,” Elvis chokes out, pulling you in closer.

“Thanks for…being…my friend…so good to me,” you say, but it’s not enough. You can’t seem to get the right words out, your mouth filling with cotton. You bring your shaking fingers up to his cheek, your face is buried in his neck, his smell surrounding you. He smells so nice. He feels so good wrapped around you. You’re not nervous to be near him anymore, all of that seems so silly now. Your hand drifts and you feel his full lips under your fingertips. They really are as soft as they look.

You can’t keep your eyes open anymore and blackness starts to swallow you, your hand falling onto his chest, but you feel unusually calm.

“No, no, no! Oh, God, don’t—please don’t go. I-I love you, y/n, please, I love y…” Elvis whispers pleadingly in your ear.

His quiet, startling confession fades away and is the last thing you hear before the world goes completely dark and silent.

*

Elvis at the Rainbow Rollerdome, March 19th, 1960

Taglist:

@atombombbibunny @yesimwriting @uselessbutinteresting @mirandastuckinthe80s @dark-as-love

@domaniquessidehoe @im-lame-irl @allybrooke05 @hangmanswhore

@jazmin2211  @kvcssghbjbcd @coldonexx @dudinhahoff @whatstruthgottodowithit @tiredbuthappy  @amiets2  @saintmagx

@kvcssghbjbcd @butlersluvbot @babydollie43 @vainbimbo @meladollsims @wstelandbaby @dre6ming @normatural @ash-omalley @xcallmetaniax @galvz-42 @thejezebel @fullmetal-falcon @robinismywife @dre6ming @seaweedbrain00 @amiets2 @mslizziesblog @heisatroubleinapinksuit @calusussss @dont-feel-so-good-peter @rainydayz101 @pizzaisrelationshipgoals  

@liaaacantwrite @kittenlittle24 @kaitaesupremacy @butler-trouble @eliseinmemphis @russian-soft-bitch  @tattywood 

@sassanoe @re3kin @thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle @carolinesbookworld 

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[artfromsaturn]

Saturn’s Free CSP Brush Recommendations, CS Asset Store Edition

I may sell brushes now, but I still love me some free brushes & love to share them with people.  These are a bunch of cool brushes made by other people that you can use to build up a nice library of tools without having to spend any cash on, perfect if you’re new to CSP or are on a budget.  If you do download these, be sure to like them & give some love to the artist if you enjoy them. :D

How to find: type in the Content ID or Ctrl/Command + C & P (copy and paste shortcuts) into the Clip Studio asset store on the Clip Studio application.  I’ll add a link as a preview but copying & pasting the content ID is easiest.  I have automatic translation ON, so sorry if you read some weird names.   Feel free to reblog this with your own suggestions, there’s many brushes out there I missed. :D  Check defsiarte’s suggestions too, and if you want to see my recommendations for stuff on Gumroad/DA & other places, check this tag.

Large Packs

“An analogue art supply" - 1813808 Huge pack of everything, including acrylic, oil, watercolor, marker, pen, & pencil.  I like the markers and sometimes use the acrylics too.

Crm's Toolbox, Watercolors, Markers, & other treasures

Fantastic use of texture and some cute effects pens.  The artist has posted everything from quality painting & drawing pens to quality glitter pens for writing.

The Old Default Assets - 1842027 & 1841759 These aren’t pictured, but if you ever see an older tutorial or video showcasing some default brushes you never had, it’s because CSP reworked its default tools around version 1.9.  Fortunately they rerelased them so anyone can redownload them. The old ones are still good to use, they’re just not included.

Painters - With Texture

Thiccpaint - 1707517 Never leave home without it.  I riot if I don’t have them on my computer..  They have the right combination of texture, shape, & blend with great handling and great variety.

Icyannyou's Momo Sets - user:Icyannyou Super cute packs that give a lovely painterly look.  The Storybook pack is fantastic, and even if you don't draw cute you can still use these painters & blenders to give your artwork character. :)

Thick Coating Brush Set - 1683127 I like these for background work, but it's a big pack of thick textured painters with good handling & neat effects.

Marredae's Brushes - user:Marredae This artist has a knack for textured brushes.  Very high rec, fantastic library of wet & dry painting/rendering tools.

Roro Oil - 1820057 Rompi is another user I enjoy the stuff of, and I'll recommend a few more brushes from them in other categories by the time this post is done.  Check 'em out!

Suika chalk -  1760304 Very useful rough chalk.  Sometimes, that’s all you need!

Sprongle -  1935694 A simple round brush with a nice rough tip.  Slightly rough without being too rough, great for quick paintings.

Johnnie halloween pack & Brokenhearted brushes... - 1876075 & 1938786, user:EnjieLemon EnjieLemon has some nice brushes in general, but some are paid for.  Still worth checking out due to their cheap clippy price (and clippy can be obtained for free).  The Brokenhearted brushes have a nice texture.  The Halloween pack includes a cute pumpkin stamp along with some easy to use chalk, oil, & watercolor brushes.  Compact and easy to use!

“Watercolor marker and texture set” - 1682349 There's a reason this set is one of the most downloaded on the asset store.  It's one of the best looking watercolor replicas out there, and even if you don't use the brushes, you can likely still find a use for the textures.  Great for soft coloring.

Grunge Brushes, Soft | Heavy | Complex Brushes & Xenomorphius' stuff in general -  user:xenomorphius Xeno drops some cool natural looking brushes out every so often for painting, inking, and dry media.  Please check 'em out!  The grunge brushes create a fun, grungy look like it says on the pack, & the soft/heavy/complex set can be used for painting as well as lining.  

Oil-h5 trial -  1976418 These brushes are hard to explain.  They work with the dual brush setting, & push around a layer of paint on top of your regular paint, creating a cool, streaky look.  They're a hidden gem.

MYNQZO brushes - 1993875 A pretty darn good set for painting.  I really love rough brush 2, it's great for sketching & rendering.

Painting, non-textured 

(basic rounds & other shapes for smooth rendering)

Kiminie71's Brush Set -  1728687 4 simple rounds that are great for rendering!   https://assets.clip-studio.com/en-us/detail?id=1728687

CHIMAKA Set -  1747974 Heavy drag paint that highlights well & applies thickly.  Great for bold shading.

Choms Paint -  1910936 It just gets me.  No further elaboration.

Honeypen<3 -  1786787 Fits great in my paint hand.  Very slidey & blends like intended!

Wet flat marker -  1917678 Super blending brush, gives super soft edges to paint.  Blends great.

oil mushblendiw -  1918739 Another simple & easy to use roundbrush.

Paint - 1760641 This plainly named brush is a triangle brush that goes between heavy & light with pressure.  The creator, Puppsicle, also sells some neat brushes on Ko-Fi if you enjoy this brush.

"The Scarlet Knot Brush Set 2" - 1916125 I use the watercolor of thought out of this set, but they're all pretty good & easy to use. https://assets.clip-studio.com/en-us/detail?id=1916125

Sunday - 1825825 A round brush with a watercolor border that gives a nice, sketchy feeling. https://assets.clip-studio.com/en-us/detail?id=1825825

Marker Brushes

Marker Texture Brush -1809506 A very nice subtly textured brush.  Has a nice instructional guide on how to get the best results with it. :D

Mirre's Marker set - 1749822 Another good brush with a subtle texture.  Comes with its own blender!

Woody Marker & Pencil set - 1772987 I also love the pencil in this pack.  Nice woody feel, feel free to turn off multiply.

Pencils & Sketchers

SU-Cream Pencil - 1761353 no wonder its popular.  Can be used for lineart, sketching, and coloring, this versatile brush delivers a great smooth look with a gentle textured end finish on pressure.

Write BoruPenP - 1753435 Probably the best ballpoint pen on Clip.  Please check out Pharan's things, I love them.😊

“Pencil-like Brush for Lineart” - 1692270 Ok this is kind of a weird way to recommend something.  It's SUPPOSED to be a pencil but I use it like a paintbrush with the opacity & density on pressure control, & another copy with blending turned on.  Whatever you use it for, you're sure to get a good result!

Grease pencil/china marker - 1774978 Chunky brush for chunky sketching needs.

Muda muda muda - 1715496 A pretty darn good dark pencil.

REDSketch soft - 1907313 just a nice sketcher!  Good for shading too.

MUGZ BRUSH - 1861032 A set of dry chalk & brushes.  Gives a fun messy look when used!

T Spade Pencil - 1769208 A pencil that looks great for lineart as well as sketches.  Good taper.

Magipencil 2 - 1755940 Utterly good for textured and smooth lineart.  These pens get me.  Can’t recommend them enough. :)

Pens & Inkers

G-pen 6 - 1767809 A generic name but a good Gpen with character.  Organic without sacrificing too much smoothness.

"Flat thick pen" - 1826131 I call it the card games pen.  I think you can see why.  Solid at high pressure, a little bit of texture at low pressure, and pretty great for sharp angles.

Haggiben_Lineart_Color - 1770988 A nice triangle liner.

Gabu Pen - 1894713 Very slightly rough pen on one side, another nice triangle-like liner.

Aeridus - user:Aeridis All 3 of their pens give a nice result.

Pilot Pen - 1895049 A great IRL brush now a digital one!

Fude set - 1726964 & 1759205 Heavy, beautiful ink!  The creator has some more good ink pens too, take a look. :D  

Dimi - 1763877 It's a ga,l with a knife and a nice calligraphy pen.  Can't ask for more. Turn on >particles "change with brush size" in settings to keep the shape without chaning.  

New Cali A nice set of Calligraphy brushes.  They have smooth transitions between big and small.  

Blend, Fill, & Erase

Noise and texture blur - 1842730 If you want a more painterly look to your blur, get these!  They said they're supposed to be turned from free to paid, but the artist hasn't come back and done it yet.  Will they do it?  I'm not sure. :0

Textured Blending & Blurs - 1904941 & 1971444 They're actually made by me, my apologies, but it's hard to find textured blenders by themselves.  Most are included in a set or are something you have to pay for, so I released a few free stand alone ones due to it.  Normal solid round blenders & blurs are easier to find & even easier to create yourself! https://assets.clip-studio.com/en-us/detail?id=1904941 https://assets.clip-studio.com/en-us/detail?id=1971444

Unhelpful Eraser - 1798605 The terrible hard eraser that you had in school becomes digital.  Download it as a tribute.

Quick Lasso Fill -  1978471 Fills up a lasso'ed area.

Random Color Fill - 1707873 Picks random spaces to fill.  The picture in the demonstration shows it better than I can describe.

Scratchy Coloring - 1845677 A fun scratchy brush that can fill areas up.

Quick Lasso Eraser - 1875033 This and the next brush are both @pharan​ ‘s again.  This does the same as the lasso fill, but erases as you can tell.

Erase along Edge - 1800143 An eraser that takes advantage of reference layers.  The description explains it in detail.

"Create Solid-irregularity set" aka adding texture to black solid ink patches - 1768052 These distress the paper, making it look more textured.  Easier to look at than to explain, click the link for more!

Mirre Cross Hatch Brush Set - 1972956 I love the look the spaced lines give.  Fantastic set.

Overlap Hatching (…"a texan"???) - 1712720 One of the most popular Clip Studio Hatchers for a reason, easy to apply hatchers that you can just keep adding to for a sparse or dense look.

Dust hatching brush - 1966237 Simple light hatcher with dust particles around it for a dusty feeling.

Cross-hatching Blur - 1684830

I actually recommend all of  user:もの区 ‘s stuff they have posted for crosshatching.  There’s a whole bunch of great free brushes there for anyone who enjoy hatching!

“Rough and Solid” - 1874629 A ribbon brush that makes good borders.

“Coarse Solid Erase” - 1872105 For those who like to fill an area, then erase the light parts away.

chaos brushes - 1569895 A great marbler.  

"Dirty cross hatching_monochrome" - 1727346 A nice, thick, analogue hatch.  SB has some great material in general, but most needs clippy.

Creepy Lines 1 & 2 - 1405766 & 1707236 Get some spooky lines into your art!

Simple Retro Halftone - 1802041 A small set that's easy to use to add some halftone texture.

retro halftone brushes - 1852027 A larger yet still easy to use set with more specific brushes to use for each color.

Mar's Halftones -  1949506 A set with a lot of fun patterns!  Check out SpiralPuzzle's stuff in general, they post some unique brushes.

Pixel Art

Pixel Brushes by tsiox - (small) 1971800 & (large) 1969097 THE Clip Studio pixel set.  Has a ton of tools & textures to use.  The small set is better for slower internet connections & if you don't want all the patterns.

Studio Screen Tones - 1803496 If you like Flipnote studios or need more dithers, get this!

Pixel Foliage Brushes - 1883082 I apologize for promoting my own assets again, but I promise they're useful if you're doing anything with grass, trees, or bushes! ;w; My basic set - 1910804 Another lighter set with a few noise brushes that are useful at tiny size.  Did my best not to overlap with tsiox’s set while covering the basics.

Bonus: two blending pixel brush sets.   Mao Pixel (1779745) & Scummy Pixel(1782455). They’re not for exact pixel art, they’re more for playing around with & painting. :)

[oraclekleo]

[Tarot Challenge] March Tarot Challenge

Hello my dear followers, mutuals, soul family members and other tarot enthusiasts!

I would love to interact with you guys more in a more active way and what could be better than a challenge?

What is the Monthly Tarot Challenge?

Simply put - Each month I’ll come up with a prompt for a tarot reading to be done that month. I would like those of you who have a tarot deck of their own, regardless of your level of experience or skill, to reblog the Challenge post, adding the result of the prompted reading. Or you can make a separate post with appropriate tags and ideally tagging me so I can easily find it. This way we can all try out of the box types of readings, no prejudice, no judgement, just good fun and possibly insight and enlightenment. What do you think? Shall we go for it? Let’s start with the March Tarot Challenge!

March Tarot Prompt

Deck Interview!

What is your general vibe?

What kind of readings suit you best?

What do you think about me as a tarot reader?

How can we best collaborate?

Any message you have for me right now.

You might remember I did this exact interview with my Tarot of Casanova Deck.

Pick a deck of yours and ask it the questions above, pull the cards, record the outcome and share it with us here!

It doesn’t matter whether you interview a new deck or a deck you have been using for years.

It doesn’t matter whether you are an advanced tarot reader or you have just begun with cartomancy.

Few lines or keywords are enough as a result, though I hope you can write more as this is your personal conversation with your deck, possibly a tool you’re gonna be using for years to come.

And because my interview with Tarot of Casanova went so well, here is my entry for this month’s challenge.

The Slavic Legends Tarot

Deck Interview!

What is your general vibe? - Ace of Pentacles

This deck is a seed of abundance and pleasure. It goes to the roots of a matter, making each reading blossoming with wisdom. It’s both vastly knowledgeable but also sort of humble and down-to-Earth. It might not use flashy imagery but its messages go deep and reveal the truth. This deck represents the beauty and genius of a common sense which might be sometimes neglected by tarot readers. The Slavic Legends Tarot has the potential to truly expand its significance and grow onto the tarot reader, aka me.

What kind of readings suit you best? - II The High Priestess, IX The Hermit

This deck loves any readings seeking wisdom and revealing what’s hidden. It’s likely to poke my subconscious mind, forgotten memories, even dreams. This deck can explain it all, bringing light of wisdom to the darkness, pulling the information needed from the bushes, guiding the way and installing clarite where chaos used to be. This deck loves meaningful readings, yet those with a direct impact on the querent's everyday life. It’s not a deck to predict the future, it’s a deck to help the querent create their future and build on wisdom and knowledge.

What do you think about me as a tarot reader? - 7 of Wands

The Slavic Legends Tarot deck sees me as a resilient tarot reader, the one who will often take more than enough onto themselves, trying to do all the work and becoming even more motivated by any kind of opposition. Hard-headed is the world. I don’t back up when the reading sounds unpleasant, I dig deep and carry the information with dignity and over the hills. Maybe my readings aren’t cute and pretty but they hit the right spots.

How can we best collaborate? - XVIII The Moon, XI The Justice

Aww the Moon lady has two dogs just like me! Haha, so sweet! Anyway, we already know each other for a while with this deck. We mostly work very intuitively. This is the deck I can understand very well even when it comes with no booklet. We have a certain mental connection. See the crescent moon glowing at the lady’s head? That’s the clarity of intention. Whatever I ask this deck, it comes with a clear information and message. I respect this deck greatly and it respects me in return, the balance is constantly present. As long as we can maintain a harmonious relationship, this deck is likely to bring plenty of wisdom and joy into my life.

Any message you have for me right now. - 2 of Wands

The vast horizons are awaiting me and my exploring. There’s still so much to learn and so much to experience. I should never stop wondering, craving, and being curious. Life can become an adventure, shall I decide to take the leap and start the journey. And I don’t need to be afraid as I’m going to be guided by a map and protected.

Thank you for participating in the challenge!!

I'm always grateful for any feedback.

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[phantomspiderr]

New Year

Pairing: Marc Spector x gn!reader

Word Count: 2.5k+

Summary: Layla invites you to her New Year's Eve party where you get the chance to meet her ex-husband

Warnings/Tags: mentions of drinking and partying, kind of want drunk Layla around now, Marc maybe being just a little creepy, he really doesn't know how to act around people sometimes, fireworks are mentioned too, again no real mentions of readers appearance or gender(I tried to use they/them so it's a little more neutral), Steven gets a lil mention, a little swearing too. As always if I've missed anything please let me know!

a/n: Thank you, thank you all so so so much for making this year better. If you're a casual follower of my very infrequent posting or this is the first time you've come across my work, I thank you. Being able to express myself in this way has been freeing, and stressful but I'm glad I could bring any amount of joy to even one person. Thank you for every like and every reblog and every comment. I wish you all the best for this new year, may it come with happiness and joy and hopefully more really good fanfiction to read. Sending you all a little bit of love🤍

･☆: *.☽ .* :☆

Music blares throughout the flat as you weave around the people littered through the hallway. Parties definitely aren’t your favourite place to be but for your friend, you’d do anything she asked, plus it’s New Year's Eve so you thought why not. You may not have recognised a single person since you’d arrived but this is fun, this is what you’re supposed to do at your age right? Before you have any more time to fret a squeal sounds from behind you, your name quickly following, “you came!” When you turn Layla is quickly coming towards you with her arms wide open, a few people looking in your direction now because of the noise. You only manage to squeak out a hi before you’re encompassed by Layla, her arms tight around your shoulders, the force of her body against yours knocking the wind out of you. She pulls back only a little to cup your face in her hands, “I’m really glad you’re here.” You can tell by the tint of red on her cheeks she’s already a few drinks down which apparently makes her a bit more affectionate.

“Layla!” A small group of people enters the room immediately drawing the attention of the beautiful host to them, her hands dropping down to yours and she squeals again. Quickly turning back to you for just a moment, “I’ll come find you later! Have fun! Enjoy!” And just like that, she’s off running to greet more of her friends.

You wander around the decently sized flat for a while after that, finding a drink in the makeshift bar set up in the kitchen along the way, briefly chatting to a few people around, and then of course you find yourself a quiet corner. Looking amongst shelves filled with treasures and memories of Layla’s many adventures, she’d told you stories over casual lunches, even invited you on her next one. Still, even after being friends for very nearly a year, there’s still so much mystery that follows her everywhere she goes. You eventually come across a picture of someone you recognise, Layla’s father, the one person she was more than fond of talking about. She’d told you many, many tales about her father, about all the places he’d been, the things he’d discovered, and about how she wanted to be just like him. You admire the picture in its intricate gold frame, a small pendant hangs on a chain over the top of the frame, something you’re sure is a treasured possession. Your hand moves upward, fingers extending to the pendant just to get a better look at it-

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you,” your hand retreats to your chest so quickly you almost knock the drink out of your other hand. The person who spoke much too close for your liking, and then the chuckle that follows your gasp is short-lived as you turn to the source of the warning. You’re met with an incredibly good-looking man, his hair loosely slicked back and an amused smirk gracing his really handsome features. If he hadn’t just creepily snuck up on you you’d maybe be interested in talking to him and your expression clearly shows that when you turn back around in hopes he’ll just disappear. He doesn’t. “Sorry, it’s just that she’d be devastated if that went missing.”

“I wasn’t going to steal it.” You snap a little too harshly but then again you think he’s insinuating you’d steal from your friend. You’re increasingly becoming more frustrated the longer he stands over your shoulder, his presence is too much for you.

“I didn’t say you were. I’ve met a lot of thieves, you’re definitely not built for that.” You’re annoyed now, scowling at this complete stranger when you turn back around.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Just as the man opens his mouth to reply Layla appears again, her arm hooking around your waist to pull you closer and your face instantly changes, smiling at your ever-so-happy friend. Your own arm wrapping around her, glad for the interruption, she scrunches her nose as you exchange cute little hi’s.

“Are you having fun?” The people pleaser in you manages to get out an 'mhmm' and force a fake smile, not that Layla would notice right now. You’ve only seen her in this state maybe a handful of times, she’s less observant and much more carefree. Your eyes flicker back to the stranger still lurking across from you, Layla only now registering his presence, “ahh Marc! You met Marc!”

Marc? That’s Marc?!

Layla had told you all about Marc and even tried to set you up with her ex-husband. What kind of friend tries to set you up with their ex-husband? That is exactly what you’d said to her before changing the subject, every time she tried to bring it up. You’d somehow managed to miss every opportunity to meet most of Layla’s other friends, lots of them living in different countries and only coming to visit for short periods of time but you knew Marc had lived here and you’d personally avoided trying to meet him, not wanting to make things awkward. You knew Layla’s type for partners, they were all extremely good-looking and in your opinion way out of your league and you just didn't feel like having another unrequited crush.

“This is the husband?!” You finally manage to get out with confusion etching your features as you look between the pair.

“Ex! Ex-husband!” Marc is a little too quick to correct. You’re sure you hear a ‘smooth’ and when you look at Layla she’s grinning. Marc only gives her a grumpy look before quickly excusing himself from the conversation.

“Soooooooo,” Layla draws out as she turns to face you, her hands slipping into your free one, “what did you think?”

“Of Marc?” Your face scrunches, to which Layla just scoffs, “you didn’t tell me he was a creep.” She scoffs again, this time giggling a little.

Layla leans in as if to whisper, she even has the audacity to lift her hand to the side of her mouth but the alcohol in her system inhibits her from being able to lower her volume, “he’s just nervous to be around you. He gets weird like that around people he likes!”

“Excuse me?!” You go wide-eyed, did you hear her right? But of course, before she gets a chance to reply someone calls her name, and her head whips around, your conversation was completely forgotten to her now.

“Oh, come on they're playing beer pong!” Layla tugs at your hand, a disappointed pout appearing when you shake your head and begin to decline, “please, please, please.” She begs in the way she knows you can’t say no to and so you let her drag you toward the kitchen, still thinking about the short conversation you'd just had.

-

It’s almost midnight when you stumble out of the kitchen, many games of beer pong down and an even drunker Layla staying behind to do shots. Drunk Layla has exactly no inhibitions and is definitely more affectionate than normal Layla. Now you’re in need of some fresh air, all of the laughter and closeness in the kitchen is proving a bit much for you. Luckily you can see no one has made it out to the little makeshift balcony so you awkwardly climb through the window. Once outside you feel like you’re able to breathe again, you truly hadn’t realised how stuffy it had been inside. You manage to take in a deep breath before the cold hits you hard, and your body immediately reacts. Your arms wrap around your body, hands rubbing along the tops of your arms to create some warmth.

“It's cold out.” You jump again at unexpectedly hearing Marc’s voice, turning on your heels thinking he’s behind you only for no one to be there. “Up here,” you look up to the side when he talks again, there he is perched on top of an old chimney, giving you a shy wave.

“You know you have the whole creepy stalker thing down,” you speak half-heartedly but still he chuckles.

“Hey, you came to me this time.” He raises his eyebrow and shrugs his shoulders.

“You are the one sitting alone like some bird on the rooftop,” your arms fold over your chest now and Marc mumbles something you don’t quite hear before he effortlessly slides off of the chimney and casually walks down the slight incline of the roof like he’s done it a hundred times before.

“I’m not really one for parties,” you watch as he shrugs off his thin jacket, leaving him in just a t-shirt and you wonder how he isn’t freezing out here and why he's even taking his jacket off, to begin with. “Y’know it’s December, you really shouldn’t go out without a jacket,” he holds the material out to you which your confusion-clouded brain takes. Then he turns away to lean his elbows down on the balcony railing, looking out onto the lively streets of London. You feel yourself soften a little, maybe you were a bit quick to judge him and brand him a creep.

“Me too,” you pull the jacket on and join him next to the railing, watching people in nearby streets celebrating.

“So, how come you’re here?” Marc twists his head to the side so he can just look at you.

“Layla,” Marc hums in agreement, “said she’d disown me if I didn’t.” That makes Marc laugh which turns out to be a pleasant sound when you don’t think he’s trying to be some kind of perv.

“Sounds like something she’d do.”

“She didn’t actually say that, it was more like,” you think for a second, preparing yourself for your best Layla impression “‘please you always miss my parties, I want everyone to meet you!’” Your hands had somehow gripped onto his bicep in the process, exactly how you remembered the conversation with Layla going.

It all makes Marc laugh again, “that sounded nothing like her!”

“Eh, close enough,” you lean your elbows against the railing, mirroring Marc’s stance now. The balcony is so small that you have no choice but to stand a little too close to him. There’s a little pause, Marc’s laughter dying out but the sound of the party still flowing through the window. “So, how come you’re here?” You nudge your shoulder against his arm to draw his attention.

“Uh, something similar.” Suddenly he’s acting a little hostile, his body goes more rigid and his expression hardens a little. Then there’s an awkward silence and you just try to focus on some passersby on the street below. “She was a bit more like ‘please! I want you there and you need to leave the house. Plus I know you want to meet a certain person and I promise to make sure they’re there!’” You lock eyes together for a quiet moment before both bursting into laughter.

“That was terrible!” You choke out between laughs and before Marc has time to reply, loud calls draw your attention away. Everyone inside seems to have crowded around all facing the tv and all shouting along with the countdown appearing on the screen.

“Hey look out right over there, between that gap in the buildings.” Marc points out off to the side, stealing your attention back and you look hard for what he’s trying to point out. You can only see the hue of light coming from buildings and street lamps, nothing else.

“There’s nothing-“

“Just wait,” you look at him confused for a moment but his eyes are transfixed on the horizon and you can just hear him whispering along with the loud countdown coming from inside.

3…2…1…

The sky explodes into colour in front of your very eyes. Fireworks light up the night sky, far enough away that the bangs aren’t too loud but the view is still spectacular. You can hear cheers all around, from inside Layla’s flat to the pubs down the street. Marc’s face glows with the colours in the sky and he’s smiling while he watches the fireworks. He almost looks childlike like this, like he’s never experienced it before and he’s captivating.

“Happy New Year then.” Marc straightens suddenly, catching you completely off guard, almost like he’d just snapped back into his body and he just holds his hand out toward you. Slowly you raise your own hand into his, replying with a simple, “happy new year.” You both shake hands, probably the weirdest way someone has ever wished you a happy new year.

“Oh come on!” You both turn to see Layla on the other side of the window, the look on her face one of exasperation, and her eyes lock with Marc’s, “if you don’t kiss them now then I will!” Immediately you snap your head back around to look out at London, trying desperately to hide the flustered look you’re sure is showing on your face right now. Sober Layla definitely isn’t that forward.

Just for a second Marc’s accent changes as he starts spitting out apologises on your friend's behalf, "I-no-we don’t have to-" he pauses for a second as if he’s centering himself, takes a deep breath, and talks in his normal voice again. “I think I’m just going to go sober her up a bit.”

“Yeah good idea,” you try to suppress the laugh at Layla’s disagreement to be sober and the way she runs off to hide as Marc tries and fails to catch her arm before she can disappear. He lets out a big sigh before climbing back in the window, leaving you to your own devices for just a second before his head pops back out the window.

“Don’t- uh, don’t leave yet okay?” His face contorts a little like he doesn’t know what to do with it before he gives you an awkward smile.

“Okay,” you chuckle out, immediately pausing when he smacks his head off of the half-open window, "oh-oh my- are you-"

“‘m fine, it’s fine.” He holds onto the back of his head, eyes shut real tight for just a second and he just awkwardly turns away and back around, lifting his hand almost like to wave before dropping it again, "okay I’m just-" he turns and walks away. You move to stick your head through the window into the flat just to make sure he’s okay and you only just hear him mutter, “for fucks sake Steven.” Steven?

You retreat back out of the window and only then do you realise you’re still wearing his jacket. Quickly you peer back into the flat to try to catch him, “Marc-“ your eyes scan across the room, “and you’re gone.” You sigh before moving away from the window again, surely him asking you not to leave meant he wanted to see you again, or something like that, right?

You pull your focus away from your thoughts, instead looking back out at the night sky. It’s rare to see any stars in the London sky but littered around are little white dots accompanying a beautiful half-moon. Maybe this year wouldn’t be so bad after all.

[idoodlestuffsometimes]

Brother's Keeper AU:

Frequently Asked Questions

Q: How did Caleb live so long? How can he still be here after 400 years?

A: Belos wanted him to stick around and so he made it happen. As for specifics: *shrugs* your guess is as good as mine! This is something I've preferred to leave up to the readers. I will simply confirm that he isn't hiding any goop powers or OP palisman-given magical abilities. He is, for all intents and purposes, a regular human who is somehow really, really old.

Q: If Caleb is still alive, where did Hunter come from?

A: The full story here hasn't been told yet, but you may notice Caleb is missing quite a few bones...

Q: Caleb's ears are pointed! Did Belos cut them??

A: Correct

Q: Does Caleb know about the Collector/the basilisks/Belos' plans?

A: Probably! He's been Belos' sounding board for 400 years. Access to things that could "further corrupt him" or provide him a tool for escape, however, are off limits, so there are many things, like the Collector, that he's heard about but never seen for himself.

Q: Where's Flapjack/Amity/Darius/etc?

A: This is basically a canon divergence. If you haven't seen a particular character, it's safe to assume for now that they're up to whatever they were doing in canon.

Q: I don't get it. Why is Caleb insane?

A: I suggest you reread the first few story posts, my friend! You have fallen for Belos' lies.

Q: Do you have a posting schedule? When will the next part come out?

A: There is no posting schedule. I draw (mostly but not always) traditionally in my free time, for the fun of telling a cool story, and some posts are longer than others. That means the timing of the next post depends on how long it is, how much time I have, and whether or not I'm at home with access to my scanner. Sometimes this means I post quickly. Sometimes it means you'll see me next month. Sorry about that.

Just know that if I know there's going to be an extended wait, especially one where I'm not actively working on the next drawing, I will make an announcement about it. If you haven't seen an update in a while but I also haven't said anything, it's almost definitely because I'm actively chipping away at a part of the story that's taking me longer.

Q: Why do some of the story posts have a letter after the number? Are these less important than the regular story posts? Can I skip them?

A: No, I Do Not Recommend skipping them! They are just as important as the others. They have a letter on the end because they were added later and I use letters as a way to avoid renumbering everything. If you see story posts labeled something like "3, 3A, 4", they are meant to be read the same as you would if they were "3, 4, 5".

Q: Can I make art/fic/cosplay of this au?

A: Knock yourself out! If you post it somewhere, please include credit, but otherwise I don't mind, and actually love seeing what you do with it! If it's NSFW though, please keep it in appropriate spaces with proper warnings.

Q: Wait there's fic/fanart?? Can I see?

A: If you look through the tag on my blog "BK fridge gallery" you can browse any content shared with me that I've reblogged. :) People are free not to share it with me too though, and there are some I don't reblog, especially if its gorey or suggestive, so you might be able to find a bit more elsewhere under the Brother's Keeper AU name if you look for it.

You may also notice I have a featured tag called "BK Soundtrack." That's for songs that people have suggested to go with the AU. You are welcome to browse or suggest songs of your own ;)

Q: :( I sent an ask but you didn't answer. Did you get it?

A: Probably, yes. Sometimes it takes me a few days to get to it. However, if it was theorizing about future plot points, I may actually be holding onto it with plans to answer at a more appropriate time. I like to keep many of my plans for the story close to the chest, so don't be surprised if your theory ask disappears only to show up many months later when the story has progressed to a point where I can give you a more in depth answer.

[kitmon]

S'That Metal? | Eddie Munson x Fem!Musician!Reader

Series Masterlist

Summary: A new neighbor just moved in a door down and Eddie can’t reign in his curiosity.

Pairing: Eddie Munson (Stranger Things, 2022) x Fem!Musician!Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Tags: swearing, Eddie falls and hurts himself (talk of aching pain and soreness), probably some bad guitar talk because I’ve only been playing for a few months, reader is a bit mean but, I mean, she’s totally justified, Eddie's kinda a creep but he has innocent intentions

Author’s Note: So here’s a little snippet of a series I hope to continue writing! And if you guys can get this post to like 50 notes (20 of those notes being reblogs) I’ll finish this chapter and post it and I’ll think about continuing this series because I do really want to write it but I’ve been discouraged by lack of interaction in the past. If I do reach my notes goal I’ll probably touch this up and change the title for a full series but we’ll see what happens. Happy reading!

The sun is hanging low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the tops of the pine trees that decorate the edge of Forest Hills, indigo darkening the east as day gives way to night. Eddie’s van rumbles along the dirt road as he pulls into the lawn, tapping his fingers over the steering wheel as the sweet licks of Saxon’s Graham Oliver blair through the speakers. He flips the ignition off and steps outside, skipping to the front door with a satisfied smile over his lips as he fumbles with his ring of keys. Another successful D&D session, he thinks to himself as he inserts the right key into the lock. Though the freshman can be rowdy at times, he enjoys their enthusiasm and it makes nights like this, where a devastating blow is dealt to one of his obstacles, all the better, with cheering and celebrating and pats over the shoulder. He couldn’t care less if they destroyed his entire fleet with one critical hit, as long as they were having fun, he was doing his job as Dungeon Master.

Just as he’s about to push the door open with his shoulder, the familiar sound of a whining guitar can be heard nearby. He looks to the trailer that’s situated next to his uncle’s. A moving van has been parked in its lot since yesterday morning and the front lawn, even now, had boxes, empty and full, littering itself. That isn’t what interests him though. It’s the muffled voice of that guitar, piercing the paper thin walls of these shitty trailer homes. 

All the more curious, Eddie pulls the key out of its socket and pockets it in his leather jacket. He takes a few wide steps towards his neighboring trailer, attempting stealth but really only achieving looking like a complete dork. His steps are soft and as he moves closer the sound becomes much clearer. He’s pressing his ear against the side of the mobile home and— Is that Whiplash? 

He’s turning his head to stare at the wall in disbelief, eyebrows furrowed as if it could quench his confusion. He notices a warm light seeping through a window only a foot overhead and he begins whipping his head around to try and find something that could operate as a temporary step stool. With the natural light of the sun nearly gone, the star having hidden behind the tall pine trees to the west, he can hardly see anything too far away but he can make out the outline of a thrown out milk crate that holds a few empty liquor bottles and soda cans. He reaches for it and dumps out all of the contents into the dirt and he promises that the next morning he’ll collect it and throw it in the trash but as for right now, he just needs to see who or what is playing that song.

As he takes a step onto the crate, the blue plastic of it groaning under his weight, he can barely peek his eyes over the window’s sill but it’s enough to see the makings of a very small kitchen. Just past the small bar he can see into the living room and that’s where the sound’s coming from. He can see your figure cradling the guitar— a sleek cherry red Jackson Pro, he could make out with some difficulty from his position— held up tight against yourself. Your eyes are focused on the lower length of the fretboard as you chew at your lower lip in concentration, your fingers gliding across the strings with a mastered practice and as a particularly intense part of the instrumental kicks in, you start to curl in on yourself, really feeling the music as you shake your head to the sounds of the solo screaming and crying to the will of your fingers.

Eddie watches, spellbound by the way that your picking hand flicks up and down with a practiced precision and as he’s leaning on the tips of his toes to try and get a better look, your eyes fall to the window in passing before doing a double take, your eyes wider as they fall upon half of Eddie’s face. You both share a panicked look, your fingers halting over the strings as you drop your pick, the thin piece of plastic slipping from your fingers and disappearing into the jungle of your shag carpet. In the frenzy of being caught, Eddie’s foot slips and the crate is tipping over, sending him tumbling to the ground. 

As the image of his eyes to the top of his head disappears from your sight, almost in a flash, you’re detangling yourself from the guitar strap and setting the instrument so that its propped against the coffee table before you're jogging into the kitchenette and leaning over the sink to try and see where he went. You climb onto the counter, your knees and shins resting awkwardly with the dip of the sink, and push the window open.

As you poke your head out, you see the mysterious set of eyes and unruly bang-ed figure writhing in the dirt and rubbing at his hip. He looks like the wind got knocked out of him as he groans and begins to prop himself up on his elbows, lifting his head to catch your eyes.

“Who the fuck are you?” You question, your words strict and serious.

Eddie whines at the embarrassment of it all before giving you an answer.

“Uh, I’m Eddie… Eddie Munson,” He clarifies, before pointing to his trailer, only a bit away. “I’m your neighbor.”

Your eyes flick to his trailer next to yours before scanning over his figure and determining how much of a threat he actually poses.

“Is looking through people’s windows normal in this town or is that just a you thing?”

Eddie chuckles as he lifts himself back up with creaking joints and a pained grunt.

“Uh, no,” he laughs, “I just heard you playing and um…yeah, I don’t have much of an excuse for, uh… peeking through your window.”

“Okay,” you mumble to yourself before speaking, “Well, don’t let it happen again, weirdo.”

You reach for the handle along the window to close it before Eddie interjects.

“Wait, wait, wait!”

Your hand falters as your gaze falls back to him.

“ I just— Was that—” He huffs a sigh before asking, “Were you playing metal? Like heavy metal?”

As he asks the question he mimics shredding on the guitar, wiggling his fingers like he’s hammering on a fretboard.

You puff your cheeks up with air and blow out a sigh, rubbing your fingers over your forehead as the absurdity of this situation causes a mild migraine to bloom out from your temples.

“What? Are you gonna file a fucking noise complaint or something—”

“No, no! I love metal! Just— fucking look at me!” He chuckles, dragging his hands over his frame to draw your attention to his Dio t-shirt and ripped jeans adorned with his glinting chain catching the low moon’s glow. He’s lifting his hands to tousle his disheveled head of hair and show off the length and the volume of his curls. “I just didn’t know that anyone in this park cared for it. You just moved in, right?”

You squint your eyes before tossing your attention from left to right, seemingly confused by his curious line of questioning.

“Yeah.”

“Cool, cool. I’m Eddie, by the way,” he says, throwing his hand up in a curt wave.

“You already said that,” you notify him, your voice dull and devoid of any humor, and his hand balls up into a fist before slamming into his thigh as it falls in disappointment.

“Right,” he laughs at himself under his breath before sucking his lips in towards his teeth.

“Ok, well, this really has been a lovely chat but I have work in the morning, so, bye.”

He tries to protest you leaving but his voice catches in his throat as you’re slinking back into your home and slamming the window shut behind you.

“Welp, “ he sighs to himself, “screwed that one up big time.”

He ambles back to his trailer and brings his hands to rub over his tailbone and backside, groaning with each limped step he takes.

[ultrabananapudding]

Streamer AU | Jalim

Zain is a streamer and his chat keeps simping for his dad who pops into frame from time to time. Good luck trying to figure out who is who from the chats usernames.

More info below:

Big shoutout to @myscprin and @mistmoose​ for all the wonderful tidbits you added to this silly AU of mine. You can find all their OG ideas in this post replies and reblogged tags. 

Zain does streaming while going to university. Content wise he is modeled after twitch streamers such as ludwig and CDawgVA, but just a lot more chill personality wise. He plays games such as Elden Ring and Hades where he can pepper in all sorts of fun little mythology facts and stories. 

Zains success on twitch is not only attributed to his gaming skills and general history knowledge, but also with his sweet dad who usually pops in during streams to give Zain some food. Salim is very supportive of his sons ambitions and inadvertently helps spike Zains follower count. As much as it benefits Zain for his dad to take a few minutes to answer silly questions thrown by the chat, a new rule had to be implemented where any form of simping for his dad gets you banned. 

Jason is notorious for the immense thirst he has for Salim, and he has been ban evading for ages now with the amount of backup accounts he has in his arsenal. He goes by many names, such as; definitelynotJason, embracethesuck, rocknroll420, malewife2-1actual, gawkgawk9000. (@myscprin the ultimate name generator so big thanks to youu)

Its only after a few months later after the initial thirst dono where Zain puts 2 and 2 together that the simp in question is his own head mod. In @mistmoose words; His scrunch face could rival Kermit's when he realizes. 

During this whole debacle, Salim became interested in streaming himself so he asks Zain to help him set up a twitch account. Salim becomes a cooking/baking streamer where his son acts as his head mod to make sure the chat doesn't run rampant with thirst donos. Ignoring that fact, Salims stream could only be described as wholesome as he gives small history lessons on his culture and the food he is making.

The amount of THIRST poor Zain will have to fight off. Zain would force Salim to wear a turtle neck to cover up as much as possible AND STILL chat goes crazy. Jason started off strong by donating 1000 dollars to have Salim wear a maid dress live on stream. Zain was very swift in banning that alt account of his.

Salim starts making Southern dishes to challenge himself and much later on, Jason is invited live on stream to rate his dishes.  And boom, before Zain knows it, his head mod has now become his dad. Once again quoting @mistmoose; From ultra simp to step-dad in five easy steps: a guide by a southern dumbass. 

Once Jason joins in, it is not unusual to hear him laugh off camera whenever he reads out the spicier donos. Jason is, however, known for his possessive streak so eventually Salim had to outright ban his own husband from joining in on his streams as to stop all the threats that he keeps throwing out live on camera. 

Much later on, Jason starts streaming as well. He plays military type games, playfully mocking the inaccuracies and characters then turn around and give himself a heart attack when a zombie jumps out at him when he plays a horror game. It is a running joke that such a badass ex-marine like himself is so sensitive when it comes to horror games/movies. 

It is not uncommon for Salim to join in on his husbands streams from time to time, most often or not he is there to hold Jasons hand whenever chat had dared him into playing a new horror game. It is also not at all uncommon to hear Zain cackling in the background from the other room whenever he finds Jasons reaction to whatever game he is playing to be extra funny.

[this-idiots-left-eye]

Pandora Hearts Month 2022 (REDO) Prompts!

Hello all!

I have recently learned that the @phmonth2022 blog is experiencing some technical difficulties—and has for longer, and a greater extent, than I realized. I don't get notifications properly, I don't get notified at all if people tag the blog, my posts don't show up in site's tags, and it seems you have to click on the blog itself to see any of its posts.

It seems as though a number of people who wanted to participate in Phmonth22 in May/June...never saw the posts about it.

This means that we will now be doing a redo of Pandora Hearts Month 2022!

It will have the same exact prompts as before, allowing people who didn't see it before—and anyone who otherwise didn’t get the chance before—to participate now! It will occur at the same time as The Case Study of Vanitas Month 2022! (Check here for those prompts!)

Because of the phmonth2022 blog's issues, I am hosting it here on my ph (and vnc) sideblog @this-idiots-left-eye. I will reblog my posts on the @phmonth2022 blog, as well as my main blog @i-prefer-the-term-antihero but I will make the initial posts here.

Pandora Hearts Month is an event that celebrates Pandora Hearts. The first three weeks celebrate the three main trios (Golden Trio, Rainsworth Trio, and Tragedy Trio) and the fourth is a bonus week that celebrates any ships/friendships/ot3 fans chose and love. You can create edits, fanart, drabbles, fanfictions, amvs and mms!

When you post, please remember to:

Tag me @i-prefer-the-term-antihero or @this-idiots-left-eye in your posts to make sure I reblog them!

Tag #phmonth22 in your tags! I will go through that tag regularly and check if I've missed any direct tags.

Either put a link, or a “read more” on long fics (or long posts in general), so they're easier to reblog!

I also made a collection on Ao3 for writers! Don't hesitate to add your fics to it!

Lastly, don’t forget to join our discord if you haven’t! It’s a fun place to discuss the series and more easily share your creations!

Without further ado, here are the prompts! 

Golden Trio Week (Alice, Oz and Gilbert), October 9th—15th:

Day 1, Sunday Oct 9th: Pink

Day 2, Monday Oct 10th: Daffodil

Day 3, Tuesday Oct 11th: Queen

Day 4, Wednesday Oct 12th: Summer 

Day 5, Thursday Oct 13th: Cage 

Day 6, Friday Oct 14th: Ocean

Day 7, Saturday Oct 15th: Garden

Rainsworth Trio Week (Sharon, Break and Reim), Oct 16nd—22nd:

Day 1, Sunday Oct 16th: Purple

Day 2, Monday Oct 17th: Forest

Day 3, Tuesday Oct 18th: Sister

Day 4, Wednesday Oct 19th: Madness

Day 5, Thursday Oct 20th: Cake

Day 6, Friday Oct 21st: AU

Day 7, Saturday Oct 22nd: Whisper

Tragedy Trio Week (Lacie, Jack and Oswald), Oct 23rd—Oct 29th:

Day 1, Sunday Oct 23rd: Storm

Day 2, Monday Oct 24th: Sibling

Day 3, Tuesday Oct 25th: Secret

Day 4, Wednesday Oct 26th: Indescribable horrors

Day 5, Thursday Oct 27th: Unimaginable Wonders

Day 6, Friday Oct 28th: Tower

Day 7, Saturday Oct 29th: Snow

Fan’s choice Week, Oct 30th—November 5th:

Day 1, Sunday Oct 30th: Psyche

Day 2, Monday Oct 31st: 🎃 Metamorphosis 👻

Day 3, Tuesday Nov 1st: Perspective and/or Ivory

Day 4, Wednesday Nov 2nd: Lilies

Day 5, Thursday Nov 3rd: Wrath

Day 6, Friday Nov 4th: Tarnished

Day 7, Saturday Nov 5th: Sketch

(Yes, I switched the order of the fan's choice week prompts around. It was because "Lilies" did not feel remotely Halloweeny to me XD)

You are free to have fun with this!! As long as you tag it, NSFW is allowed! (Tagging ships is nice too). You can pretty much do whatever you want with the prompts!!

For the trio weeks, as long as you make sure the characters from the trio are your main focus, it’s okay to use other characters in your creations too! For the fourth week, you can really write about any character you want. It doesn't have to be ships!

You can join any time, and use as many or as few prompts as you want! And you don't have to post on the day if you can’t make it! I’ll reblog things late!

Since we live across the world, you are free to post whenever the day is for you. I myself will be making posts according to my time, which is Central Standard Time in America. 

About the prizes:

Some of you may recall me posting about wanting to add a competition aspect to Phmonth, with the 15th anniversary merch as prizes. I ordered the prizes long ago, however they still have not arrived at my house.

You guys voted to have a raffle decide who gets the prizes, so it will be easy to do the raffle at any time after Phmonth has ended.

Keep in mind that, as per your request, I do intend for there to be multiple prizes, at least one for the artists, and one for the fic writers!

I will revisit the prizes once phmonth22 ends!

Feel free to get started on making stuff early! 

We’re so excited to see what you make! Thank you for all your support!

i-prefer-the-term-antihero

[reactivatedrockstar]

Rules

I am on mobile, so my tags are very minimal.

Do not reblog threads you are not apart of. This also applies to my headcanons, but I'm confident that the only people who reblog those are ppl who find it and don't realize this is an RP blog.

I'm lenient about this, but do not reblog art or memes from here, as it clogs up my feed.

Don't poop on the floor

You never know what you're going to get with me. You may get a multipara starter/reply, you may get a few sentences. I don't expect you to match my length, especially if I've written a behemoth of a starter... but I do ask that you try to match my effort. If I'm writing a huge reply and you respond with something that doesn't match the setting or context, (and do this consistently,) I'm more than likely doing to drop threads, and if this keeps happening, I'll just soft block you. Yes I do this for fun, but I put abouts and rules and everything you need to know for a reason, and if you can't be bothered to put in the effort to read it, or properly read my responses, then don't even bother.

I am a mobile user. Maybe once in a while, I'll pop onto a computer at the library to fine tune posts like this, but it's hard, if not impossible for me to use the site to its full extent. As such, icons will not be used, tags will be scarce, and trimming posts will not be done the way I like.

Trimming posts are a strange area. I have adhd and autism, so the best way for a thread to be trimmed is with the last response still attached. This way I can remember what's going on in the thread, which will lead to an overall better rp experience. If posts don't get trimmed, I'll just have to make the reply and hit that big red X button that deletes everything before my response, so take that as a warning.

RESPECT MY FUCKING BOUNDARIES. I've had some issues with one individual who sucked me into this Fandom, they refused to take no for an answer, and forced me to rp an incest ship. This has scared me away from the rpc for years. If I say no, it does not mean "convince me," it means no. I have a three strikes your out policy.

Due to this experience, I'm in a very weird place with ships, I currently don't ship Bonnie and I go back and forth as to whether or not I will in the future. You are free to talk about ships with me, but you must must MUST communicate with me!! Even if we have a ship, please communicate with me if you want to change something or break them up, please don't just end it without warning or talking to me first. I'll never force you to ship a ship you don't want, but if you don't warn me first, I will think that you want Bonnie to try and save it.

I have a full-time job as a daycare teacher. I am not always online. Do not pester me for replies.

I like to talk in the DMs!! Please don't think that this is a passive aggressive attempt to get you to reply, as eager as I get, this is a hobby, and I will not rush you intentionally!! Please tell me politely if I make you feel rushed or don't want to talk via dms. (I personally just think that writing is more fun when you know your partners.) That being said, I do not want you feeling like you are responsible for my personal feelings, and vice versa. You are allowed to say no, I am allowed to say no. If you try and guilt trip me, that will count against your three strikes. (And I will warn you dw.)

In addition to this, if you do NOT like communicating via dms, please tell me, and I will stop. If you just ignore me or ghost me, I'm either going to continue to try and reach out, thinking you forgot or didn't get notified, or I'll become intimidated, and think I did something wrong. We're all adults here, we can use our words. You don't have to follow me if you don't want to interact.

I have kept up with the lore moderately well, but if I don't know something, or have forgotten something, do not bully me. I have zero tolerance for it. You respect me, and I respect you.

From now on, this blog is run from a separate blog as well as this one in an attempt to distance myself from my toxic ex-friend. Since tumblr thinks this blog is now run from two separate blogs, DMs will not be able to be used from here any more, therefore, all DMs will have to be sent to @twoiesfnafocs. If there is some sort of emergency, and you need to contact me quickly for any reason, you will have to send an ask, even just sending in "hey can you log in, I need to talk to you asap," I will.

If you want to let me know you've read these, go ahead and like it, but it's not required, I use an honor system anyway.

[gible-love-nibles]

The Start of Team Soup (pt. 2)

Ough it's about time I posted this, I've had this ready for forever. Think the E.ternal D.iva fic gave me some burnout, despite how much fun that was to work on. Maybe posting some smaller stuff will get me back into doing bigger art and writing.

Word Count: 918

Taglist: @crickiss @heart-of-aspiration @halsdaisy @sosawl @fictional-bear-friend @jocelynships @imaginemyshipswithme [If you want to added or removed, tell me in a comment or tag!]

(Please reblog! I like reading tags :])

Clare slept in late the next day, possibly to see if all of yesterday was true. It was; she was still a Chikorita. After eating a couple berries left out in a bowl and drinking some water in a jar, she headed outside.

She wasn’t expecting to find Giovanni fast asleep right outside her door.

“Uh… wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey…?” She poked Giovanni’s shell a bit.

Suddenly, the Water-type sprung to consciousness into a battle pose. “Whoizit?! Who’s there?!”

“Giovanni, it’s me, Clare.”

“Oh.” With that realization, he relaxed. “Sorry, I was so excited to start rescue team work, I got up super early and came here! I guess I fell asleep. But anyway—“ He got Clare into a loose headlock. “Today, Rescue Team Soup starts its journey to become the best rescue team there is! WE GOT THIS, TEAM!”

“Woo-hoo, yeah,” Clare cheered less enthused, releasing herself. “So, how does this whole rescue team thing work?”

“Well, we need job offers! ...Which we don’t have yet.”

“That makes sense,” she thought. “We just started yesterday…”

“We can check the mailbox! Maybe there’ll be something!” The Squirtle raced over to the mailbox, the Chikorita tagging along behind. Clare hadn’t actually noticed there was a mailbox when she first saw the house; she guessed she was too busy with the complete dilapidation.

There was something inside: a big box with a strap. Giovanni’s eyes sparkled. “YES! A Rescue Team Starter Set! You always get one of these when you start a Rescue Team!” He started to dig around in the box and then tossed a round object to Clare. “Catch!”

Clare caught it with her big leaf. It looked like a badge with a pink center and wings on the sides.

“That’s your Rescue Badge. That shows you’re on a rescue team,” Giovanni explained while he pinned an identical badge onto his scarf. He then held out the box. “This Toolbox will let us hold things we find in dungeons.” He put the berries Butterfree had given them inside, and then pulled out a newspaper. “And then this is a copy of Pokémon News! It has useful info for rescuers.” He shoved the newspaper back into the mailbox. “You can read it later, though.”

“I guess you’re really into rescuers if you know all this off the top of your head.”

“Psh, since I was born! But is there anything else in here…?” A few moments of poking around determined the negative. The Water-type sighed. “Guess not… Rescue jobs usually get sent directly to rescuers, but since we’re so new, I guess—“

Giovanni stopped with the sound of flapping wings and the two turned to see what it was: a Pelipper.

It flew over their heads and landed on the mailbox. It shoved something into the slot with a thunk, and then the bird flew off again. It was Clare’s turn to check the mailbox.

Inside was a single letter.

“Is it a job request?! What’s it say?”

“Keep your shell on, I’m opening it.” Clare started to read the letter aloud.

“BZZ BZZ BZZ! (“Huh?” “That’s how it starts; don’t look at me like that.”) I HEARD ABOUT YOU FROM CATERPIE. PLEASE. WE NEED YOUR HELP. MAGNEMITE IS IN TROUBLE. (“Ohhhhhh, that makes way more sense.”) A STRANGE ELECTROMAGNETIC WAVE FLOWED THROUGH A DUNGEON AND IT STUCK TOGETHER MAGNEMITE AND MAGNEMITE. THAT ISN’T ENOUGH TO FORM A MAGNETON. IT’S NOT COMPLETE THE WAY IT IS NOW. PLEASE. WE NEED HELP. BZZ BZZ BZZ.

FROM MAGNEMITE’S FRIEND”

Included was a map of where to go. The two didn’t say a word. They just looked at each other… and took off to do the request.

…

Two Magnemite were outside a large rocky cave looking worriedly inside. Hearing approaching Pokémon, they turned.

“OH, YOU ARE HERE. BZBZBZZ!” One of them greeted the rookies. “MY FRIENDS ARE IN THIS CAVERN. THEY SHOULD ON THE SIXTH BASEMENT FLOOR. PLEASE HELP THEM!” After every sentence, electricity jumped between their magnets, making the buzzing sound.

And with that, off the two went.

Clare thought the dungeon wasn’t that bad, but maybe that was because she had a resistance to Electric-types… a luxury Giovanni did not have. Either way, after going through a lot more foes than the Tiny Woods and learning some new moves, they came to their destination. In a dead end were two Magnemites stuck together.

“That must be them. Let’s get them out.” Giovanni led the way out, mainly because he wanted to be as far away from the Electric-Steel types as possible.

~

The four Magmemite rejoiced once the two that had been stuck together separated.

“OUR BODIES SEPARATED. REJOICE!” One of them cried.

They all cheered, and Giovanni hid behind Clare in case a stray spark shot out.

“BE THANKFUL, YOU TWO.”

“YOU ARE OUR HEROES. THANK YOU.”

“It’s all in a day’s work,” Clare assured them.

The Magnemite shared with Team Soup 500 Poké, Reviver Seed, and a Big Apple, and then left. Giovanni finally relaxed.

“Man, that was so scary… But I’m glad it went so well, with this being our first real mission and all!”

But Clare wasn’t listening. It looked like from behind a rock, a black… thing was glaring at her. It looked lean and muscular, and it was too far away to make out many details.

“Hey Giovanni…” She turned to get his attention, but when she looked back, whatever it was was gone.

“What’s up?”

“...Nothing. Think I was just seeing things.”

[morguemaw]

Lustale Info post (always check og! Will be updated overtime)

Wanted to make a post about Lustale that will be important!! Below the 'Keep Reading' is TLDR of the lore so far, ( may vary depending on what will be changed/what reblogged version you are reading, so PLEASE check back to this one instead!! Will be pinned for a period of time :) )

A important note,

Lustale is a AU created and owned by me, its loosely based on Underlust and will be a Slice of Life type story that will also in return extremely loosely follow the original plot of Undertale. Dont ever tag it as Underlust, only Lustale/Lusttale please (can be spelt either way just Lustale has one less 'T' to make it look less cluttered )

Links to important info;

(Non Important) The first mention of Lustale .. The birthday!! Tiny lore concept / Another tiny lore concept

Trait of Passion roughly explained (if the idea is changed this link will be too ) Another post about the Passion/Corrupted Passion arch

Sans Ref sheet + Additional Info

Papyrus, Undyne, and Grillby references + Small info

Angst Concept (Monsters Free ending?)

Small Gaster mention + Small info on him

Small fun facts/mini profiles about some Characters

Toriel mention/rough design

Any background characters preferred to be saved for Inbox/Anon requests and can be most likely found in the Lustale tag on my profile :)

The asks ive been getting recently help me think over lore, hence the changes

TLDR about the lore;

Monsters got trapped underground classic undertale style, but when the first human fell down they had a unique trait of Passion that gave the underground a feeling of love and happiness, Human got sick one day and when they passed Royal Scientists tried to copy the trait but failed, and somehow the failed shit got into the core which traveled through the AU/into the air and it only affected adults because do i really need to explain ?? (tho i kinda did in one of the linked posts) Ages are kinda undecided as of right now, only important age is Frisk because they are the only child (next to monster kid) who really matters/is physically there/not dead, they are 16. My reasoning is that again everyone affected are adults, and monsters and humans age differently in my eyes Toriel isnt affected because she was in the ruins so the corruption didnt get to her Asriel's soul was basically artificially made via soul bits, however he did have a solid body that existed via a egg from Toriel and sperm cell from Asgore, both ended up dying (this is my lazy excuse to make sure Flowey and Asriel can both be a thing ) Despite me referring to characters as "corrupted with Lust", there is no cure nor any end to their sins. The au is again Lustale... So yea :) The timeline went roughly like this, this is based on my own headcanon years rather then official ok?

Timeline;

Year 2000; The war began Year 2002; The war ended, monsters banished to the shadow realm Year 2012; First human fell down, Chara Year 2014; Chara got sick, within the same time of Chara being down there for the 2 year gap Asriel's soul was patchworked together via bits of Toriel and Asgore's soul but it failed and both kids died within the same year Year 2015; Toriel went into the Ruins and vanished Year 2016; Passion spilled into underground Year 2030; Underground turned into what it is now, after quite a few years everyone was used to Lust as the new main for them Year 2032; Frisk fell down, the story begins!!

[aphel1on]

tag someone you want to get to know better

tagged by @woobifiedvillain a few days ago and finally remembered to do it!!

Favorite color: Yellow, but not an overwhelming yellow, like that soft warm yellow? I love it. People tend to not expect this answer, I think I give off more of a blue or grey vibe. Honestly a pretty grey/silver is probably my second favorite color, but a buttery yellow is just so good for the soul.

Last song: You Give Love a Bad Name by Bon Jovi. Danced to it in the kitchen, got consumed by the guitar riffs, nearly knocked a chair over. Before this morning it would've been the Genshin OST... I've been listening to it a lot while I write or do chores recently.

Last movie: An exceedingly mediocre romcom on Netflix that I watched with my sick mom to be nice. Genuinely couldn't tell you the title or more than like, two or three plot points. Last movie that I watched bc I wanted to was the Barbie movie, which was genuinely better than I expected. Enjoyable but would still give it, like, a mixed review. I'm not getting into two months' ago Barbie Movie Discourse on this post

Currently watching: I'M STILL TRYING TO FINISH THE UNTAMED!!!! woobifiedvillain i'm speaking directly to you and quoting you: i too am "chronically incapable of paying attention to visual media, even the good shit" and when i try to explain this to people irl they act like i am insane!!! I haven't watched Good Omens season 2 yet even tho I am reblogging posts about it rn. I think it's mostly adhd, or really just a part of the larger Neurodivergence Soup (tm) that makes it nearly impossible for me to learn something from a YouTube video. I mean, sometimes for a hands-on task a video is essential, but can't there be a written list of instructions to go with it too, bc that sticks in my mind way better sobs... ANYWAY i'm currently on episode 43 of The Untamed, so I should be able to finish it by, like. The end of the year at least lol?

Currently reading: I started reading SVSSS recently because, like. The mxtx mania is in full throttle. I just got here a little later than most people lmao. I'm also currently "reading" like seven different books that I bought or pirated this year and have on hold. One of my Unfortunate Skills is bingereading like 200 pages of something in 1-2 days and then not finishing the rest of it for 8 months.

Currently working on: Keep My Shadow Alive, my big xue yang-centric fix it fic!!! Well, more like a fix it, and then break it more, and then eventually actually fix it fic. Starting from the canon divergence of "Add Pre-Teen Xue Yang to the Burial Mounds Fam" and going from there. I read every fic like that that's on ao3 and was still being eaten alive by the brainworms so I started writing my own take on it and ~6 months later it's the longest fic I've ever written and only 25% of the way through its outline???? So. Who knows if it will get finished (my track record is admittedly not great)- but I've had such a blast writing it so far. Xue Yang is just SO fun to write. Yes it has a plot and character arcs and I could even go full English Major* and start telling you about its Themes, but also it's just an excuse to write Xue Yang interacting with every member of the MDZS cast. Going to STOP talking now bc I fully am the type of writer who will get carried away talking about their wips.

*i am not an english major, but spiritually i am an english major.

Current obsession: Yeah uh, MDZS. My friend convinced me to finally read it in January of this year, and the hyperfixation train has simply not stopped since then. Genshin Impact also dragged me back in with the Fontaine update and I've been having a lot of fun playing it. But MDZS is still mostly the thing that's eating up my RAM. Particularly the Yi City crew, but 3zun is rotating in there too. Sometimes even The Man WWX Himself, i talk about him less but i do love him a lot also lol

Tagging: I'm honestly too shy to do this!!! But thank you for tagging me anyway<3