#these specials were written to come for my ass specifically

[transjudas]

Is all right special Time Lord code for "really not all right at all."

[sinfullyrosey]

Shrimpmer!Reader

Floyd Leech X GN!Shrimpmer!Reader X Jade Leech

Warnings: Mild Violence, Brief Mentions of Accurate Shrimp Cleaning Methods (kind of gross)

I literally had written up a mini fic showcasing the tweels first meeting Shrimper!Reader… and lost it. Have no idea where it is. Searched through my drafts and got pissed, so just started over from scratch.

Can be read as platonic but with a lot of sus behavior ngl

The Basics (aka an Introduction to Shrimpmer!Reader)

Shrimpmer!Reader is a cleaner shrimp, a type of shrimp known for cleaning off parasites, algae, insects, and other bad stuff from fish. They’ve even been known to eat the mucus and infectious material around a fish’s wound to reduce infection and aid in healing. There are different species of cleaner shrimp, ‘scarlet skunk’ or ‘white-striped’ cleaner shrimps being known for cleaning the mouths of moral eels specifically.

Shrimpmer!Reader specifically comes from a family of cleaner shrimps that have a long-standing business partnership with the Leeches. Their family provides their cleaning and patch-up services to better the mereels’ health and heal any injuries, and in turn, the Leeches provide protection. It’s a mutualistic relationship where both benefit. And congrats, they were assigned to the tweels when they were but a mere fry and twins were still little elvers.

But what is it that Shrimpmer!Reader does exactly? Well, they have a cleaning station set up (i.e. a flat rock for the tweels to lay on while they work) and they go over the twins’ body, ridding it of any parasites and other debris. Picking at their scales and skin like a fine-tooth comb. They’ll even clean their sharp teeth using specialized brushes and tools to make sure nothing is stuck and strengthen the dentin (real shrimp physically go inside eel’s mouths, but shrimpmers are too big for that). Whenever the twins come to them with an injury after one of their scuffles, Shrimpmer!Reader will clean and disinfect the wound, being sure to remove any parasites, then wrap up the wound to heal faster.

In terms of anatomy and size difference, Shrimpmer!Reader is much smaller compared to the twins, but not on the same scale difference as real shrimps and moray eels. They’re not tiny enough to fit in their mouths but are small enough to be carried with ease. The best comparison I can give is like with the dwarves and Neige, but the tweels’ eel forms are much bigger compared to regular humans, so Shrimpmer!Reader would be shorter compared to a human as well. Floyd would joke about them being “child-sized.” Just like the Octatrio, their bottom half is that of a white-striped cleaner shrimp while the rest of their body has the matching miscolored skin, fin ears, and a pair of long, white antenna on the top of their head. No, their hands aren’t claws/pincers, but they do have sharp nails that aid in cleaning.

The Shrimp and the Eels Headcanons

Like mentioned above, Shrimpmer!Reader was assigned to Floyd and Jade back when they were all still children. Each new generation of Leech ends up being assigned a cleaner shrimp who are around the same age so that they can grow together and build a proper symbiotic bond. You just ended up unlucky ‘cause Mr. and Mrs. Leech had twins and you were the only available one in your family at the time. A two for one deal, as it were.

Rough first meet (the twins are asses even back then), but you eventually adjusted and they learned how much they actually enjoy getting all those nasties off of them. You were gentle and efficient, it was very soothing, almost therapeutic to them. But it was only after one particular cleaning where Floyd came to you, a week after he got into a fight, wound infected and riddled with parasites, that they fully realized just how much they needed you. Neither twin skipped a cleaning or wound treatment after that.

You are tiny and not built for fighting, so the twins are more than happy to do so for you!~ Some predator is stalking you, trying to get a taste? Floyd is already grabbing them by the tail, pulling them away from you and towards his own dangerously sharp jaws. Another merperson is bulling you, picking on your smaller size? Jade’s looming right behind, tail at the ready to squeeze the life out of them. Most of your patch-up work was from attending to their wounds sustained in fights defending you.

Floyd and Jade both have their tails wrapped around some poor, unfortunate soul who was pulling on your antenna. Jade is taunting the crying fry while Floyd is “playfully” biting their tail fins.

“Jade, Floyd, let them go already. You’re going to get in trouble…”

You do meet Azul later on, though never quite befriend him per say. His contracts made you uncomfortable and untrusting of his intentions. In turn, Azul was stiff and reserved around you on the account of the overly protective eels threatening to chew his tentacles off if he tried anything.

You’re not a student at NRC nor a student of RSA. Magic isn’t your forte (or your concern really), the tweels are. Which is why you do visit the schoolgrounds frequently, especially after the two (mainly Floyd) start complaining about “needing their shrimp.” They’re not even in their eel forms most of the time, but they do still get into fights and the nurse on staff isn’t good enough.

Congrats, you’re now the Leech’s designated Health Support Cleaner Shrimp, or whatever bullshit the twins pulled out of their tails when forcing requesting to Crowley that you be allowed to stay at Octavinelle! Double congrats, because you also work at Mostro Lounge as a janitor because you literally clean for a living!

In your human form, you are much shorter than most of the other students and you have two long cowlicks that resemble your antenna. You aren’t the biggest fan of this form, finding two legs to be difficult to navigate, especially since you kind of skipped the prep class. Floyd was impatient and claimed him and Jade would just teach you themselves. An unwise decision really.

I mean, you could also just request to have the potion adjusted so you can be taller too, I guess idk the twins aren’t going to tell you that.

You sometimes turn back into your merform with the tweels and swim together because you miss it. Floyd definitely missed curling his tail around his little shrimp and pinning you down with his much bigger size. He especially loves to flip you on your back and watch your little feetsies wiggle around in a panic.

Jade misses the cleanings more than anything else. Being a vice dormleader while also working at a lounge and doing schoolwork is stressful for one eel. So, being able to just relax and have you attend to him while he prattles on about mushrooms is absolute heaven. That’s not to say he doesn’t mess with you either. Jade will gladly use your height against you by putting your cleaning supplies on a higher shelf, so you’re forced to ask him for help, teasing you all the while.

No, you can’t clean anybody else, merfolk or otherwise. Only them. Azul almost lost a tentacle after suggesting such a thing when he noticed business was running slower.

You’re their cleaner shrimp, and they’re your eels. Anybody aware of the Leech’s influence know to back off lest they end up missing under mysterious circumstances.

Oh yeah, and the tweels, at some point, made it a habit to kiss you after you finished cleaning them under the guise of you “cleaning their teeth.” It’s become something so casual between you three now that when Azul caught sight of the twins and you locking lips, he nearly fell over at not realizing the three of you were (supposedly) an item.

[trupowieszcz-moved]

fun facts about (polish) vampire folklore because i'm too autism

(disclaimer: my source for all of this is the book "Upiór. Historia naturalna" by Łukasz Kozak i'm not pulling this out of my ass)

The word "vampire" came from a mistranscribed Serbian word, written down by Austrian officials informing about a panic among the locals, who claimed that during a plague their dead were rising and biting them and spreading the plague further

In Poland, the words used to describe what later transformed into a "vampire" in literature were: upiór (and variations thereof - the word came from Ukrainian, and the Ukrainians got it from Turkish "ubyr"), strzyga (f)/strzygoń (m) and wieszczy (m)/wieszczyca (f). "Upiór" was used in the southeast, "strzyga" around the central regions, "strzygoń" (as well as strzyga) specifically in Lesser Poland (Małopolska) and "wieszczy" in Greater Poland (Wielkopolska) and in Kashubia. "Wąpierz" was not a word until some writer in the 19th century made it up!

The upiór actually very rarely drank blood. It happened, sure, but a much more bloodthirsty creature was zmora/mara. However, upiory often drank milk, stealing it from cows and horses. Both are life-giving bodily fluids, after all.

The above might make you think about witches, who were often blamed with stealing or spoiling milk, and you wouldn't be far off. You see, you had to be born as an upiór (these ones weren't contagiously biting!), and while you were alive, it would give you various magical powers, like clairvoyance and detecting the dead upiory, and so the upiór was practically a synonym of a sorcerer or witch. Of course, the sources vary, but depending on who you asked, they could control weather bringing heavy rains or droughts, see the future, know literally everything and so on. Those so-called "living vampires" knew who they were since birth and were often helpful, until they died.

After an upiór died, that's when the bad things happened. They disappeared from their graves, destroyed churches, broke candles, brought plague upon the people, scared their neighbors, and if one puffed in your face, you would soon die. They were said to be able to walk around with their decapitated head, so anti-vampiric burials often had to be very thorough and decapitation wasn't enough.

The signs that were supposedly telling of a living vampire were, among others: being born with teeth, being born in a caul, not having armpit or pubic hair BUT having a hairy chest, not having undergone confirmation (i'll come back to that in a moment), having a very red face and easily and often blushing (not being pale!), or being born with a deformed foot.

Not having participated in the confirmation sacrament was especially damning, because it was believed that upiory had two souls (and two hearts). When they were baptized, only one soul was being saved, and the confirmation sacrament was supposed to protect the second soul. This, of course, was extremely against the catechism, so the first "official", church-related sources recording those beliefs had to invent another "backstory" for upiory, and they claim that an upiór is a dead person specifically, who was given to the devil at birth, the baptism saving their soul, but their body still belonging to the dark forces, which was why they rose from their graves - the devil basically hijacked their corpses.

I won't make this post much longer but I will GLADLY answer any questions because this is my special interest and I just came back from an exhibition where the author of the aforementioned book talked about all of that so. me right now ⬇️ (readmore so you dont get continuously blased with the gif under it)

[roosterforme]

Always Ever Only You Part 20 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: After your adventure at the bar, you only have the remainder of the weekend with Bradley before he's taking off once again. You both make the most of that time, but an unpleasant surprise lingers as he leaves with his duffle bag and a new notebook. You just hope he can return with a successful mission under his belt.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, pregnancy discussion, fluff, smut, spanking

Length: 4000 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order. Always Ever Only You masterlist. Gorgeous banner by @mak-32

It was late Friday night. Bradley was leaving on Monday for the top secret special mission, and he might end up missing his birthday with you. Your parents were planning to come visit in July. You'd just had your husband pick you up at the bar during a sexy role playing experiment. And now you were on all fours on your bed with him balls deep inside you.

Honestly, the evening just kept getting better; he was giving you everything you wanted tonight. You got to witness first hand the way he picked you up at the bar by combining his old school tactics with the new things that he knew would really appeal to you specifically. 

And now he had seamlessly switched from being your sweet, loving Daddy to being the Daddy who called you his bratty little slut. When you turned to look at him over your shoulder, his eyes looked deep and possessive. His cheeks were flushed, and his expression looked a little mean. God, you were already starting to clench for him as he said, "I love my slutty little wife."

"Oh god," you moaned as he placed one rough hand on the back of your head and pushed your face down to the pillows. 

He leaned over your body, caging you in with his mouth next to your ear while he absolutely nailed you. "Knew you'd come home with me. Knew you'd be begging for my cock. You didn't even wear underwear tonight, that's how fucking bad you wanted it."

"Bradley," you gasped, ready to come as he smacked your ass and grabbed your hips with both hands and unloaded inside you for the second time tonight. 

"Jesus," he growled, his movements becoming jerky as you rocked back against him through your own orgasm. You slowly let your legs slide out from underneath your body, and he eased himself down so he was laying on top of you, panting for breath. "Am I hurting you?" he whispered, kissing your cheek as you turned your head to the side.

"No," you mumbled in a daze underneath his warm body with his cock still shoved up inside you. "Kind of comfy, actually."

"Okay," he replied as his cheek came to rest on yours. "And don't even think about asking for round three tonight. I'm fucking beat."

You knew better than to joke about his age. It was less than three weeks until his thirty-seventh birthday, and his confidence was still a little shaky after his last deployment. "I'm tired, too," you whispered. 

"Can't believe you wanted me to pick you up from the bar like that, Sweetheart," he murmured. "How long were you there before Ethan tried to make you his little snack?"

You laughed, but Bradley's weight on top of you stifled the movement. "About two minutes."

He shook his head. "An investment banker with a Ferrari? It's incredible you ever went for me at all."

You wiggled underneath him until he lifted himself into a push up position, sliding out of your pussy and holding himself still so you could roll over onto your back. "I'm always going to go for my Daddy," you whispered as he eased his body back down on top of yours. "He promised to take exceptional care of me." 

You ran your fingernails through his hair and along his scalp, and his eyes closed in pleasure immediately. "I always will." His lips were parted, his cheeks were flushed, and he looked so handsome as you kissed his forehead. "I'm sorry there were times I didn't. I'll keep doing better and better."

He would. And you were so thankful that you made it back to this point with him. You felt like you could tell him what was on your mind again, and you knew he was really listening. He wasn't hiding his feelings and concerns from you. The trust you felt was almost palpable, which was making every other part of your marriage right now exceptionally good. 

"I love you, Bradley." You whispered the words softly, like they were so precious they might break. Then you whispered them again, a little louder, like they were too important to hide.

Both of his hands were on your face, thumbs rubbing your cheeks as his fingers pushed back along your hair. He brought his lips down to meet yours, and a few minutes later you whispered, "I thought you were too tired for round three."

------------------------

Bradley was in love with you and in love with everything about this weekend. He'd been more nervous than he anticipated when he got to One Trick Pony last night, but you'd been delighted by the role playing. It was easy to slip into a fantasy with you when he knew that his normal life and yours were waiting on the other side. And you knew he wouldn't let anything happen to you.

Now you were perched on his lap at the dining room table in just his rather threadbare UVA tee shirt, dousing the plate of breakfast in maple syrup. You fed him a bite of the stuffed French toast you made for him while you kissed his cheek. Bradley was physically exhausted today, and you and he hadn't even made it out of the bedroom until noon. Even then, he only came to the kitchen to feed Tramp who was whining non stop, and you offered to make him anything he wanted for breakfast. 

"Is it good?" you whispered before you tried a bite.

"Fucking delicious," replied before nibbling gently at the side of your neck. 

Your laughter rang out, and the sound was so pure and beautiful, he hated to bring up the conversation that needed to happen today. But after the French toast was eaten and the plate was left in the sink for him to take care of later, he led you and your second mug of coffee over to the couch. Bradley pulled you legs up onto his lap and kissed your knee. 

"Can we talk about my deployment?"

You eyed him up and down and said, "You mean your top secret special mission? When you say deployment, it sounds like it will go on for months, and I really hope you'll be back in time to celebrate your birthday with me."

"Fine," he said with a sigh. "Then can we talk about my top secret special mission, Sweetheart?"

"Yep," you replied with a smirk, and he really did have to appreciate how calm you seemed right now. It was making him feel calm, too.

"I'm leaving my wedding ring here with you. Just like last time. I'm taking the silicone one, even though I don't like it as much, okay?"

"Okay. Thanks for telling me." Your lips were hidden behind your mug, but Bradley could tell you were smiling. He'd fumbled things so badly last time in part by not reminding you he bought the placeholder ring. He was unwilling to go away in a similar fashion this time; his goal was to leave no doubt in your mind about him or anything else while he was gone.

"And I really might not be back before my birthday. That's barely two weeks from now, and I don't have any firm dates. I just hope they fly me back commercial again so I'm not sitting around waiting for a comanche to bring me home."

You set the mug on the coffee table and climbed onto his lap. "I know you might be gone longer, but I'm holding out hope anyway." The way you fit perfectly in his arms when your cheek was resting on his shoulder would never not amaze him. You snuggled in a little closer and said, "But just come back home to me, Roo."

He swallowed hard. The two of you had had so many conversations just like this one over the many months you'd been together and the many times he'd left for his work. He was just happy he'd be leaving on better terms this time. 

"You know I'll always fight for that, Baby Girl." He kissed your forehead. "Let's take Tramp for a walk down to the beach. It's kind of overcast today, so maybe it won't be as crowded." You nodded and started to stand up as Bradley said, "Oh, one more thing. When your parents let you know when they're coming out to visit, book them a hotel room. I don't care how much it costs, put it on the credit card."

You stood in front of him with your hands on your hips. "They can just stay here-"

"No."

"Oh come on, Bradley. We can have quiet sex!"

He shook his head. "Book the hotel room for them. And when I get home, we can talk about renovating the upstairs space into a usable bedroom or two. Because they will need to be a whole floor away with how loud you get. Or I'll never be able to look them in the eye again."

---------------------------

On Sunday, you were starting to feel a little melancholy. You had less than a day before you had to drop Bradley off in Miramar at five in the morning, and your anxious energy was creeping in. At least he seemed to want to be around you as much as you wanted to be around him. 

"Will you help me finish packing?" he asked, rubbing a big hand along your tattoo through your shirt while you stood at the open refrigerator. You pulled out the pack of chicken that you needed to have thawed so you could make dinner soon, and then spun around to face him. 

"What do you need help with?"

He shrugged. "Nothing really. Just thought it would be nice to have you in the bedroom with me while I organize everything."

"How are you this sweet?" you asked as you took him by the hand and led him down the hallway. Tramp was having a puppy dream in his little bed, so you quietly joined Bradley at his open duffle bag. You saw his neatly packed underwear, socks, shirts and uniform components. His travel sized toothbrush and razor were there, too, along with some photos of you and him together. 

"Am I missing anything I need?" he asked seriously, as he counted how many undershirts were in a stack. You carefully climbed onto the bed and pretended to pack yourself in the bag, and Bradley laughed quietly. "I fucking wish."

"It would be like the first time, when we were both sent out to the carrier together."

Bradley groaned as you sprawled out across the middle of the bed. "I only get Cyclone and Warlock this time. No sweet Baby Girl diligently waiting for my return."

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling as he climbed on the bed with you. "Don't you dare get shot down this time. And don't jump off the carrier deck either. And definitely don't get flustered by the young dipshits from Lemoore. Cyclone said you're one of the best, and you are."

Bradley let you collect him in your arms and he just inhaled your scent and absorbed your warmth. Then with a sigh, he removed his wedding band and handed it to you. "You can keep it safe for me," he whispered. 

"I'll have it with me when I pick you up. Wherever and whenever I pick you up."

Bradley eventually finished packing before he went to take a long shower and shave around his mustache while you made dinner. You kept telling him he needed a good night's sleep tonight. You weren't wrong, but he wanted to stay up and spend as much time with you as he could. He was about to tell you that he could sleep on the comanche, no problem, and that you should let him stay up all night with you. But when he walked into the kitchen in his clean boxer briefs, he was greeted by the most wonderful sight. 

Your back was to him, as you strained pasta at the sink, and the smell of Marry Me Rooster cooking was making him weak. You were wearing just your white Mrs. Bradshaw panties from the wedding night along with your I Love Meat apron. He couldn't see the embroidery on the front of your underwear, but he knew the way the pretty satin fabric bunched around your thighs by heart. And that dumb apron he bought was the only other thing on you, tied around your neck and across your lower back. 

He was already throbbing for you, and he knew it would just get worse. "Hey, Roo," you said casually when you saw him. "Dinner is almost ready. Wanna grab some beers and I'll bring a plate in."

"Yeah," he rasped, pecking you on the cheek and running his fingers along your bare back when he walked past. He couldn't even tell if it was intentional or not. Maybe you didn't realize you were turning him on right now. He got two beers from the refrigerator and went to sit at the table, and you joined him a minute later with one plate piled high with dinner. 

You set it down softly in front of him, but his eyes were on you as you untied the apron and let it fall to the floor. And yeah, it was intentional. Yes, you knew you were turning him on right now as you stood there topless with Mrs. Bradshaw written across your pussy. 

"You need a good dinner and a good night's sleep," you told him, but he made no move to eat the Marry Me Rooster yet. He patted his thigh for you to take a seat, but you just shook your head once and squeezed down between his body and the edge of the table until you were on your knees. You looked up at him with questioning eyes as you pulled his cock and balls free of his underwear and licked his tip.

"Do I need that, too?" he asked, voice deep and rough. You just nodded as you wrapped your lips around him. "I think you're right." 

You bobbed slowly up and down his length before you popped him free and whispered, "You can eat your dinner," before licking his balls. 

"One thing at a time," he grunted, fixated on how pretty you looked as you smiled and parted your lips again. You weren't in any hurry, and neither was he as you ran your tongue all over his length in broad stripes before sucking. Bradley ran his fingers and knuckles over the curve of your cheek while he kept one hand at the back of your head. He wasn't forceful as he guided himself deep, but when you gagged on him, his head tipped back as he panted. You felt so good, and the soft sounds you made as you tried to take him impossibly deeper just made him harder for you.

"Fuck," he growled, looking at your eyes watering as your lips skimmed his balls and his trimmed hairs. Your nipples were hard and you were moaning. "Come up here. Ride me."

You whimpered as he helped you up onto his lap. His length was dripping with your saliva as he pulled your wedding underwear to the side and let you sink down around him. Bradley was a little afraid he didn't have much left in the tank for you, so he stroked your rooster tattoo before tucking his thumb inside the front of the satin fabric. He let you set the tempo, rubbing yourself against his hand how you wanted him. Your forearms were resting on his shoulders as you played with his hair and kissed him lazily, languidly. Your tits brushed his chest with every movement.

"You feel good," you murmured with a soft smile before returning your lips to his. Bradley just grunted, already feeling himself getting close from the sure and steady roll of your hips and your tight pussy. Then your fingers wound a little deeper in his hair as you moaned, "Oh. You feel good."

He moved his lips to your neck and found that sweet spot to suck on while you begged him to rub your clit harder. Your begging turned to near screaming as you came, and he allowed himself to as well. There was a wet, sticky mess where you and he remained connected, and after you licked his lips and kissed his mustache, Bradley leaned down and kissed your breasts. 

"Thanks for making my favorite dinner," he whispered, kissing his way back up to your lips before reaching behind you for the plate. Then without moving, he held the Marry Me Rooster between your soft body and his, and you fed it to him as you ate some yourself. 

-------------------------

Bradley plugged in his phone and yours and took your glasses off before kissing your forehead. It was barely eight o'clock, but after dinner and a quick phone call to your parents, you insisted he start getting ready for bed. You looked tired, and he felt tired, so he did as he was told. And now as you curled up on his chest in bed, Bradley took your hand in his. 

"Did you want me to read from my notebook?" he asked. You already knew he packed a fresh one to write in at night while he was away. It would be a nice break if he had an annoying bunkmate to deal with. 

"Not tonight," you whispered. "But I'm sure I'll read it while you're away."

He turned off his light and kissed the top of your head. "I'll be thinking about you the whole time. I have no idea if I'll be allowed to call you, but if I have the chance, I will, okay?"

"Okay, Roo."

"I love you," were the last words on his lips as he dozed off. Then the alarm was blaring on his phone way too soon, and he was handing your glasses back to you again. 

"Do you want anything to eat?" you asked blearily. "Or just coffee?"

"Just coffee," he replied as you slipped out of bed in the pitch black bedroom. "I'll take some protein bars, too." 

Bradley watched you pull on some yoga pants and a tee shirt so you could take him up to Miramar before you got yourself ready for work. He heard you messing with the French press in the kitchen while he zipped up his uniform pants, and then you were shuffling past him and into the bathroom. 

You were still using the toilet while he brushed his teeth, and he barely heard you whisper his name. "Yeah?" he asked as he spit and went to rinse. 

"My period started. A day or two early. I knew I was feeling a little crampy."

Bradley turned to see the sadness in your eyes, but you took a deep breath and squared your shoulders. He hadn't been thinking about it. You and he hadn't been talking about it. He wasn't overly concerned at the moment with your cycle. And even though he knew you hadn't been as absorbed with trying to get pregnant for the past month and a half, the idea must have still been in the back of your mind. Because he found that it was that way for him. 

"Okay," he replied softly. "That's okay. I just wish I could stay and get your heating pad ready for you and rub your feet after work."

You nodded and he bent down to kiss the top of your head. "Me too," you whispered. "But Tramp will take care of me." 

Bradley went to the bathroom cabinet and held up the different packages of pads and tampons and brought you the ones you wanted. Then he kissed you again. "You'll be okay. Right?"

"Yeah," you replied as you flushed the toilet. "I can talk to Dr. Genevieve if I need to, but I think I'll be okay."

He wanted to tell you a million times that it didn't matter if you never got pregnant, but he settled for, "It's me and you right now, and I love that."

You nodded against his chest as he held you for a few minutes. "Let's get you to Miramar."

Bradley picked up his duffle bag but kept his fingers linked with yours as he spied you wearing his wedding band on the chain with your charms. He kissed your lips and then kissed his ring, and you were smiling again as you and he headed out to the driveway. When you tried to pull him toward your car, he said, "Absolutely not," and your laughter in the darkness had him smiling, too. "Let's take the Bronco."

He dropped his bag to the driveway to open the door and buckle you in. Then he was tossing the duffle into the back and starting the engine, and he backed out of the driveway as the beams from his headlights illuminated the front porch. He paused for a beat before shifting into drive and heading off for another assignment, another aircraft carrier, another block of time away from home. 

As he drove down the street he turned on the radio and said, "Damn, you really made everything so much better and so much harder for me at the same time."

"What are you talking about?" you asked, turning to look at him. 

"I just never thought I'd hate leaving home this much."

You leaned on his bicep and played with his hand for the rest of the drive up to the airstrip where a whole fleet of aircrafts were waiting. The sky was lightening, and there were officers and personnel everywhere along with some family members who came to say goodbye. When Bradley parked and helped you out of the Bronco. He saw Cyclone immediately, and he knew he should head over and meet his team and board the comanche, but he just held you instead. 

Other people started their cars and left. Officers were boarding aircrafts, but Bradley just wanted another couple minutes here. "I love you. Be good."

You kissed his chest through his uniform and looked up at him with tears in your eyes. "I love you, too. I'll pick you up anytime. Just come back home to me." 

He nodded before kissing your lips. "I will." He took your face in both hands and kissed both of your cheeks and your nose before settling his lips back on yours. "I will."

"I love you, Bradley!" you called after him as he carried his bag toward the barbed wire fence with his ID in his hand. He turned and looked back at you so many times, it felt like he wasn't even making any progress toward the airstrip. But he had to go, and part of him wanted to go. 

He showed his badge at the gate opening, and once he was through to the other side, he cupped his free hand around his mouth and shouted, "I love you, Baby Girl!" You waved and wiped your tears as he headed toward Cyclone, Warlock and the aircraft that would take the whole group of them out over the Pacific Ocean.

-------------------------------

And he's off once again. Going to peek in at Jake and Cat and sweet little Jeremiah. And I hope Bradley doesn't miss his birthday at home. So many things coming soon! Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 21

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@little-wiseone

@ccbb2222

@lilyevanswhore

@o-the-o-grim-o-reaper-o

@xoxabs88xox

@thedroneranger

@bradshawsbitch

@cherrycola27

@fanboyswhore9

@xomrsalliej4787xo

@desert-fern

@sylviebell

@wkndwlff

@horseslovers2016

@gennyanydots

@pieceuvmind

@mattyskies

@hookslove1592

@blahehblah

[inlovewithgreta]

Hey!! If you’re taking requests, I’d love to request an Addison Montgomery x reader fic, where Addison gets home after a long day and reader lets Addison ‘use her’ for stress relief

Heyy anon!! I absolutely am taking requests so thank you so so much for stopping by to request this! I am so sorry for the long wait, I’m always busy at work plus haven’t had the motivation to write. I hope you enjoy what I’ve written! Have a nice day!! 🩷

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Use Me — Addison Montgomery x Fem!Reader

Summary: Read request above!

Warnings: degradation, praise, mommy kink, spanking, spreader bar

Word Count: 1.6k

Taglist: @shslbunnylover @bellatrixsbrat @aemilia19 @wandsmxmff @maybe-a-humanbean

© Do not copy, repost, or modify any of my works.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

"What's your safe word?" You were asked by the older woman straddling your hips.

"Pineapple," you shakily responded, slightly squirming your body in anticipation.

"Good. Remember that. Now bend over mommy's lap." She patted her tanned and toned thighs.

You bowed your head in submission before hurling yourself over the redheads lap with your ass lifted ever so slightly.

"What are you going to do to me?"

"You're my little plaything tonight. My little stress reliever. You're going to be my own personal fucktoy until I feel better." Her cold hand found the cheek of your ass, and it took everything in you to deny the shiver that attempted to take over your body.

A hiss escaped your throat when the spanking first started, the sharp sting hitting you every few seconds that was followed by a small soothing rub to ease a bit of the tension.

Addison let out a loud sigh, allowing herself to let all of her stress out on you. Not that you cared, you would do anything for her. Anything for the woman who stole your heart.

You took spank after spank, allowing your body to be in complete submission to the older woman. You knew how much she needed this today. How stressed she was all day at work with little to no time to let herself relax.

That was, until the two of you got home and you told her to take her stress out on you. After all, you would rather it be on you and your body over her sharp words cutting into the brand new interns.

"You can be rougher with me, mommy." You whispered out to her with a small wiggle of your ass that had the redhead squeeze it tighter.

Even though you had a safe word, Addison still made sure to not get too carried away. After all, this wasn't just for her.. she still wanted to make sure it felt good for you. And it definitely did.

"Is that so?" She raised a brow that you couldn't see. "Is my sweet girl ready for me to let it all out on this pretty little body?"

"Yes, mommy. Please.." you tried to urge the woman on, "Use me. Do whatever you want with me. I'm yours.. all yours."

Fingers wrapped in your hair, pulling you up from her lap so you could face her. She admired the way your cheeks were already covered in a blush and she had barely even started with you.

"Then be my good little girl and lay down on the bed. Mommy knows exactly what she's going to do with you." She scrunched her nose with a sadistic smile and gave you a wink before letting you go, watching admirably as you scrambled onto the bed without hesitation.

Your head fell against the plush pillow while your eyes followed the fiery locks of your lover as she made her way to the walk-in closet. The dimly lit room was where the redhead left her special toys.

Toys she loved to use on you. Only you.

And the specific toy she brought out tonight was new. She figured now would be the best time to try it out and test your limits.

Your eyes widened when you realized what she had brought out with her. A spreader bar. A bar that would not only help hold your legs open, but to also keep them from closing. Something you often did when the woman made you come.

"That's right, mommy's got a brand new toy." She ran a hand down the long metal rod in a seductive manner before stopping at the edge of the bed.

You gasped when she pulled you towards the end of the bed by your ankle. She slid one into position, locking it into place on the bar before doing the same to the other.

"Safe word?" She asked once again.

"Pineapple," you answered.

She smiled deviously before pulling on the bar to spread your legs just a notch farther apart. "That's my good girl.. always my good girl." She cooed as she slid the bar again, spreading your legs as far as she knew you could go.

The redhead licked her lips slowly as her eyes scanned the glistening mess between your legs before bringing her lips to place wet kisses in a firm line up your leg.

"So perfect.." she mumbled between kisses, wasting no more time before swirling her tongue around your aching clit.

"Yesss," you whispered out.

Your body was tense as she started, your body unfamiliar with the restricted amount of movement you could make. You were pinned. Spread out. Completely exposed to your lover who lavished your cunt with meticulous strokes.

"Mmm, Addison." Green eyes glanced up at you, completely hooded and glazed over, and you had to force yourself not to buck your hips at the look.

Your fingers found her fiery locks, twisting and curling into her tight waves to keep her close to you. Her speed only increased with your movements, using her lips and tongue to play with your bundle of nerves.

"Close. So close." The redhead chuckled, sending vibrations to your clit that had your free hand clutching desperately at the soft sheets beneath you.

Addison's nails dug into your thighs, leaving crescent shaped indents into your flesh for her to enjoy looking at later.

Your head fell back, eyes nearly rolling to the back of your head as your orgasm ripped through your body. Addison loved hearing every little sound you made, knowing she was the only one who could make those sinful noises come from you.

Once your legs shook and spasmed around her, she knew you were at your most sensitive, and took it upon herself to truly test just how much you could truly take.

"Such a good little toy you're being for mommy, letting me devour this sweet little pussy to make me feel better." She licked her bottom lip that glistened from your wetness.

"But it's not enough, I don't think mommy has had her fill yet," she smirked.

A surprised gasp escaped your throat when her hands returned to the bar and forcefully flipped you over and onto your stomach. Your body wasn't flat for long, as a moment later, your ass lifted high into the air when she bent your knees for you.

Your cheek was warm against the sheet, completely contrasting the colder air your lifted ass felt. But, chills ran through your body when a finger made contact with your upper back, tracing your spine down your body that forced your back to arch at the subtle touch.

"My gorgeous girl," the older woman cooed.

Her hand reached your ass once more, admiring the slightly crimson tint that was left from her previous spanking endeavors.

"Addison!" you whined out when a sharp slap hit the sensitive cheek of your ass.

It wasn't long before each cheek grew a shade darker as she spanked you roughly, each sharp slap burying your face deeper into the mattress and your body to jolt forward.

She was relentless with her movements, eagerly shoving two fingers into your tight cunt and forcing a hearty moan to reverberate off the walls around you.

"Oh, god!"

"You like that, babygirl?"

"Yes, mommy!" Your pussy fluttered around her slender digits that were thrusting dominantly inside of you.

She pressed her thumb against your button, rubbing your sensitive bud that had you screaming out the fiery redhead's name over and over again.

"Don't stop! Please don't stop!"

"Don't worry, little one, mommy didn't plan on it. I need this just as much as you do," she said.

Addison brought her lips to your ass, biting the tender skin that sent a jolt of electricity throughout your body as her teeth pinched into your skin. Your pleas for her to do it again wouldn't dare be denied by your lover as she found a fresh spot on your cheek to leave another mark that was sure to bruise later.

The curve of her fingers and her relentless pounding had you spewing the most obscene phrases as you came around her fingers. Your body quivered, Addison holding you firmly by your hip to keep you from falling over.

"That's it, babygirl. You did so good for me." She cooed as her fingers slowed, your pussy tightening around her fingers making it harder for her to continue moving. "Took my fingers like the good girl I know you are."

You whined when you suddenly felt empty, while Addison sucked her fingers clean and admired the way your ass was covered in the most prettiest shade of crimson she had ever seen.

Your legs nearly buckled when the redhead released you from the spreader bar, the soreness from the longevity of your endeavors becoming prominent as you fell against the mattress.

"Aww, you poor thing." The metal bar clanked as Addison dropped it to the floor to focus solely on you. "Would my sweet girl like a bath?" she asked, pushing your hair away from your face to examine your flushed state.

"Mhm," you mumbled quietly with tired hooded eyes and a blissed out state of mind.

Addison smiled softly in response, her demeanor completely changing from stressed to loving at your tired state. Did she really fuck you that hard? She had never imagined you would take what she gave like a champ.

Of course she worried she would take it too far to cause your safe word to be used, but the adoration on your face as she took care of you in the bath afterwards gave her the comfort she was looking for.

And to her surprise, you would let her do it again, whenever she needed a bit of stress relief and you wanted a good fucking. It was truly a win-win for both of you.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

general masterlist | taglist

[chrollohearttags]

long winded ass post I contemplated not writing but did it anyways. read if you’d like or ignore lmao.

so I feel as though this kind of goes without saying but a lot has changed on tumblr and the vibe has shifted a lot, sadly, not for the better either :/ I thought about this for a while and although last week, I was not posting any new content due to the strike, I’ve decided to step away from writing in general after this month. I could sit here and go on a tangent about how it’s the ‘algorithm’ and ‘dying fandoms’ but to me, this boils down to the fact that I refuse to exhaust myself to be unappreciated + disrespected. That’s not to say I’m ungrateful to everyone who reblogs and comments on my works all the time because I am incredibly grateful! I love each of you and I look forward to reading your tags/thoughts. However, it’s not lost on me that the anime fandom in general is becoming shrouded in toxicity and many of us are being pushed away. We’re in an age where people are seen as content machines and not humans so others feel entitled to their art and feel no need to be kind, understanding or empathetic to that person’s feelings. I’m not wasting my time trying to teach people manners that they should’ve learned a long time ago. I refuse to share my craft with people like that. And to say the quietest part out loud: y’all don’t want black writers around, PERIOD. One scroll through the dash shows that much. As someone who’s written primarily for AOT (not changing btw) and specifically the black side of the fandom, it’s almost laughable at the extreme lengths that ppl have gone through to see it be erased. And I don’t mean getting fics hit with labels or reporting (that failed so they switched to plan B.) since I began back writing in 2020-21, it was obvious that it was the most popular among black girls and I remember ppl telling me to write for them. Hell, it’s the sole reason I even watched. Needless to say, I fell in love with the show and it holds a special place in my heart. However, I realized I didn’t need any of the original material. Not only that, in all the years I’ve been writing, it’s the first time I’ve seen so many black girls resonating and happy with a group of characters. It was the first and only time I’ve seen stories where I didn’t feel as though them being a black character was a hidden secret or toned down to appeal to others (no shade). It was in my face and proud, even if I didn’t personally resonate with the reader or concept of the story. It still felt good coming from a fandom where I was literally the ONLY black writer in it. Fast forward and I clearly see that now, it’s not welcomed. We could sit here and blame it on non-blk (yt) having the problems but that’s a load of bullshit and the only enemies we have are one another. It’s been other black writers who have littered the tags with discourse abt the same stupid topic to avoid new fics being seen. It’s been other black writers who have switched fandoms when they were no longer the ONLY ones bc coexisting is just too damn hard apparently. It’s been other black authors who have made it blatantly clear that they are only interested in seeing and creating stories that are palatable to other races so they won’t be perceived in a negative light or to be seen as one of the ‘good ones’. Even down to not using black reader tags or avoiding coded language. So much so, they are comfortable laughing at anti-black rhetoric being pushed on other apps so as long as their new favs are not the brunt of the joke.

I’m not here to tell anybody how or what to write. I’m not here to say you ONLY have to like one show but what I am saying is that i will NOT be spending hours and days agonizing over a fic for it to be minimized to a joke for a bitch on TikTok. I will not spend the little free time I have trying to crunch and finish a fic for it not do well but watch y’all pile in my mentions to argue over nonsense. And I won’t sit here and watch y’all purposely try to run other black writers away bc they don’t fit ur aesthetic. Fiction is fiction and whether you resonate with it or not, it’s expression. I’m a boring ass country bumpkin from the middle of nowhere, Florida who’s got social anxiety, chronically ill, neurodivergent and is in bed by 10:00. I don’t smoke, never had sex and I literally never leave the house unless I’m grocery shopping. I never have and never will live the life of any of my characters, even the most tame ones. But I write for EVERY black girl and want everyone of them to be seen. The one space where that seems to be allowed is obviously not welcomed anymore. Arguing and trying to defend ourselves against people who are committed to misunderstanding us is pointless. Minimizing us down to ‘baby mama’, ‘hoodrat’ fics, simply bc you no longer like certain characters (many of which you all were writing for not too long ago) is quite frankly clown and coon ass behavior. Watching y’all become enraged by tropes that are used by ever race, every fandom, etc but turning the blind eye bc it suits ur narrative is fucking hypocritical and laughable at best.

I’m not insecure in my writing. Never have been and never will be. I know I pour everything I have into creating the best work I can and it’s for that reason that I won’t allow it to be treated like trash. I have over 250 drafts in my Google docs and best believe, that’s where they’ll stay until I see fit. Although I know it’ll probably mean leaving the last place I have any sense of community and social interaction in general, it’s not worth coming on here angry everyday in defense mode. Its not worth getting out of my character over and I rather just not be around if it means I have to play mean girl. My mind may change and all of this will just have been me getting shit off my chest but as of right now, this account will be archived come February 28th. Thank you to everybody who’s supported me this far and gave me a safe space. I love all of you so very much and hope that we can enjoy the rest of this month together 🫶🏾 🤍

[reveluving]

But just, imagine Graves is suuuuuch a hard ass to you in front of his men and a total ass (almost more than he is to his other men) so it doesn’t seem like he’s giving you favoritism and doesn’t make it obvious that you two are doin’ the dirty dooooo. But behind closed doors Graves gives you whatever you want. Want to go on a specific mission? Sure. What a shiny new gun? Absolutely. Want him to bed you over in his office and just devour you(I imagine this mans is such a giver)? Fuck yes. Wanna blow him under his desk while he’s on the phone with Shepherd? He’s already rock hard and ready. AHHHHG It’s just Warren’s Graves’ damn smile. 🫠

WARREN'S GRAVES’ SMILE MAKES ME INSANE TOO, BABY! I FEEL YOU 🤲🏼😭

Includes: mentions of s~mut; oral s~ex, both m & f receiving (minors DNI!), sugar daddy-ish Graves (but he loves tf outta you), this man is a GONER. 

COD x shy!wife thots closed! Thank you, everyone, for your time & amazing minds! I sincerely hope I can do this again with y'all soon! 💌

Come & check out my COD m.list!

Pray for this man because Phil knew he was done for as soon as he first saw you ✋🏼😔

Him being extra hard on you (in more ways than one) isn’t necessarily in terms of raising his voice more than the authoritative tone he already uses, but more so with an intense stare, or a deeper tone, you know? A stare which I feel like it takes everything in you not to do anything embarrassing as you stand with your team, be it a moan or a slight indication of you rubbing your thighs together. 

And it takes everything in him not to express his satisfaction the way he would behind closed doors. 

No doubt you can take whatever he gives as a commander, just like how he treats the rest of his team—you were a soldier before you were his, after all. But as soon as you and him get together, he has some sense of not letting his ego take charge in a disrespectful sense just to prove a point in front of his company. 

Listen, he’s not a relationship guy. He’s had his fair share long ago, only to opt for one-nighters with his line of work.

But now? He wouldn’t even dream of being in anyone’s presence (and bed) other than yours. 

You may as well mistake a Cupid’s bow accidentally shooting him each time the two of you are in private; raising your hands to his lips with a warmer look in his eyes, tugging you by the hand to sit on his lap as soon as you lock his office door, personally tending to your injuries. Or if the wound needs further medical attention, he'll come to check up on you once the professionals have settled their part.

Picture this: on your day off, you and him in bed after ‘sexc time’, cuddling in bed while looking out of the gigantic hotel windows, though really, Phil’s just looking at you and how the city lights just shine on your skin. 

But back to buying you shit!

Whether you’re the kind to react to his exorbitant gifts bashfully or immediately thank him by showering his face with lipstick-stained kisses, there is nothing in the world he wouldn’t get for you. Even with a mere glance at an item as you window shop, don’t be surprised to find it under your pillow or suspiciously slipped into one of your bags at the barracks. So, the second he notices your eyes linger on something, he will buy it, with or without your knowledge. 

This is just my two cents, but most, if not, all of the blorbos I've written for have a deep passion for you in red lipstick, and Phil is no doubt a part of that list. Even if you can't wear it all the time for obvious reasons, he wants you to keep it with you at all times. 

Because there are days when the two of you can't be in the same team together, much to his dismay, say, because of speciality differences, so one of you is needed elsewhere. 

So, when one day, you surprise him with a little gift before his departure by leaving a pretty red kiss mark on a piece of card, handkerchief or even on the glass of his watch, just know it'll be an always-thing. A habit, if you will, even if you're on the same team at that moment.

Missions, too, even if he downright hates your choices. Again, your respect over his own ego. He won’t stop you, and he has no right to, but expect to be in the same regime/team as his. Should anything happen to you, and he prays to God nothing does, he’ll be the first to find you. 

When days off seem so far, though, his office is where the ✨️ magic happens ✨️. 

It’s a common meeting place for the two of you, be it for sharing food you snuck out of the kitchen or letting him take his frustrations out by smothering his face in between your luscious thighs while you lay back on his desk. His office just has more life whenever you arrive. The reports can wait, he’s (mostly) his own boss, after all. The time you both have is more precious. 

And the part about you blowing him under his desk while he’s on the phone is so real of you.

He’s able to drone out Shepherd’s voice on the other end of the call because he knows the general’s just repeating what they’ve discussed days or hours prior. Phil’s more focused on your glassy eyes, struggling to encompass his sheer girth in your pretty little mouth, all while attempting to smile behind your tears. Looking up at him as he tilts his head back onto the office chair and occasionally bucks his hips while he disguises his moans with mindless grunts as if he had been listening to Shepherd yapping in the first place.

“Mhm, right, right…” His jaw clenched, eyes lidded and a lazy smile worth making you whine around his cock as he stared down at you. His phone was pressed in between his shoulder and ear as he rested his forearm on the head of the chair. The other hand brushed your hair back, enjoying the way your cheeks became just a tad more prominent at his gentle touches.

“Yeah, I’ll call you back about it,” He wanted to roll his eyes, initially at the thought of having to face him again, only for it to drag into a groan when the tip of his touched the back of your throat. He tossed his phone as soon as the call ended, a smirk returning to his face when he could finally focus on you. “Sorry, pretty girl.”

You choked a little when he gently pushed you to take him even more.

Oh, he wanted to hear more of that sound.

“You can take more o’me, can’t ya?”

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

Bonus:

Have you guys seen this video with the guy testing out a pink gun with a teddy bear keychain? THAT. Is most definitely the kind of gift that he’d definitely get for you at first sight. Deadass would twirl my hair if he got that for me.

I imagine that if your team learned about the pink gun (whether or not you added that Phil bought it for you), I just find it hilarious that they’d think it wouldn’t have a strong recoil since you didn’t seem to have a problem with it. And as soon as they give it a try, they just jerk back so violently, and Phil’s watching with the most infuriating smirk on his face since he’s seen you play and pose with it when you shoot, taking the drawbacks like no problem 😭😭

» gorgeous rose divider by the amazing @firefly-graphics ♡

[kissesforsatoru]

GUARDIAN ANGEL | wc: 5k~

GUARDIAN ANGEL!HOBIE BROWN X GN!READER

₊˚⌗ hobie was never supposed to get involved with you, yet you and him became irrevocably tied to one another.

⤷ cw : general yandere themes, soft yandere!hobie, near death experiences, marking (not in the way you guys probably think), jealousy, possessive behavior if you squint, implied power dynamics, pet names (love, sweetheart), horribly written british accent, utterly smitten hobie, softie!reader, reader is smaller than hobie, but angels are big compared to humans so that's why (he’s like 6’5+ and he wears platforms), EVERYTHING ABOUT ANGELS IN THIS FIC IS ENTIRELY MADE UP.

notes : please bear in mind that i don't have a full grasp on hobie yet, so he is probably definitely a bit ooc; i did try my best though!! i’m also planning to put this on ao3 at some point, so if you see it pop up there it’s not plagiarized, it’s just me ૮ ˶´ ᵕˋ ˶ა

♫₊˚.🎧 now playing . . . fool for you by noita

it was never supposed to turn out like this. you and him were never supposed to happen.

you were only supposed to be 'just another human' to hobie like the rest of everyone else. he wasn't supposed to get involved or contact you directly; he wasn't supposed to get attached. you weren't supposed to get attached to him either. but you did, and he did too. so much that he’s entirely fucked. there’s no coming back from this for you or him.

it's not like this is any of hobie’s fault though, not when he’s known to not follow the rules and definitely not when you're the most precious human he has ever had the pleasure of being the guardian angel of.

he will admit that at first it was boring to watch you, but then it was fun. 

you aren’t anything incredibly special. just a broke college student with very few friends who likes to stay home more than you like to go out. but following you around and laughing his ass off about all of the stupid little things you did when you thought nobody was watching, like talk to yourself or narrate your actions, hobie really enjoyed that. he got a nice kick out of whenever someone would catch you doing one of those things and you’d get all flustered, shy, and painfully awkward.

you're undeniably adorable, and so refreshing. it's nice being your guardian angel in comparison to being one for some grubby old bastard whose morality borders far past what's considered to be good. hobie hates those people, pigs they are, all of them. you aren’t anything like them. you're boring, yeah, but hobie still likes you better than any other human. 

he sometimes pretended that you were talking to him whenever you spoke to yourself out loud, even though that couldn't have been possible. he would smirk and respond to you still with his dry humor and witty remarks because it was fun and it gave him a delightful little buzz. 

he didn't know how, or when, it happened, but hobie then found himself melting whenever he was around you, and more, he didn't mind it.

hobie used to hate angels that fell for humans because they’re such fragile beings; you have to be careful with them, all gentle and soft—it's why they need guardian angel, otherwise, they would die out faster than any other species earth has ever known. and angels, despite what people may think, aren't gentle lovers. they're aggressive and intense by nature due to their power and status as "higher beings." humans are too weak to handle an angel's love; it would be too overwhelming for them to handle, so falling for one is pointless, and hobie always thought that the angels who did were stupid. but he gets it now.

he shouldn’t though.

guardian angels have very specific and strict rules that have to be followed meticulously for both the safety of humans and angels. of course, hobie has broken more than a few of these rules before and he’s also gotten plenty of lectures from miguel about it too—enough for hobie to have actually considered flying under the lunatics' radar by doing his job correctly, but hobie... he doesn't like to be pushed around and forced into a role. especially one as heavy as guardian angel. that's just not him, so he does what he wants.

but still, hobie has never seriously messed up before. he's only had a few slip ups here and there that aren't too reprimandable in comparison to other things. he's tried to be somewhat serious about his job, follow all the important rules and all that. that is until he fell for you.

hobie has broken many of the important rules for you, and the first one was even falling for you in the first place. you made him break that one so easily, almost too easy. the next rule hobie broke for you was communicating with you directly, revealing himself and really getting involved with you. but to be fair, that also wasn't his fault. he didn't have the intention of letting you see him that night, let alone talking to you; it just happened.

your friend gwen told you about guardian angels and how it was possible for you to manifest using the help of yours, and you were awfully excited about finding out if that was true or not. you asked him for a sign that he was there, that he was willing to help you. one thing led to another and suddenly you were nestled deeply into the corner of the wall on your bed, wide eyed and shivering as you stared at him standing across the room.

perhaps it was your over eagerness mixed with his half-developed love for you at the time that made him stupidly decide to give you a sign that he was real in the form of literally showing you that he was real, he doesn't know. either way he did show you himself, and it had shocked you, really (an understatement). it took many hours of him consoling you to get you to understand that he's not some psycho who broke into your home somehow, but your actual, real guardian angel, in the flesh.

you were practically all over him after that, asking him all sorts of questions and touching him just to see if that was even possible for you to do—and to know what it would feel like too. not that he minded anyway. hobie decided then that it was much better having you actually talk to him than it was pretending that you were. and your touch was so soft that hobie had actually faltered a little bit when you reached for his cheek, pressing your palm against his skin and keeping it there for as long as he would let you. 

of all the places you could have touched him, of course you would choose an area that felt so unreasonably intimate, shaking him to his core. luckily you were far too enamored with the idea that he was a real angel for you to notice how much you’d set him off, how much you affect him.

after that he couldn't stay away from you. before he might have had a chance to snap himself out of his little love-sick puppy stupor, but having you aware of him, talking to him, touching him—it was all exhilarating; he loved it. and it would truly be unfair for anyone to expect him to pull away from you and never let anything like that happen again. that was never an option for hobie, so he just didn't. he won’t ever deny himself the pleasure of you.

the last, most recent rule that hobie broke for you, and the one that happens to be the most important of all, was interfering with your life. going against "fate," as miguel calls it. hobie always thought that it was bullshit since a guardian angels' job is to protect, but apparently, they aren’t allowed to prevent their assigned human's death, or cure their illnesses, or anything like that, even though they had the power to. he didn't understand it, but still, he never got attached enough to feel the need to go against that rule until he fell in love with you.

— ୨୧ —

he indulged himself little by little with you. first by allowing himself to enjoy being your guardian angel, then by falling in love with you and involving himself physically with you. and then he started allowing himself to steal your attention from anyone or anything other than him on days he felt oddly needy.

that term isn't something anyone who knew hobie would use to describe him, not even he would use it to describe himself, but with you he's always acted a little bit different. he came to accept it, told himself that it was the "y/n effect" and left it at that. being needy with you was something that hobie didn't really mind all that much; he embraced it, really. 

hobie can at least get away with a little bit of harmless interference this way, by stealing your attention for himself. he didn't mind receiving another long, boring lecture about how he can’t keep breaking rules if it meant he got to spend his day with you holed up in your little apartment, just the two of you. you and him and nobody else.

he'd show up out of nowhere when you least expected him to, always, and tug on your arm, pull you into his body and coax you into staying with him. he'd tell you that going to work would be bad for you, leave you sick and groggy—you hate being sick and all groggy, and only a fool would think hobie wouldn’t use that to his advantage.

"you have to listen to your guardian angel, love," he would tell you, tilting his head to look down at your small frame, admiring the slight angry pout on your lips. "i know what's best for you, so stay, yeah?"

you always do listen to him. you trust him completely, after all, because you're such a naive human that could never ever think that hobie, your guardian angel, has bad intentions with you. and he doesn't, no, he's just a little bit selfish. no harm in that, right? 'course not.

hobie can go a little overboard with his selfishness whenever you have a date to go on though. he shouldn't be because you're a human and he's an angel and he could never have you for real, right? so he should let you have your little love story with your puny little human boy. 

but hobie is going to be selfish regardless of the facts. regardless of some stupid rules.

he hates the idea of you being with some dumb human when you have him. he's perfect, he's an angel. he's strong enough to protect you, he has your best interest always in mind—it's his literal job—he can love you the way you deserve to be loved and more, he can care for you better than anyone else in the world because he knows you best and knows exactly what you need without ever having to tell him. no human can ever compare to him.

no human will ever be as cool as him either. hobie doesn't think any guy can top him when he's a punk angel—what could possibly be cooler than that? you said it yourself when the two of you first met. 

"wow, i didn't think angels could look so... cool. hobie, you're amazing; what the hell!? how did someone like me get you as a guardian angel?”

who are you to be going on dates when you compliment him so sweetly like that. you obviously have an interest in him and all hobie needs to do is push you in the right direction, so he doesn't mind telling you any excuse he can come up with to get you to drop a guy, stupid and unreasonable or not.

"that guy just wants you for your body."

"that guy has a love already that he's not telling you about."

“that guy isn’t a good person, he’ll be a bad influence for you.”

"sweetheart, he's too ugly for you." he told you one time as an excuse, and you did not like that one. 

"hobie! it's not about looks, it's about personality, and– and the heart!" you yelled at him, smacking his chest lightly as you pulled away from him and rushed your way down the hall towards your room.

"oh, s'at right? you like guys with ‘heart’?" he huffed a laugh as he followed behind you, leaning against your door frame when he got to your room. you turn around to glare at him, but he only smirks at your ruffled posture.

cute. cute.

"yes, actually! unlike you. i had no idea angels could be such assholes," you grit before turning back around to flop yourself face first into bed.

you always do that when you're upset with him, which isn't often at all, but it happens enough for hobie to pick up on the little habits you develop, and this is certainly one of them. you don't like looking at him 'cause he ‘does stuff to you,’ apparently. makes you unable to stay mad if you look at him too long, so you just choose not to. 

he pushes off the wall and saunters towards you, pressing a knee into your bed as he reaches over to tug at your arm, urging for you to roll over, to look at him. "c'mon, you don't mean that, love." he smiles when you do eventually turn to look at him, and this time with a much less angry expression on your pretty face.

"no, i don't," you sigh defeatedly, "but you are pretty mean sometimes, hobes."

that nickname. he loves that nickname. he loves even more that you were the one who gave it to him.

he hums thoughtfully before responding, "not to you though, and tha's what matters, don't you think?" you roll your eyes at him, shifting so that you're flat on your back now as you look up at him. you don't say anything more, only stare up at him with your pretty eyes, all glossy and shining under the dim light in your room. big, and so fucking innocent.

god. fuck.

hobie crawls over you slowly, keeping his eyes steadily on you as he does. he brings a hand to your cheek, stroking his thumb over your soft skin gently as he settles himself above you, and then he reaches his thumb to press into your chin so that he can get a good grip on your face. to keep you from gettin' all shy on him, ‘cause he knows you will when you realize what he’s about to do to you.

his eyes flit down to your lips when your tongue darts out to lick across your bottom one, all sensual like—or maybe hobie is getting too worked up. yeah, probably that, but whatever.

you sigh shakily when hobie starts to lean down closer. you're so pliant, laying there nice and still for him even though you're feeling nervous right now. because you trust him; there isn't anything hobie could do that would make you not trust him.

hobie has to keep himself from absolutely devouring you when his lips press to yours. he has to remind himself to be soft, to not be too aggressive so he doesn't scare you too much, or hurt you either; the weak little whine you let out as he kisses you does nothing to help his self-control stay intact though. thankfully, you grab tightly at his leather vest and tug for him to come closer, inviting him to press further into you and kiss you deeper.

hobie balances himself up on his knees as the hand that was holding him up comes to knead at your waist and tummy, feeling and rubbing there as gently as he can right now in his worked-up state—which is just barely enough for him not to leave imposing bruises on your skin from how much stronger he is compared to you. you don't seem to mind how tightly he holds onto you though, because you're still eagerly kissing him back, making all sorts of pleased little noises that hobie is all too happy to swallow up.

hobie only pulls away when you start squirming under him, signaling that you need to breathe. he wraps his arms around you and pulls you tight against his body as he nuzzles into your neck, inhaling your delicious scent and placing little kisses on your neck as you pant softly.

"you don't need another man, you know that love?" he ask you, tells you, after a while of the two of you just laying together.

"yeah, i guess i don't," you reply to him, airy and quiet, right before you fall asleep tucked nicely into his arms. exactly where you belong.

— ୨୧ —

jessica stops hobie one night right as he's about to leave and go see you.

"if miguel finds out about this, you know he's going to be pissed, right?” she says, coming up behind him. “maybe you can get off on a wrist slap for breaking small, stupid rules, but falling in love with a human is something miguel absolutely will not allow, hobie."

hobie scoffs and rolls his eyes but doesn’t reply, nor does he turn around to look at her. his emotions and feelings would be right on display for her if he did. she’d know well how much he fucked up, and that would be a hit to his pride. ‘specially since he always told her about his dislike for angels who fell for humans. 

"what’s ’at got anything to do with me, mm?" he decides to respond out of courtesy, turning his head to look at her through his peripheral, "i'm not in love with any human."

hobie knows that jessica knows that's a lie. it's obvious he's in love with you because of how different he's acting. doing his job right and all that, to some degree at least. breaking the 'don't get in physical contact your human' and 'don't fall in love with your human' rules aside, he's properly keeping up with his status reports about you, he's not off doing other things when he's supposed to be with you. he's being the good proper guardian angel he should be, and that is definitely out of character for hobie. it was really only a matter of time before someone found out. hobie is just lucky it was jessica who put two and two together first instead of miguel. then he’d have a real big problem on his hands. 

jessica sighs. "all the stuff miguel says about angels getting attached and falling for humans being dangerous is true, hobie, not just some control tactic to keep angels on a leash. it could cost your human their life, and you your job," she warns before leaving.

hobie always liked how not-pushy she is; it’s why he prefers her over miguel. but he thinks she's wrong, because he would never let you die. ever. he couldn’t care less about losing this shitty job though.

— ୨୧ —

the conversation with jess, as much as hobie hates to admit it, put a real damper on his mood. 

he's agitated when he gets to your apartment, showing up right in your room where he knows that you are because he can feel you there. and once he is there, he eases up a little bit. all of his racing thoughts seem to disappear when you come into his vision so he can see you now, not just feel you. seeing and feeling you is nice; it grounds him.

you jolt when you see him suddenly appear behind you in the reflection of the mirror that you're sitting in front of though. a gentle gasp falls from between your pretty lips as you whirl around quickly to look at him, eyes widening like a doe caught in headlights. you ease up quickly, realizing that it's just him; you sigh the words under your breath as you deflate a little bit, coming down from the brief bit of adrenaline you must have felt with him scaring you like that. 

goodness, aren't you just so delicate? it's a damn shame hobie's not supposed to go falling for a human, isn't it? a load of tosh that is.

he smirks, "sorry, love. didn't mean to scare you li' that,” he says easy, stepping forward until he's a few feet in front of you, looking down at you, looking up at him. your eyes are glimmering under the artificial light of the lamp settled next to the mirror. he thinks that even in such dodgy lighting, your eyes and soft expression are still utterly enrapturing. the soft, charming glow that the light provides to your features draws a pleased hum from hobie.

so pretty. you're so damn pretty.

"geez, hobes," you say, huffing as you look away from him and down at your lap, "you can't just keep randomly showing up like that; you may well give me a heart attack one of these days if you do." your laugh is music to his ears. airy, pitched, and sweet like the ripest peach. sweeter than the ripest peach.

an angel's voice is supposed to be the most beautiful sound, people say, but hobie disagrees. he would much rather listen to you talk or laugh all day long rather than ever have to hear another word uttered from his shitty coworkers' mouths.

"i would never let that happen to you," he says, tone shifting from playful to serious. hobie feels better that he’s with you now, but the bit jess said about you dying clings to him still. weasels it’s way into his thoughts and makes his stomach lurch. he’s buzzing, and not in the nice delightful kind of buzzing that you bring out of him, no. he just needs you right now. 

he needs to feel you—really feel you, beyond the way he feels your life force tied to him, fluctuating with your emotions and physical state. he needs to actually touch you, hold you.

hobie gets down onto his knees in front of you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you up into his chest as he does. you whimper in surprise at the sudden proximity between you and him, your hands instinctively grabbing at his shoulder and jacket to steady yourself, even with how tightly he's holding you against him because his presence just overwhelms you too much. he always makes you feel dizzy and weak in the knees. you can never seem to function, not without his help. but that's normal between humans and angels. you aren't made to handle him, you aren't supposed to, but that's okay; he can be as gentle as you need him to be. 

"look at me, love," hobie whispers, hooking a finger under your chin, nudging you to look at him. you squeak when your eyes meet his, no doubt incredibly flustered—he can feel that you are. can feel your pulse throbbing as heat rushes through your skin, radiating a dull warmth for him to sink into as his fingers dig deeper into your skin. he smirks, huffing out a faint laugh as he looks down at you, admiring you.

"there you go, sweetheart," he praises you softly, brushing the pad of his thumb across the slight curve of your bottom lip. your eyes flutter closed briefly as you take a shaky breath, and then you open them again, watching him intently, and god does it make hobie feel all sorts of things. 

"'m never gonna let anyone or anything hurt you," he murmurs, tightening his grip around your waist and holding you firmly against his chest with each word uttered, “you’re too precious for me to be careless with you like i am the rest of the shitty people in this shitty world. only you matter to me, yeah? just you and nobody fucking else.” he finishes quietly, dipping down to kiss lightly on your cheeks, one on each side, and then another on your forehead, drawn-out and lingering even after he pulls away.

you're practically melting in his hold by the time he does pull away, so pliable and warm, and you're looking at him with hooded eyes that you can barely keep open. delirious as you are, utterly suffocated by him, your grip on his shoulder and jacket is still relentless, unwavering, as if he would slip away from you if you loosened up the tiniest bit. you want him, need him, near to you as much as he wants you near, really. it's not just him with all of these intense, overwhelming and all-consuming emotions; it's you too.

“hobie,” you whine, nearly breathless, “can you– can we please kiss again? on the… the lips?” you plead, tugging at his jacket in desperation.

“anything for you, sweetheart,” hobie whispers, leaning forward until his mouth is hovering over yours, breathing you in slowly before he finally closes them together. he kisses you slow and tender, taking his time in savoring how delicious you taste. you sigh contentedly, tilting your head to the side and parting your lips for his tongue to delve inside of your mouth.

the hand he has wrapped around your waist slides across your body, feeling every dip and curve down to your thigh, where he grabs at gently, swinging it up to his hip as he pushes off the floor. your legs wrap around him instinctively to hold yourself up in his arms as he carries you across the room to your bed, his lips never once parting away from yours as he does. his other hand is holding your chin and jaw in place so that you can't pull away from him either, wanting as much contact with you at a time as he can get away with. he knows you wouldn't pull away from him so easily, but he likes controlling the kiss, likes it when you let him lead the way and guide your body with his. 

hobie carefully sits down on the bed and leans back against the wall, settling you into his lap comfortably before his hand starts roaming all over your body; along your hips and over your thighs, squeezing the fat in his hands before moving back up and dipping under your shirt to feel at your tummy. you moan and whimper into the kiss, shivering under his touch when his hand grazes along especially sensitive areas of your body. 

when hobie pulls away you're panting and dazed, humming mindlessly in pleasure as hobie starts pressing kisses down your jaw and neck. his teeth graze lightly along the sensitive flesh beneath your ear teasingly before his tongue dips out to lick delicately at the spot, making your body thrum and pulsate in delectation. he nips once at your skin before finally pulling away to look at you, to savor how much of a mess he was able to make you into with a heated kiss. and god do you look absolutely stunning like this. swollen lips parted as you breath out small puffs of air, hooded eyelids, and your clothes are entirely disheveled from where hobie had pushed them up and slid his hands under. 

fuck, you’re lovely.

"you look a mess, sweetheart," he rasps fondly, running his fingertips lightly along your hips and thighs.

"'ts your fault," you mumble, falling into his chest and nuzzling your nose into his neck, exhaling softly as you close your eyes and relax. hobie wraps both of his arms around you and rubs your back gently, soothing you until you hum contentedly.

"yeah, i suppose it is, isn't it?" he agrees quietly, not wanting to disrupt your somnolence. 

hobie lays with you in his arms for hours after that, listening intently to your steady heartbeat and soft, rhythmic breathing, every now and then feeling you shift with a cute disgruntled little huff whenever you've stayed in one position for too long. hobie loves your sleepy, content little sounds, loves the way your fingers curl around his vest; even in your sleep you're still clinging onto him, because you need him, and he loves it. 

hobie loves you.

— ୨୧ —

hobie knows he's not supposed to interfere with fate. it's against the rules, or whatever bullshit excuse everyone says it is. hobie didn't really care that much about it before because he's never cared about anyone enough to ever want to change their fate, but now he has you, and you need him more than ever to keep you safe, to keep you from dying. 

god, he doesn't know how it happened, but you were crying for him so desperately. curled on the floor, gasping for air and clutching onto life with weak claws, you were calling his name. it was like sensory overload, hearing every strewn-out letter of his name mixed in with your sobs, with the incessantly throbbing and pulsating of your life force weakening, slowly and agonizing. 

the second you had been put in danger, hobie felt it. all throughout his body and deep within his soul, he felt you dying. there was a shift in the air at that moment, a suffocating, excruciatingly tense one that everyone around hobie had noticed; jess and miguel, and his best friend pavitr. 

they all yelled and screamed at him that he couldn't go to you, lunging to stop him as he fumbled for the watch that would help him get to you the fastest, but the noise they made was dull and muffled in comparison to the way you cried for him. and god did it feel like he was getting stabbed through the heart mercilessly every time that you did. how dare they ever expect him to just listen to then when you were in so much fucking pain, all alone and the only one you wanted was him. 

he had to save you. fuck the rules and fuck his shitty job; you were far more important to him than any of that. it didn’t matter to hobie that in order to save you he had to enchain his soul with yours, it didn't matter to him that he would share every bit of pain with you now, even your last breath if you ever took it, because hobie would rather give up his entire being to you than ever have to live without you.

© 2023 by kolyasobsession━all rights reserved. modification, reproduction or plagiarism of my works and theme are strictly prohibited. likes, comments, and reblogs are highly appreciated.

[z0mbiefrank]

MCR5 Theory: Secretary Gerard is a character called The Widow

I'm unsure if everyone is thinking along the same lines, but I have yet to see anyone talk about it, so I've put together this post with evidence and links. (this will expand on the 9/11 theory. also special shout out to @autistme who made a spreadsheet with all the aus eagles lyrics) MCR performed Eagles at all six Australia shows this tour. At five of them, Gerard was dressed in a grey suit and skirt, commonly referred to as the secretary or office lady by fans.

(📷 Dough Peters) Here's a quick reference table for the things I will be talking about here. (Not necessary to read, I will explain it all)

At Brisbane, the drumheads read "everything under control" followed by "here comes the airplane". The planes have yet to hit the towers, but disaster is imminent. Eagles has evolved a lot over the tour but the Aus dates heard a new consistent change in the first verse.

All along the river bends All along with all my friends Yes, all around the river bends All together with my friends

There is minimal change for Brisbane 2. Notice how gerard is dressed as the secretary and says "my friends".

Next comes Melbourne 1. The drumhead reads "TErrOR". The plane has hit and there is a dramatic change to the first verse.

All night long the widow sends Valentines to bitter friends Yes, all night long the widow sends Valentines to all my friends

This character with friends now has a title, and it is The Widow. She has lost her husband in the attack. Her friends survived and she is sending them letters of love during this terrible time.

Melbourne 2, Gerard breaks the outfit chain. He is wearing jeans and a t-shirt, there is no hint of office wear, he is no longer playing the widow, he is playing himself. The drumhead also seems unrelated to 9/11 "BARK BARK BARK". They sing the same first verse as the previous night with minimal change, except for the last line

Valentines to all her friends

This is the only instance where Gerard does not refer to the friends as "my friends" at all during aus eagles, and it is because they weren't in the skirt suit that night, they were not the widow.

Next comes Sydney. The Widow is back and she's covered in blood! Something awful has happened to her, she's dying. But the drumhead reads "UNKILLAbLe". (This was written by Frank, an extremely powerful thing for him to do considering his accident in Sydney and PTSD. MCR has always used concept albums as a vessel to speak of things the band has been through.) The widow continues to write her letters during eagles despite the blood on her face.

(📷 Jess Gleeson) Sydney 2. The Widow again. She is in the exact same outfit, down to her boots (sports mode), but this time she is not only covered in blood but her eyes are WHITE. She is dead! The drumhead now reads "Unkillables", this is no longer specifically just one, but multiple people. It could be mcr as a band, mcr as individuals, or mcr fans themselves. In the context of a concept album, unkillables can take on a whole new meaning. It brings to mind the supernatural, ghouls, vampires, werewolves. How is it that the widow is dead, yet she is walking on stage right in front of us? Staring at us with blank eyes on the big screen? Is she a ghost, a zombie? I'm not sure. But she is still the widow. Even in death, she is searching for her husband.

(📷 ashymcr , expiiredglitter)

Which leads me to Summertime. The piece of evidence that drove me to write this long-ass post. As we know, it is a love song about Gerard's marital partner. Before they played, Gerard spoke in a breathy and musically haunting voice "I'll find you. I'll find you. come find me." Definitely something a lost and ghostly widow would say. They also bring out a white handkerchief, they do not have it in any other songs. Throughout the performance, Gerard clutched it to their chest repeatedly and held it lovingly in both hands.

In the third picture, he is looking down sadly at the handkerchief singing the line "If you stay, I would even wait all night." (video)

This is very clearly The Widow. She is mourning her husband, she is dead, lost and searching for him. Perhaps the handkerchief is all she has left of him, or it is simply to dry her tears, but she is clearly in mourning for her marital partner.

And finally, Eagles at Sydney 2. The first verse stays the same except for the third line. "Yes, all night long the widow sends" becomes

Yes, all day long the widow sends

She is writing night and day. She does not rest. Her outfits in Sydney are exactly the same. Every single other secretary's outfit is subtlely different, but now she is dead, she is stuck in the same clothing like a ghost. The Widow also makes an appearance later in the song.

We found the widow And hit her with a baseball bat

I have less ideas of what this could be about, but I think if some dead lady was walking about being unkillable, people would get freaked and attack her with a baseball bat. The concept of "unkillables" is something I could write a whole other post about but I'll spare you for now.

To conclude, I think The Widow as a concept album character would fit right in with MCR. They are no strangers to lovers separated by death. Others on here have spoken on how the feminine outfits Gerard has chosen this tour have often been of women scorned or living in the shadows of powerful men. I believe The Widow would fit right in. Even after her husband has died, she is only talked about in reference to him. She is The Widow, something that tells us more about her husband than herself.

[drdemonprince]

Hey Doctor Price!

Do you have any tips for how to stay sane while autistic with no privacy? I live in a one room college dorm with a freind and there's literally nowhere anywhere on my campus where I can have even 15 minutes alone without being on edge that someone will come in any second. I'm going nuts and struggling to cope :[

I was in a four person dorm room on a 50,000 student campus and suffered from overwhelm virtually all the time, and I had to compensate by learning to really scope out the places where privacy could be found, so I believe I have some relevant tips for you!

Locate the study rooms or study carrels that can be signed out for individual use, typically in the library. Keep a close eye on them and book them as often and as early as you can, as they tend to be booked up during finals quite quickly.

Scope out the computer labs and study areas in department-specific buildings and get a sense of their busy and fallow periods, especially ones that remain unlocked during the weekends. I worked in the Psychology Department computer lab as a work study student, and they were completely empty on the weekends. The Sociology Department's computer labs were also totally empty most nights and weekends too.

For that matter, find on-campus jobs that can get you some privacy, often lab monitoring or administrative jobs in smaller offices. One summer I worked at the front desk of the student newspaper, which was tucked away on the eighth floor of a massive building, and it got basically no business because it was the summer. I also worked as a Psych Department admin and hid myself away in the copy room and supply closet as often as possible. If a job gives you key card access to break rooms or bathrooms you might not otherwise be able to use, so much the better.

Find the bathrooms that are tucked far away from any heavy activity. Check out the basements, top floors, and down around the corners of long hallways, and near meeting halls that have to be reserved for special events. The Chemistry building had a weird, shitty women's restroom that had been converted from a supply closet across a long walkway connecting two buildings, and everybody hated it. That meant it was nearly always empty. In my old office in the Psych building at Loyola, there was a bathroom off the main hall that was busy, but then another that was up a half flight of stairs near a room that was only ever used for guest speakers. NOBODY used that bathroom. I spent hours in there curled up in the dark vaping.

Learn the rhythms of a building or area of campus so you can take advantage of slow periods. If a building only has one dedicated purpose, such as a massive lecture hall, try checking it out when you know there aren't any class sessions happening. If a building is only used for recitations but those are only on tuesdays and thursdays, check it out on a wednesday. I went to a big football school, so on weekends half the campus was absoultely crawling with sports fans, but the gyms were completely dead during that period.

Stairwells. Sit at the tops of stairwells. If a building has multiple sets of stairs, find one that's far off in a corner and then hike your ass all the way to the top floor. The southwest stairwell of Loyola's Information Commons is a place I've written whole essays in, and even attended Zoom meetings from, it's so quiet.

Learn you roomate's schedule. If you're on good terms, ask them to put their schedule up on a whiteboard where you can see it, and share your own. Both of you will want time alone sometimes, and coordinating can really help. If your'e on good terms you can text as well. If your roommate ever requests alone time to study or to fuck, you get to, too.

Find the totally useless neglected spaces by exploring a little. Some dorm buildings have a shared kitchen in the basement or an activity room with air hockey tables that nobody uses. Laundry rooms are good during off times. Because most campuses are in a perpetual state of construction, there's usually old union buildings or emptied-out department buildings that haven't officially closed down yet but have next to nothing going on in them. There's lots of small waiting areas by professor's offices in nearly every building. Try every door. Duck into available classrooms. You will get interrupted sometimes but the more you learn the countors of the place and its patterns the more mastery you will have, and the less stress you will feel about the possibility of being interrupted.

I know that you said there is nowhere for you to find privacy, Anon, but I promise you that is not true! I have been on 50,000 person campuses, 12,000 person campuses, and for a few years I worked on a 2,000 person campus. I was ALWAYS able to find tucked-away bathrooms, empty classrooms, tops of stairwells, and weird neglected study areas to find some peace in. You can too. Please explore and help yourself feel more in control of this stressful situation! Good luck and let me know how it goes.

[34saveme34]

okay so since the night came, my head ache isn't so bad anymore and I can think a bit better now

so. stupid ass crack theory but

hear me out. the reason both 3 and 4 react at the mention of the igloo ISN'T because of the gay sex, or at least not fully!

I can already hear yall being like whaaaaat, Nicc, are you out of your mind? Trying to pull some tricks here or something?

But nope. No, I'm not, I'm being 100% genuine with that claim

so, a few things- it's a very special episode, especially with how it's placed, I saw some people talk about how the ending was shocking in a sense

and yeah, I get that, that was the sort of humor that was in the videos at the time and it really leaned into that, even in writing sense, I do think it's a great episode, even though I don't care That much for classic smg4 (I watched episodes from it but the gmod era grabs me more, it happens, I also like physical comedy a bit too much)

anyways- my point is, especially after seeing this one post on twitter

I didn't think that hard about it before but this really did it for me

"it's time for some smg3 and smg4 quality time together....trapped" doesn't this seem....yknow....

it sounds like a shitty ship fanfic description

hell if you look at the video that way, it's kind of written like a fanfiction, with the cliches, the enemy shipping, the sudden ways the plot develops. Characters acting out of character in a way

like

the make love line from 4, it very much sounds like some shitty ass line from a wattpad fanfic that leaves me ranting at my friends because I hate it so much yet I continue because I'm morbidly curious

the thumbnail has a specific feeling too, as if they were grabbed for it like "okay!!!!!!!!!!! you guys are gonna have a gay moment and you're gonna like it!!!!!!!!!!" and they're just like °_°

so my point is- this episode feels like a fanfic parody

aaaaand, when you look at it that way, isn't it interesting how they react at the mention of the episode the same they react to Those kind of fanfics? It would sort of explain 3's weird averseness of it, yet still considering it a moment that he blames for getting too soft

yknow. that's. still really hard to explain without making it gay

so Idk about 4, but I think 3 didn't mind the gay sex just perhaps the plot. and also the. privacy of it all. Like besides fanfic vibes, it's still embarrassing to be revealed like that to the public.

Yknow, thinking about it more with 4, I think he would probably regret it less today, like even these days it might come into his mind, like a core memory, and make him confused, like how the elevator implied that he finds 3 pretty Rizzful (and hot) and it might explain why he propositions Just Like That in Snowtrapped

Maybe one day they will do it off camera and we won't know because they don't want to repeat the same mistake

[naranjapetrificada]

This is going to be long so the short version is this:

I convinced my therapist to watch the 🌟Gay Pirate Show🌟 and now I have to confront a previously unidentified and terrifyingly deep emotional wound that could be as transformative to heal as it is terrifying to approach.

My therapist and I have a lot of let's say...demographic things in common that have made this the most successful therapeutic relationship I've ever had, but also that just made me think he might like the show. It's no secret that ofmd has been a deeply moving experience for its viewers, and queer, neurodivergent, and/or people of color have written at length about the special ways it touches us (or doesn't). Those are three categories both he and I fit into and it feels relevant to say that for context.

So yes I thought he might like it, but I also wanted to pick his brain about Big Feelings it was giving me that I hadn't experienced with the same intensity with other media/fandoms. Y'all, he gave me a completely unexpected reading on the show (and its story and its fan works) and why it makes us feel So Much that I haven't seen anywhere before.

When I say Big Feelings, I mean like I've literally had to swear off a couple of pretty innocuous categories on AO3 ("Growing Old Together" and "Domestic Fluff") because they would devastate me in ways that I couldn't attribute to anything specific. Growing Old Together comes with the possibility of death separating them, which is heartbreaking, but that didn't feel like it was the thing that was gutting me. Domestic Fluff could probably be called the most innocuous tag ever, but anything that saw our blorbos settling down and watching the Revenge sail off into the distance was fucking me up as well.

There are plenty of reasons why OFMD makes queer people feel so much, but when I say this was fucking me up I mean like, well, remember when people outside of classical music started learning about appoggiatura? Like intellectually knowing why I was crying but at a loss how intense everything felt. And my therapist (who is as good at analyzing a text as he is at being a therapist) was like "oh, it could be all the grief."

The grief.

The audacity of this motherfucker (affectionate).

It's a romcom! It's a romcom that we were explicitly told would have a happy ending! It's a romcom where the characters will get to sail off into the sunset together like they want and like we want for them! Stede and Ed, after four decades of self-hatred and trauma and fear and isolation, somehow find each other. And one of the sweetest things about their story is that it's a late in life love story, because it's incredibly inspiring for someone to get to experience a part of life they thought wasn't for them. The inescapable fact that their time together will be shorter than any of us would like is sad but not unaccountably sad to me, because of how much joy they'll be able to cram into the time they have left. I could be wrong but I don't think that alone is the source of what's been overwhelming me.

Grief is a constant presence in the world-building and the storytelling because grief is a natural response to well, so many things about being alive. Grieving is some of the hardest shit any of us ever have to do, but it's also so universal and so many of the things that make us uniquely human also make grieving well, maybe not easier, but something we can endure and process through ritual, community, and the example of those we've witnessed grieving their own losses. Many kinds of grief come with narratives that you can accept or reject all or parts of, but the narrative exists.

But have you ever heard of disenfranchised loss? Loss that's not easily labeled or classified or given the time or space or understanding it deserves? Have you experienced a loss like that? Can you imagine how much more difficult it makes the grieving process?

Well what my therapist suggested, the thing that knocked me on my ass hard enough that I had to come have Online Feelings about it, is that eventually, we all have to mourn ourselves. Not necessarily in a "mortality is inevitable" way (that happens to everyone) but in ways that are often unique to people like him and me (black, ND, queer). Even if we work on ourselves, if we grow and heal our trauma and feel at home in our identities and our bodies and build beautiful lives, eventually we will be forced to mourn the selves that we never got to be in the societies in which we live and the selves we once had to become to survive this long.

And that mourning is a kind of disenfranchised loss, with no clear path forward. Obviously this conversation happened within the context of everything my therapist knows about me as an individual, but I thought certain things might resonate with other fans as well so I wanted to talk about it. The story of this bizarre little man and his remarkable second act and his lovely little found family and his incredibly beautiful love story (that we've been guaranteed will end happily) is still haunted by the specific kind of grief that comes from learning what's possible, and regretting that you didn't know it was possible sooner.

And does anybody have more delayed milestones, later-in-life discoveries, and/or need to invent places for themselves than those of us on the social fringes? Than those of us in societies unequipped for (or actively hostile to) the ways we exist and the things we need to survive and thrive? Than those of us who have to create our own narratives or be saddled with inaccurate or harmful narratives created by others, or even no narrative at all?

And narrative is so much. Narrative is everything. Narrative is the story we tell ourselves and each other and that literally shapes our reality. So those story beats where we discover something better than what came before are inherently stories with loss and will require mourning, because we mourn loss.

Even when the story has a happy ending. Especially when the story has a happy ending for someone who never thought they would be allowed to have one.

I mean just like, FUCKING HELL. I can't blame anyone for this but myself. I know my therapist. I know how insightful he can be. I did this to myself and now I have to live with it. But my god is it a massive mountain I'm about to have to climb now. My therapist and I have always found it helpful to discuss media that makes me Feel Things (see all the trauma work that came from Life is Strange) but if you had told me that I'd be looking into this new dark cave of unprocessed shit thanks to what I thought was just gonna be a harmless little gay pirate show starring fucking Murray from Flight of the Concords I would probably just have assumed you were in the middle of having a stroke and taken off to get you the medical attention you desperately needed.

[coyoteprince]

Would you like to share what happened in Savannah? After my own paranormal experience I am fond of listening to/reading other people's!

For general public disclaimer, I'm aware this is woo-woo, but I have had a life-long relationship with death and many ghosts experiences, despite not looking for them. My Savannah experience is... well, my own, and my partner who was there at my side didn't see or feel anything. Don't go to a "haunted" place with intention of seeing a ghost, you'll probably just be disappointed or make yourself anxious for no reason.

Contains Foley House, the black shuck, and a raw record written the night of the Sorrel Weed house absolutely wrecking my ass:

Foley House:

We stayed in room 403, but I'm not aware of any historical significance other than it being one of the original rooms of the house.

I highly recommend this place to stay and the room felt outright "welcoming" in a strange way, as if I was always meant to be There, specifically, but that might be the special interest euphoria. I'd been aching to sleep in an old Victorian room again.

The first moment of displeasure was when I was having breakfast with my partner in one of the corner windows. We were pleasantly chatting when I suddenly went silent, thrown onto a freeze state with my blood running cold and my nerves shot. I saw nothing, but I could feel "someone" suddenly enter the room, simply observe us by standing in the middle of the rug in front of the bed, then turn and walk out. My blood warmed quickly after they left, my limbs shaking. I logically didn't see them as a threat- I've had this happen before- but my body reacted to the environment being very abruptly "Wrong" on a primal level all the same.

Another night- the night coming back from Sorrel- in that room I was jolted awake by a deafening blood curdling scream which certainly kept me awake for a long time. Every time I tried to sleep that night I'd have very disturbed visions that'd jolt me back awake. You can write this off as my intense experience influencing me as I do have a history of "exploding head syndrome" and sleep paralysis, though I haven't experienced it in a long time until that night and haven't experienced it again since. Thought I'd include it anyway.

On the street:

I see black dogs as a divine messenger and protector in my spirituality, and boy did I kept running into them in Savannah to the point that it felt on the nose. It was a sign that I'd achieved something, that I'm where I need to be, and that it was time for another huge (metaphorical) death in my life so that I can secure my future- and in the most hopeful but absolutely weary way possible, boy am I going through it right now haha. The third night of the Savannah trip was when I suddenly came to terms that I'm literally working myself to death and need to change how I view and care for myself before it's too late.

If anyone is looking for the huge antique Baskervilles Hound painting that I ran into, it's at Six Pence Pub.

Sorrel Weed

Following is what I wrote for myself the immediate night of getting back from Sorrel, so this is a very fresh, rattled, and stream of consciousness record. I normally don't really like posting something like this, but always feel something intuitive and fresh like this is the most genuine way to relay paranormal experiences. TL:DR: Saw weird thing in courtyard. Got sick a lot very suddenly. Met a very nice skull person. Got fucked up on spooky couch. Got even more fucked up from body reacting to the stress after leaving.

"I accidentally missed the normal historical architecture tour for the Sorrel Weed house and had to take a late night ghost-focused one. Wanted the normal tour but we leave tomorrow so its this or nothing. Didn't go into it expecting anything and was excited to take lots of reference photos for Widderwood, as usual.

Saw something in the garden and knew immediately things were going to be weird tonight. White flash, person height, within courtyard and in front of street entrance. Actually really funny in the moment because I Did Not Want That Thing To Have Just Happened but I'm so used to experiencing the woo-woo that I just mentally went "oh god dammit" defeated.

Felt fine, excited for architecture, then passed the threshold and... my flight response suddenly goes off. Hard. Right into the master of the house office and I get supremely bad vertigo. Got annoyed because I was trying to listen to the history of the place, but vertigo kept rising which made me wobble on my cane. I came here mainly to collect art reference but I knew then and there that I did Not want a single photo of this place on my phone. I don't know why, even- just in the moment I couldn't stand the idea of keeping photos of this place.

I kept getting sick and vertigo, but only in Very specific locations. Mostly stayed at the back and tried to hide my discomfort to not influence anyone in the tour group. Downstairs, servant's quarters, I could feel a busy "echo" in the catch-all work room where cooking and various chores would have been done- I'm not sure how to explain but it was like a vibration that unsettled me a bit? Just very weird.

Funny, I felt the safest in the near-black basement grain room, which saw civil war trauma surgery and acted as a morgue for a few years. An antique wheelchair was to the side of the gurney (special interest euphoria, hello). To the other side of the room, a female skull that was sourced from a denture manufacturer. She was beautiful- so, so beautiful that I kept coming back to look her in the face with a very comforted smile on my own. Absolutely radiant energy. In the same room to another corner, a couch that we are allowed to sit upon and may feel someone sit next to us. Well, I certainly needed a rest from standing, and I didn't feel anyone, but I sure did have such a strong, sudden vertigo that I made a surprised noise and slumped back for a few minutes close to fainting. The second I got some wind back I got off the couch and mentally went "haha, No". Wooziness is nothing new to me, but I felt trapped and heavy for a solid few minutes- never had that happen before, genuinely startling.

Our very kind tour guide could tell something was up with me, keeping an eye on my reactions. I was trying to not be too vocal about what I was experiencing, just manage my symptoms as normal, but it's obvious she knew I was Going Thru It. In private we discussed my connection to death, she showed us her Victorian mourning jewelry, and agreed the ossified woman in the doctor's case was beautiful. The tour guide told me the skull's name in life- Zarina- and though I'm doubtful of her original acquirement post-death and what she expected of her remains, it still felt sacred to be allowed to know her name and look upon her. Other people in the group kept making "eww creepy" comments toward her and I get it, I Do, but I wish I could have figured out what to say to gently suggest to see her as a person rather than a scary death item. I am glad I met Zarina. The other ghost tales- like the chair in the for some reason scary red lighted hall (why tho)- I did hover around but didn't experience anything.

Leaving the property, I felt a bit numb but my nausea and vertigo lifted over a few blocks. Our walk to our room was short, followed by... my body going into minor shock as soon as we got back to our room. I shook for at least an hour, I think its taken me most of the night just to get my body's responses to level.

I feel so energetically drained, different from my normal disability related fatigue, yet the entire time I was mentally calm. My body has felt this before, there is a difference. Chronic stress disorder and autism make me incredibly sensitive to the environment around me but it's been a minute since my body has reacted so... violently to atmosphere without obvious cause. The strongest since experiencing that fucked up abandoned house in Ohio over a decade ago. I didn't expect to taste such heavy air like that again, least of all when I was mostly hoping to take reference.

Sorrel Weed offers proper ghost investigations, which seemed like a fun thought to try in the future. I walked in excited for historical reference, but walked out somewhat harrowed instead. Now, I'm certain that I cannot entertain the idea of ghost hunting or else I will be at very real risk of a full medical episode... at least in that house."

[thatbanditqueen]

George's Garage

An Elvis Presley one-shot response to the prompt: How are we going to solve this problem?

Summary: Elvis and the Memphis Mafia are driving back to Hollywood from Memphis to shoot Kissin' Cousins, when the car breaks down on Route 66. Luckily they are not too far from George's garage and her skilled, lady mechanic fingers.

Warnings: 18+ DNI, E to L (ish), fellatio, swearing, implied drug use. Also some minor historical inaccuracies. ALL THE TYPOS. Written in haste under pressure. Sort of.

Word Count: Yeah, this one got away from me.... 7.5 K

Saturday, October 5, 1963

They were an hour away from Needles, and the crisp, hot midday air blew over Billy’s face as as he steadied his arm on the white convertible. He turned his eyes to the burnt desert, taking in the cacti and shrubbery below a clear, powder blue sky. The Yucca trees stood tall, like hunched warriors in the distance, bent over and ready to descend on Elvis’ caravan racing along the highway. The radio fizzled and Billy turned to watch Elvis roll the dial knob between his fingers until he got reception and began singing along to Bobby Vinton’s latest hit, “Blue Velvet,” in an offkey high voice, laughing at himself. Billy forced a smile and twisted awkwardly in his seat, the blue leather creaked under him, and he wished he was back in Memphis eating dinner with Jo.  He’d been riding shotgun the last four days ago. His butt ached and he was struggling to stay on the same mental frequency as his cousin, who had started the trip with the same high enthusiasm he usually had for the road. However, the closer they got to Hollywood, the more erratic Elvis’ mood had become. He had ranged from being introspective and engaging, talking softly and seriously about plans to expand Graceland, to despondent rants about how nice it was to be with the guys away from women. Billy assumed this specifically referred to one woman in particular and her persistent requests to come to Los Angeles with them. Then there had been the violent tantrums about "that embarrassin,' sorry-ass excuse for a” movie they were driving to LA to shoot, every time Joe brought up the fact that they were supposed to be in LA already. Elvis began halting their progress even more after the fight with Joe. There were now impromptu football games on the side of the road several times a day, meals had become long, leisurely affairs and each stop along the way involved intense pranks. Billy had rings of black shoe shine around his eyes for the better part of yesterday after looking though a pair of Elvis’ binoculars. Though he'd had been glad to see Elvis smile, even if it was at his expense.

The Buick drove on, and Billy watched Elvis adjust the black yachting hat on his head.

“Man oh man, Joe says we’re ‘posed to film all the Great Smoky scenes in Big Bear. Big Bear! Can ya believe it? Ain’t no one gonna believe those scraggly ass sorry California ant hills are the Blue Ridge mountains. I can tell you that, man. I can tell you that.”

Billy tightened his smile and contemplated the right thing to say.

“I said, can ya believe that?” Elvis jabbed Billy expectantly. “With me, ME, of all people, goddammit. Those Hollywood jackasses ain’t ever even been to Tennessee and they want me to go round chasin’ after my cousin’s coochie like some inbred hillbilly pretendin’ Big Bear is goddamn Cades Cove.”

“You know ain’t no one looking at the background EP, specially not with you bein’ all handsome, uh, up der on the screen. Singing the way you do. With all those beautiful girls. Shouldn't worry so much, everything is gonna be good.”

Elvis looked ahead, grunting, while Billy turned his head around to look back and nod at Alan driving the motor home behind them, seemingly laughing and smoking a cigar with Red, Sonny and Joe. Alan tipped his head with a wink, and Billy rolled his eyes, jarred from his backwards view by the slap of Elvis’ hand.

“Hey, man, hey, hand me my toiletries, huh Billum?”

Billy nodded with a “Sure,” and reached his hand back along the floor of the back seat. Not finding it through touch, Billy flipped around and  began to panic, because Billy was an observant man. He knew what Elvis’ black travel case full of pills looked like. And as he stared down at the blue carpeted floor beneath him he did not see it there. He also knew that when he reported this to Elvis he was going to regret coming on this trip more than he already did. So he squirmed, letting the expensice, custom blue leather squeak under him as he shifted from side-to-side, hesitating to meet Elvis’ eyes in the rear view mirror. Ten minutes later, Billy was leaning against the side of the RV smoking in Sonny’s shadow and staring silently at Joe and Red while Elvis stomped up and down the motor home screeching at Alan.

“Whatcha mean you ain’t seen it? Ya hog-eared fat, useless sonabitch. I - I -I.” They heard the sound of trampling feet stop. “Goddamit, I ‘member vividly handin’ it to you, and telling you ta put in the back seat of the car.”

They could hear Alan’s pitiful words stammer out through the walls. “I musta -  musta put it down in the bathroom at that rest stop.”

“I musta put it down in the bathroom in that rest stop!” Elvis high vibrato mimicking Alan reverberated through the metal, and Billy saw Red shoot Sonny a knowing look as they listened. “Well you’re the one whose gonna ‘splain ta Billy why he and I are turnin’ around and going back.”

The mood in the car was decidedly different three hours later as the Buick sped over the same stretch of pavement flying through the Yucca Valley and past Needles. Billy was still in the convertible, trying to think of any reasonable excuse why he needed to be in the RV with the others. Now he sat quietly, nodding occasionally as Elvis muttered angrily to himself, his black toiletry case neatly tucked next to Billy’s feet in the car cabin. Billy started planning out how he would explain why Joe should be driving with Elvis to go over the upcoming filming schedule, and he planned to suggest this when they eventually caught up to the others. He wondered if the guys were already at the motel in Barstow,  but did not have long to contemplate his escape from these close quarters with Elvis before a milky white cloud of smoke exploded out of the engine in front of them and he found himself clutching the seat for dear life as Elvis guided the sputtering Buick to the side of the road.

Billy was once again leaning against a car smoking. He was not exactly sure where they were, somewhere between  between Needles and Barstow, he figured. However, the desire to know precisely where they were was secondary to his innate desire to not be there at all. Where ever here actually was. Billy watched a lizard crawl over the warm road, then scamper off at the sound of Elvis shrill high pitched screams. Billy had never wished more fervently that he was a lizard, or anything else at all, actually, then in that moment as he looked at the reptile slither off the road away from the sound of Elvis kicking the front tire, his voice ringing out through the stillness of the Mojave desert at sunset.

“GODDDAMMIT! God fucking  dammit. GOD. DAMN. IT.”

Billy wiped the sweat off his forehead and squinting at what looked like a cluster of buildings further along on the horizon.

************************************************************************

The office counter fan pushed cool air on George and blew her dark brown curls into her face. She tucked them back behind her ear as she stared down at her crossword puzzle and bobbed a pencil against her lip in contemplation, sucking it momentarily.

“Five letter word for neckwear. Hmmm.”

Frustrated, she moved on to the next across word clue, pausing as her eyes roamed over the stack of paperwork she was supposed to be working on.

“Ugh, c’mon, just knock out these orders and then you can close up. It’s almost 6.”

Nodding to the sound of her own voice, George had just resolved to set aside the crossword puzzle when the front door bell startled her and she looked up to see two men stagger into the office, panting and laughing.

The one in front had on a black yachting hat, and his head was down as he tucked his shirt in. There across his neck was a jaunty, white decorative scarf held by a golden cravat.

“Ascot!” Georgie exclaimed, grabbing her pencil and excitedly filling in 5 Across. But her smile quickly faded as she looked up to see the quizzical face of Elvis Presley looking back.

“Huh, yeah, uh huh.” He pushed his gold cravat up his very short, very shiny, very expensive white silk ascot tie.

 Elvis’ face went from confused to confident as he steadied himself, placing his thumbs in his belt loops, and sauntering up to the counter to lay his hand down. He moved it over George’s hand in an instantly familiar and somewhat intensely intimate manner.  George was not prepared for the sweaty, pit stained lanky mass of charisma now rubbing his thumb along side the pinky of her left hand.

“Like that, huh, darlin?” Elvis winked, and tugged at the edge of the ascot as he purred. “Listen, is your boss around?”

George looked down at her hand, Elvis’ forwardness had shocked her and she recoiled into herself for a moment before pulling her hand away. She glanced at the short, skinny guy behind him who was avoiding her gaze and suddenly taking an intense interest in the photos hanging on the office wall.

It had been almost ten years since he first began performing, yet, watching women's awestruck expressions still gave Elvis a warm rush and made him feel special. Elvis winked at George, and decided to try and make her feel comfortable.

He smiled shyly and looked down, grasping her hand back up between his.

“Shhh, s’ok , honey, it's ok, now."

He sucked in a deep breath, chuckling.

"I, uh, I really would rather ya treated me like a normal person. No need to get flustered.”

He turned his blue eyes back up to her and waggled his eyebrows.

“So, uh, now, c’mon honey, can you grab ya boss, hmmm? We’re in need of help somethin' awful.”

“Well, honey,” George collected her self, and pulled her hand back. Again. She looked Elvis in the eyes, glancing back at his ascot for a moment. What a pointless, ridiculous, pompous accessory. “I assure you I am not flustered.”

“Well, uh, good, then. I reckon that ya can hop to it, woman, go get ya boss.” He waggled his eyebrows playfully, tilting his head to the side door that led to the garage. “We need ta get back on tha - “

Billy squinted and looked closer at one of the photos, and turned to interrupt his cousin.

“Hey, EP, I th-th-th —”

“Shhh, Billy, just a second.”

George pursed her lips and then smiled tightly.

“Why don’t you tell me what brings you guys in tonight?”

Elvis grinned at her, the length of his chin extended as the right side of his mouth crooked up in another smile and exposed his teeth. He patted the top of her hand. Again. George flinched back. Again.

“Hmm, I’d love to spend all night talking cars with ya sugar.”

Elvis looked back at Billy, who immediately chuckled nervously.

“But,uh, well, we got an urgent situation. Now,  be a good girl and go run an get the mechanic.”

Billy stepped closer to try whisper in Elvis’ ear, but he shushed him as George narrowed her eyes, straightening her body so she sat taller above the counter, almost even with Elvis’ gaze.  This did not seem to deter Elvis’ from leaning closer into her personal space, his face now just inches above hers.

Lips quirking into a tight, polite exaggerated smile, George shook her head as she reclaimed her hand. Again. How did he do it? She hadn’t even noticed it was on her.

“I’m sorry boys.” She put on an exaggerated pout. “The boss decided not take anymore jobs today. We close in five minutes anyway —”

“Now, now, now, wait just a goddamn minute. What do you expect us to do?”

Elvis’s nostrils flared out, and he clenched his fists, his voice rising into a growl. All that charm was now replaced by disbelief as he stepped back and crossed his arms.

 “Nah, uh uh, we ain’t leavin’ til you take your sweet little behind and go find who ever, ever, who ever runs this place.” He slammed his fist on the counter to show that he meant business.

For the twentieth time today, Billy looked down into the ground and wished he was in Memphis.

Nonplussed, George pulled her mouth into an even wider smile.

“Listen, Barstow’s an hour away, by car. Not sure how long it would take you to walk.”

She strolled around toward the swinging door that led to the garage.

“We open at 8 a.m. tomorrow.”

She turned to go back to the workshop, pausing at the whine in Elvis’ voice.

“Now, now, uh uh. We ain’t leavin’ til we talk to your boss.”

Georgie raised her eyebrow and tilted her head.

“Suit yourself.”

She went into the shop and began pulling down the service bay doors that opened up to parking lot.

After the door swung shut, Billy pulled on Elvis’ shirt.

“Did you get a load of that chick, huh, Bill? Who pissed in her coffee this morinin’, that’s what I wanna know. Was it me, now, or did she go from gobsmacked fan to cool bitch in under two minutes. Weren’t asking for any special treatment. You heard me, I asked to be treated like, like, like any regular, normal customer. Right?”

Elvis threw his yachting cap on the counter in a huff, and stomped his foot. Billy watched as Elvis adjusted his little gold cravat and leaned back on the raised heel of his Italian black leather boots. Yup, just a regular guy...

“She wouldn’t even go get her boss —”

Billy coughed.  “Oh, I think she got the boss alright.”

Elvis raised his eyebrows, and Billy pointed to the photos on the wall of a female in dirty coveralls working on cars, in some she was standing next to an older women who was also in coveralls.

“Huh, well I’ll be. A lady grease monkey. So that’s why she’s got her panties in a twist.”

Billy grinned. “Well, I reckon if anyone can untwist a girl’s panties, it’s you.”

Elvis shoved his cousin’s shoulder and winked as he walked backwards through the swinging door into the auto shop. George turned from rolling down the last bay door and crossed her arms, glaring, as Elvis walked toward her. His hat was gone and his arms hung back under his chest, the sleeves of his blue, silk shirt were rolled up and his left hand was notched at his waist. The way his long fingers stretched out over his hip gave his stance an air of purpose. She met his blue eyes and they twinkled with amusement.

“Here now, I - I- I think we got off on the wrong foot out there, bossman.”

Georgie wiped her hands on her jeans, realizing just how much taller he was as he strode toward her. “Hmmm, there’s no need for that, George is fine.”

“George?”

“Georgina if you wanna be more formal, George, Georgie, G, I answer to ‘em all.”

“Alright Georgie George. Can we start again?”

Georgie crossed her arms and pursed her lips, but nodded, moving Elvis’ hand from her waist as she jutted her chin up to look at him. He instantly moved his left hand to her shoulder, once again his thumb was immediate and intimate as it rubbed her collar bone.

“Look, pretty girl like you? How were we sposed to know —”

George lifted his hand from her shoulder, smoothing out her blouse.

“You can lay off the charm. Trust me, you are not the first schmuck to walk in here thinking I’m the secretary.”

Elvis lifted his hands up in defeat.

“OK, ok, now, no charm, I got it. Just brass tacks, jack. George, I mean.”

He winked. Again. A stifled laugh rippled under his cheeks, and George found his smug manner both infuriating and magnetic. She also felt an inexplicable desire to slap his face.

“So, my car’s broke down back on the highway. How are we going to solve this problem, huh?”

George looked at the clock on the wall above her work bench. 6:15. Maude would just be finishing up supper over at the motel, and her stomach had started to growl in anticipation. She looked at Elvis then back at the floor.

“Technically, WE are done working for the day.”

She sighed, somehow his hand was back at her waist and George felt her resolve fading.

“BUT, I hate to think of what I’m guessing is a very fancy, expensive car out there on the highway over night.”

Elvis smirked and adjusted his silk ascot. “Now, wait a minute here, what makes you think I’d own a fancy car?”

“Oh, let’s just call it female intuition. Handier than you’d think in this line of work.”

George removed Elvis hand from her waist, and looked towards the corner of her shop, as she found it increasingly difficult to maintain her brusk, professional demeanor when staring directly into his face.

“Look, I am due for supper, but after, I can drive out with my tow truck and bring your vehicle back here to look over in the morning. How bout that?”

“Sss - sounds good, sounds real good. We can definitely go after we eat, cuz I’m starving. What’s for dinner?”

************************************************************************

It was dark when they returned to the garage and George led the way around the back to her tow truck. Billy’s small, short body sat on the passenger side of the cab, and George’s small, short figure sat in the driver’s seat. In between them sat the large, wide, body of Elvis Presley, his arms extended over the back of the seat in both directions, mirrored by the wide berth of his spread legs as he made himself comfortable. He stroked his chin as he looked at himself in the rearview mirror, running his hand through his hair, then pulling out a comb to fix it. George rolled her eyes.

“Trust me, no one is gonna see you out here. In the desert. At 8 o’clock at night.” She motioned to the murky, black expanse of the highway ahead of them.

“Just feel more comfortable to have it all neat and tidy and in the right place. You know how it is, Georgie George, with ya do-hickey here holding this mess a curls back.”

Elvis tugged on George’s pony tail, and she swatted his hand away with an annoyed sigh, then decided to push her knee back against him and reclaim some of her leg room. George’s smile at her triumph was short lived, for, while Elvis held his knees closer together, now his hand slid down along her thigh to envelope her knee cap, squeezing absentmindedly while Billy talked at length about nothing at all. George pushed his hand off her knee, only to find it around her shoulders a moment later, and she gave up, actually pressing into him harder when she saw the white car and turned her steering wheel to parallel park the back of the tow truck at the trunk of the Buick.

Elvis started to reach up for the hook and George hit his hand away from her equipment.

“Stop. I need to line them up a little better. If you want to be helpful, stand there.” She pointed to the edge of the car’s trunk. “And guide me back so the tires are straight from each other, can you handle that?”

“Yes bossman, you just go right ahead, me an Billum are standing by for your orders.” He smirked as he gave George a salute. Billy smiled apologetically

George ignored them, jumping out again when she was content that the tires were lined up and quietly asked if someone would put the car in neutral. Elvis threw Billy the keys, and stood watching as George bent down with her flashlight and pushed herself over the dirt so she was under the back of the Buick. Elvis whistled.

“Hmm, really get down in there, don’t ya?”

“Hmmpf. I’m not afraid of dirt, Mr. Presley.”

George called up to him, as she pulled the lift bar out under the Buick, hitching it to the car, then pulling her up and grabbing a wrench to jack the back of the car until the two back tires were now held completely off the ground. Elvis’ bottom lip hung down as he watched George jump up on the back of the tow truck, and swing down with the hook hangingcoff the boom to secure it to the Buick. When she was satisfied it would hold, George called to Billy to turn the Buick’s lights on, and jumped on the ground, moving towards the driver’s seat as she wiped her hands.

“Hold on, now.”

Elvis whispered, holding George by her shoulders and licking his thumb.

“Not afraid of grease, neither, huh?”

He rolled his wet thumb slowly over the long black streak on her cheek, back and forth until it was gone. His eyes roamed over her face, taking in the way the bottom of her front teeth appeared just slightly under her top lip as she looked up at him and trembled ever so slightly from his touch. He chuckled when she grimaced and pushed his hand away, replacing it with a bandana that she furnished from her coveralls to wipe her face herself .

Elvis brushed dirt off her chest, and moved her around, ignoring the way her hands tried to push him off, as he wiped the dirt off her back and bottom.

“Hush now, I know ya ain’t scared of dirt, doesn’t mean ya wanna be covered in it.”

He brushed his hands off and held her at her waist.

“Moon’s out tonight. Kinda pretty out here in the quiet of the desert.”

Neither of them looked at the moon. Or the desert. They didn't move until the sound of Billy’s footsteps in the gravel broke the spell and they remembered where they were and what was happening. George jolted back, smoothing her hair, as she nodded and walked over to get in the car.

George was silent on the drive back, turning the radio up to let the voices of Frankie Valli and The Four Seasons tell her, Billy and Elvis how to walk like a man. Billy droned on about how he never got used to looking out at the desert, and wondered what tumbleweeds really were and where they came from. She was glad for all the noise, it helped her focus her mind on the road ahead and the tasks she needed to do to when they got back, and led her attention away from the strong, warm thigh pressing against her own. George softened into making requests instead of barking commands back at the shop, though she avoided looking directly at Elvis as she said goodnight. Instead, she nodded into Billy’s eyes as she told them to come back in the morning.

************************************************************************

Morning was approximately 11:17 a.m. At least it was for the occupants of room 217. It was 11:45 when they rambled into the motel office and Elvis sweet talked George’s older sister, Maude, into making breakfast, showing her how to burn her bacon the way he liked it as she laughed and answered his random questions about their family and life on Route 66. It was well past noon when Elvis finished the last of his black coffee, and made Maude blush when he crept up behind her at the kitchen sink to kiss her cheek  with a “Thanks for breakfast, honey.” Then he gave Billy very detailed instructions to keep calling the house back in LA, find out where the RV was, and get Joe up to speed on what had happened. 

“He needs to get out here and bring money, cause I don’t know how long this whole thing is gonna take.”

Billy looked over at his cousin. “Gonna have him drive you back tonight?”

“Hell no, I ain’t leaving my car here. Where’d ya get that idea?”

“Joe ain’t gonna be happy with me, EP, tomorrow is Monday, aintcha ‘sposed to go in to record them songs for Kissin——”

“You can tell ol Diamond Joe, from me, that he’s just gonna have to put ‘em off. This car is a custom, one-of-a-kind Buick Skylark with leather seats, a gold plated dash board and a car phone. If he thinks I’m leaving without overseeing its repair, he’s off his goddamn rocker.” 

Billy gulped with an uneasy smile. He loved his cousin, but couldn’t help wishing it was a year ago and they were setting off to Hawaii to do exterior shots for Girls, Girls, Girls, when the mood was lighter and Marty and Lamar were still around.

Ignoring Billy’s puppy dog eyes, Elvis set off across the highway to George’s garage. He smiled at the sight of her legs sticking out from under his car, and he stood for a while admiring them before he whistled flirtatiously and watched her grease streaked face emerge rolling out.

“Never thought I’d like the look of canvas coveralls so much.” Elvis’ cheeks hollowed out as he grinned in boyish glee at George’s disdainful look, then willfully ignored it, walking closer to her and leaning on his car. “What’s the word, bossman?”

“Hmmm. Well, all it needs is an oil change.”

“Oh? That all? ”

“Oh yeah, that’s all. Just make it a month ago. That pan is bone dry, and you’ve blown the head gasket, which explains the white smoke you described. And your engine is starting to warp.”

Elvis smiled as he watched her talk.

“Mr. Presley, I hardly think this is something to smile about, this car - well, normally I’d recommend—"

“Elvis.” He stepped closer.

George looked at him confused, realizing her head was at eye level with the front pocket of his dark blue polka dotted satin shirt.

“What?”

“Elvis, baby, how many times I gotta tell ya to call me Elvis?”

He rubbed her waist. And George lifted his hand off her body, ignoring the tingling feeling she felt as she patted his chest deliberately to push him back.

“Um, huh.”

She breathed.

“Right, ok, Mr. Presley. I mean Elvis. As I was saying, um, usually, in these circumstances I recommend getting a new car, because the cost of a new engine is about the same as a new Buick. But you have a lot of.”

She paused to lift his hand from her shoulder, unsure how it got there, but instinctively stepping back when she saw Elvis take a step closer to her, his hand rolling over the white metal of the Skylark’s rim.

“Um - uh. A lot of expensive-looking modifications that make this vehicle, erm, um, valuable.”

George tripped over her sliding roller and Elvis caught her in his arms, grinning as she looked up into his eyes.

“Hmmm, yeah, I know all ‘bout those modifications, Georgie Girl. Oversaw the custi-a-mi-zation of this baby myself, ev’ry inch.”

He smirked at way George trembled and then pushed him off, steadying herself as she stumbled back.

“Hmm, well, for someone so involved you seem to have little regard for your car’s well being.”

Elvis frowned, and shook his head.

“What now?”

“I said, for someone who throws so much money into cars, you don’t seem to care much or know much about them. That car needed an oil change weeks ago, and now I’ll be lucky if I can salvage it. It’s gonna take me days to undo the damage you’ve caused driving it across the country on sludge.”

Elvis rolled back onto the heels of his expensive, Italian boots. He suddenly wished he’d worn an ascot today, it would have been nice to have something there to pull on for comfort. Instead, he braced himself at his hips, his stomach jutting up as he looked at George and frowned. She was pretty, smart, and the her utter obliviousness to how good looking she was, along with the way she seemed to try very hard to resist his advances, aroused him even more. But now she was criticizing how he took care of his cars and seemed to be questioning his very understanding of how motor vehicles. Which, to be fair to George, was an entirely accurate estimation of Elvis. His main question getting into one of his cars was: “Where is the key?” Though, in his defense, this was the only question usually necessary,  because Lamar had been taking care of everything, until the ungrateful bastard had run off to work in Nashville and left the car maintenance to the other guys. Who had promptly forgot about it.

“Now, wait just a goddamn minute, honey, I don’t much appreciate the way y-y- y.”

Elvis clenched his fist and breathed deeply.

“If you are insinuating I don’t know how to take care of my cars, well, you must be outta your goddamn mind. Do you know how many cars I own? What my work schedule is like? I’ll have you know that I have so many cars, I just go out and jump into one, and usually everything is fine, cuz my guys keep em all lubed up real good. It’s just that, well, my car guy just quit, and this one musta fallen by the wayside before he left.”

“Hmmm.” George crossed her arms. “I can’t imagine why someone would want to leave your employment.”

“What’s that ‘sposed to mean?”

“It means that you are difficult and you are spoiled. And full of your self. Think you can go where ever you want, do whatever you please. Got my sister as your short order cook now too. You know, it is just the two of us running the motel and garage out here. She was supposed to be overseeing check out this morning, but no, she’s cooking for you, and so the maids were running to me for direction while she serves you breakfast.”

Elvis stepped forward, hovering over George’s face.

“Jealous, baby? Sounds a lot like you wished it were you a - puttin’ somethin’ in my mouth.”

George slapped him, her eyes on fire.

“Get out of my garage. You’re lucky I’m still willing to - to - work on your - your - stupid, absurdly customized, ridiculous car.”

Elvis rubbed his smarting cheek, with a smirk, then shook his head.

“Ok, ok. I’m leaving. I just came over to see what the diagnosis was, crazy woman.”

George turned around and went to grab a wrench.

“It’s going to be two more days, at the soonest. And I charge double for today, on account that it’s Sunday. Looking at that gold plated dashboard, I figure you can afford my hourly rate.”

“Mhmmm. Uh huh. Don’t you worry, honey, I’m used to paying women double for their hourly rate. Long as I get what I pay for.”

“Get. Out. Before I change my mind.”

George stared ahead at the tools hanging in front her, waiting for the sound of his footsteps to dissipate before she turned around and screamed into the counter below her. She hated Elvis Presley, she hated the ostentatious way he had poured money into superficial aspects of a car that do not make a difference to its performance, and she hated the way his smug face smirked down at her when he talked. But most of all, she hated, hated, hated the way he seemed to always be touching her, it wasn’t even necessarily sexual, just a reflex, like breathing.

“Like his stupid, heavy opened mouth breathing. Ugh. The sooner you get this car fixed, the sooner you an get him out of your hair and back on the road.”

George threw herself into fixing the Buick like a woman possessed.

************************************************************************

George did not join them for dinner, and Elvis politely asked Maude for a second helping of her chili con carne while Billy regaled her with tales from previous road trips. The sanitized versions, of course, with a promise that they would never pull any of the pranks he described at her motel.

“I reckon we ain’t never stayed here no how, cuz it’s so close to LA, usually try to get to Winslow the first night out to Memphis. Same on the way back, lessen we cut over to Sin City.”

He looked at Elvis, whose eyes were gazing at the lit window above the garage, his mind lost in thought remembering the fiery look in George’s hazel eyes, and the shapely contour of her bottom underneath his hands as he’d wiped the dirt off her the night before.

“Right, EP?” Billy repeated himself, and Elvis looked up in a daze, and stood.

“Hmmm, sorry y’all. This is very good chili, ma’am, very good. I like that you don’t put onions in yours, no, no, it’s just right. Just how I like it.”

He brought his bowl to the sink, and looked at Billy’s quizzical face, as he excused himself.

“I, uh, I. Well, I think I need to go apologize to your sister. I have a bad temper, I know it, boy do I know it. Mighty Mouth ova there knows it.”

Billy nodded, slowly, waiting to see where this was going.

”I ,uh, well, I reckon I need to go straighten things out with George, so she ain’t liable to pour sugar in my gas tank or nothin.”

George was on her third beer when she opened the door of her apartment to find Elvis’ dark front hair flop dangling down toward her. She sipped from the bottle as she started to ask him what he wanted, only to watch him push through her outstretched arm, the she was using to block his entry to her flat, and proceed to pace around the living room.

“Look, I came over because, uh, well.”

He ran his right hand through his hair, his left hand hitched at his belt. The sound of Patsy Cline singing wafted through the room as he turned.

“Well, I didn’t like how we left things earlier.”

“Mhmmm.”

George grunted, taking another swig of beer and holding the door open with the back of her bare foot. The strap of her her brown, A-line dress fell over her shoulder and she pulled it back up, fixing the loose bust that covered her small, modest bosom.

“Ok, apology accepted, you can go.”

Elvis raised his eyebrow and strode toward her.

“See, now that, that right there, is the problem. I come over to patch things up and you get all nasty. Like I was tha only one, uh, the only one spoutin’ vinegar earlier.”

His hands found their way to her hips, and rolled over them. George shivered at the warm murmur of his voice.

“Why is it so hard for you to just be nice to me? To just be a nice girl?”

George felt the cool of her beer bottle as it hung heavy in her right hand, her eyes flittered up to Elvis’ where he hovered over her, pushing her against the open, apartment door she had been so hasty to send him out of thirty seconds ago.

“But I’m not a nice girl, Mr. Presley.”

She lowered her yes, turning to the right.

“Why even pretend.” She whispered.

Elvis leaned forward.

“Hmmm."

His thumbs rolled up and down the sides of her belly like slow, small window wipers clearing away the doubt and hesitancy that tightened her stomach.  His lips wavered over hers as he muttered into her cheek.

“How many times I gotta tell you to call me Elvis?”

He leaned in closer, lips just above her skin as she closed her eyes and a moan escaped her mouth. Elvis tightened his grip at her waist.

“Mr. Presley is my daddy.”

He laid his lips softly over her, as he smooshed into them awkwardly, tenderly, taking several clumsy tackles until they settled over hers and then gently crushed into her. All George could hear were the sloppy clicks of air echoing between their lips as she closed her eyes and felt his mouth press onto hers. His hands traced further down her sides and his tongue gently teased the entrance of her mouth.

George pulled back, panting, and pushed Elvis into the apartment, setting her beer on top of the bookcase by the door. He wiped his mouth, an apologetic expression forming as he started to talk.

“Oh man, I’m sorry, I , uh, I didn’—”

George put her finger to his mouth and pulled himto her.  Elvis’ eyes lit up as he opened his lips over it and George pushed her finger inside his mouth, tingling with electricity as it grazed against Elvis’ teeth. She saddled closer, tilting her chest into his, lifting her self closer to his face. He inhaled with a shudder, hands stroking her waist, eyes closed, his lips more forceful now and she groaned as she met his tongue with hers. Elvis caught George as she tripped backwards and cupped her bottom cheeks, carrying her to the couch. Her arms wound around his neck and she peppered his face with sweet, light kisses.

He plopped down laughing as she straddled over his lap, exploring his neck with her mouth while her fingers grasped at the back of his head, hair, shoulders. Elvis hands roamed over the top of George’s brown cotton dress, slowly pulling it up as his thumbs trailed over the white panties he found there, roving over her thighs and around to caresses her buttucks. The way she looked down and blushed made Elvis’ cock twitch and she bit her lip when she felt it. Looking into his eye’s with devilish intent, George arched her eyebrow and slide down to the carpet to nestle herself between Elvis’ legs. His reached down to stop her eager hands, eyes narrowing as he shook his head.

“Uh uhhhhhh,  you’re a nice girl, nice girls don, uh, well, nice girls don do that. Ain’t gonna let ya do something you gonna regret tomorrow morning.”

Elvis took her hand up, and kissed the bottom of her palm as George surged up taller on her haunches to kiss him back, her fingers caressed his neck as she moaned a whiny please into his mouth.

“Pleasseeee. This. This is my favorite thing.”

She kissed him, freeing her right hand from his grasp, and then dipping down to nuzzle against his hardened length.

“C’mon….uh…goddammit honey… fuck.”

He breathed in, opening his eyes to still her with a grip to her chin.

 “You really wanna… wanna see ‘im, huh?”

George nodded, and bit her lip. A crooked grin spread over Elvis’ face as he shook his head again, and undid his belt,  lifting up as he unzipped and pulled his pants down, his smile widening as George smiled coyly, waggling her eye brows and then leaning in to lightly kiss his foreskin. Elvis tilted his head back at the sensation, and thrust his hips closer to George’s face as she pressed her lips over the head, slowly gliding down as Elvis’ tip emerged from his foreskin.

He groaned out, and she giggled into the pink head of his penis. He opened his eyes and looked down, hand moving down to run his fingers through the side of her hair.

“What’s so funny, huh, lil girl?”

George savored the way his quizzical expression changed from amused to almost terrified pleasure as her lips popped off.

“You. The noises you make. I find them—” she dove back down, plunging farther as she finished her sentence with a mouth full of Elvis. “He-war-ee-ousss.”

Her response didn’t really register with him, as he sunk back into the couch cushions at the charged, blissful surge of George’s mouth up his cock, his fingers threading through the left side of her hair. Elvis bucked into her mouth as her lips met his base, and he hit the back of her throat. She smiled inward because she could tell he was trying to hold his hips still so as not to press to far in and gag her. His fingers were soft, and his mouth ushered forth a mantra of sweet “oh gawds,” as George sucked back and forth, her tongue darting to swirl around the edge, then she pulled off to catch her breath, looking up into Elvis’ sweet, grateful dopey smile. George beamed back, maintaining eye contact as she plunged down again with a fervent thirst, her cheeks hollowing with determination as she flattened her tongue beneath his cock, swallowing it in long, slow strokes, sinking down over him and relishing the needy, almost shocked look in his eyes as she throbbed up and down, his hand lightly following in her hair. His moans became louder, and George quickened her pace, thrusting her chest forward to delve further, harder, softer with each successive delicious movement downward. Elvis gripped her hair, looking down.

“Hey baby, heyyy, Immaa - Immma ‘bout to explode, hmmmm? ahhhhh”

George nodded, and groaned as her mouth worked its way down faster, sucking in with heightened, electric anticipation until she heard him cry out and felt the spasm of Elvis’ pulsating into her mouth. She swallowing, sloppily, as she rotated up and down, holding him at his waist for balance until he stilled, his hand caressing her cheek up and down. She settled back and leaned into his thigh, looking up at a goofy, crooked smile under eyes half lidded in contentment.

************************************************************************

It was 11 a.m. when Elvis awoke to Billy’s hand on his shoulder, bewildered and uncertain where he was. He made eye contact with his cousin, taking in how the furnishings of George’s bedroom looked in the morning (technically it was still morning).

Elvis blinked, unlike Billy, he didn't know what time it was, or why his cousin was there, or where the occupant of the apartment was.

“Heh, uh, hey there, Bill, what’s - uh - what’s the idea?”

Billy gulped, this was not the most embarrassing situation he had ever been in. Not by far. So he smiled, and looked around, beginning to gather up Elvis pants, socks and shoes, which were carefully folded and stacked on the cedar chest at the end of the bed.

“Uh, hey, man, uh Joe’s here. Sonny and Alan too. We’re, uh, all paid up, ready to head out? I brought ya some coffee.”

Elvis sat up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

“Uh, wait, what, uh, what about the car?”

Billy looked back out to the living room as Elvis stood and put his pants on.

“Um, its ready, actually.”

Elvis looked up from where he was rolling his sock over his foot.

“What?”

“Uh, yeah, Maude, um, Miss Morgenstern, that is, well, um, she said her sister must have gotten up and been working on it from four or five this morning ‘fore she lit out for Carson City.”

Elvis started buttoning up his shirt.

“Carson City?”

Billy coughed and straightened his own shirt.

“Uh, yeah, Miss George, um. Well, guess she had to go pick up some auto supplies or sumpthin’ like that. Gosh, huh, girl mechanic, can’t believe it, right? Maybe those little hands give ‘em an advantage?”

He gulped again as he met Elvis’ disappointed stare.

“Yeah, erm, um. Anyhow, she’s not fixing to be back til late tonight.”

They were twenty minutes outside of Los Angeles when Joe and Sonny watched the white Buick Skylark pull over in front of them. Jumping out of the black, Lincoln Contintential they were driving behind Billy and Elvis,  Sonny walked up the passenger side of the car and leaned over the rail.

“Sup boss?”

Elvis gripped the steering wheel, then lifted his right hand to fix his yachting hat.

“Goddamit, what do ya think Son, Billy left my goddamn toiletry bag back at that goddamn motel in the middle of goddamn nowhere. Gonna have to go back.”

Billy started to interject, saying, “I double, triple checked and we didn—” but was met with a swift elbow to the ribs.

Sonny clenched his fists as he walked back to Joe, asked for all the money in Joe’s wallet, and handed it over to Elvis, before watching the Skylark make a three point turn and head back along the road into the powder blue sky behind them.

************************************************************

Many thanks to my fellow players @missmaywemeetagain @be-my-ally @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @from-memphis-with-love @whositmcwhatsit

[resident-idiot-simp]

Ahavswjsocs the Hades and Persephone line was a little thought I had midway through typing all that out, I’m glad you guys liked it it’s about time Ghost wears a flower crown!

I love your writing I sent you an ask yelling at you about Ghost eating god Roba a while back. I wanted to show you that your writing gets me super excited It’s why I sent my mad ramblings your way in the first place I just don’t know what to do with all the words in my head.

You always put thought and meaning into what you write and the subtex is always fun to try and pick up on.

I’ve never actually written fanfic before my writing and grammar skills are… subpar to say the least, just writing one of these can take a good couple of hours and I always find mistakes after posting lol.

I loved Azilver’s interpretation as well and they were right Ghost is a bit to fatalistic to be hopeful essentially I just want him to have something to fight for. I’ve never been a fan of grimdark or mcd when I can avoid them.

your comment of being a realistic optimist was really on point tough

I’m glad we all agree soap is actually really smart though just because someone is dumb of ass doesn’t mean they’re dumb of brain

Also I may be away for a little bit I’m going to find out if I need minor surgery tomorrow so if I disappear for a lil bit that’s why

Look I am a HUGE Greek Mythology nerd, and the Hades and Persephone myth is one of my favorites of all time! It also fits incredibly well.

THAT WAS YOU!? HAHA That ask hit like a truck lmao I still think about that all the time. I love hearing other people's thoughts It's a great way to expand one's ideas and creations. I will hear anything anyone has too through at me.

I'm glad you noticed I care a lot about what I make and some of it comes naturally to me the double meanings and hidden symbolism, but I love adding and hiding things even if it is just a treat for me. I want to do a thing called Resi's Breakdowns where I go over a fic you want to see my thought process behind. (Like I did on Ao3 but have it to where people can ask for specific fics)

You are preaching to the choir honey I get it LMAO!

Understandable I also liked both yours and Az's interpretations and I think they can both work. I suspect you know I love me some angst, but I understand.

I'm glad because I hate how pessimistic people are sometimes, I get it but if you look for the good it is there I promise.

My dude he was the youngest person to ever pas SAS selection and he specializes in demolitions. DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD THAT WOULD BE!? That man is insanely intelligent, and I will hear nothing else. I imagen in school he was one of those rare super nice jocks who were also SUPER smart.

I hope everything goes well I will be praying for you even if that's not your thing. I wish you a speedy recovery and hope to hear from you soon my friend 🩷

[seek--rest]

20 Questions (for fanfic writers)

Thanks for the tag @fieldsofview!

1. how many works do you have on ao3?

317

2. what's your total ao3 word count?

3,572,407

3. what fandoms do you write for?

Marvel 99% of the time. I’ve dabbled in a handful of others (drukkari, first kill, pjo) but marvel and specifically spider-man is my fav

4. top five fics by kudos:

Through a Glass Darkly with @blondsak

5 Times Peter Didn’t Need Tony’s Help with @blondsak

Flying High with @blondsak

every new beginning (comes from some other beginnings end) with @blondsak

the universe is not against you by @promiseofthepremise

5. do you respond to comments?

Always!

6. what is the fic your wrote with the angstiest ending?

Idk if I could choose just one— not to sound like an ass but I’ve written over 300 fics, i could probably name each by year.

That being said, as strong as you were (tender you go) is pretty bleak.

7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Again cannot choose for myself but EYE love the ending for Best Kept Secret

8. do you get hate on fics?

Sometimes! Usually from irondad complainers cause bitches lack nuance but most of the “hate” I get is from anons with a misplaced god complex or bitchy middle aged women talking shit in discords about how much they disagree with my opinions.

Sure wish the crowd that preaches “don’t like don’t read” would follow their own advice! Then again, these people are usually the same that project their daddy issues onto Peter & Tony and are implicitly, if not explicitly, racist and sexist as shit so.

9. do you write smut?

Yep!

10. craziest crossover:

When May Met Sally, a Sally Jackson POV of the pjo events set in the MCU!

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

YES lmfao several times. In a way it’s a compliment because damn you’re really that uncreative you gotta steal from someone else?? Skill issue

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes!! Very flattering

13. have you ever co-written a fic before?

MANY TIMES

14. all time favorite ship?

PETER AND MJ

15. what's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

If the fic is up, I’ll finish it. If I ever think I won’t, I just delete

16. what are your writing strengths?

Making characters feel real beyond the page. Giving life to sidelined characters. Earning the love story and relationships, not just telling or playing on expectation.

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

Comedy. I don’t really think I’m a funny writer. Quippy enough for spidey comebacks but a humor type of fic isn’t my bag

18. thoughts on dialogue in another language?

If it works and makes sense!

19. first fandom you wrote in?

Marvel!

20. favorite fic you've written?

Anyone on the highlight reel though currently, my fic on Skip is special to me.

Tagging: @abcd-em @missamyshay @the--journeys @weezly14 @momentofmemory @shizuoi @dayas @usaigi @yellowocaballero