#Couldn't really get into the headspace of the others at this moment

[astoryisaloveaffair]

Fix You - Chapter 16 - Genesis

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Fem!Reader

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Read on A03

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Chapter Summary: 🤷‍♀️

Word Count: 4K

Rating: Explicit

Chapter Warnings: cussing, graphic violence, mentions of sex. I'm not giving more warnings than that, sorry.

A/N: Hey all. First I want to say I'm sorry. I literally had no time or motivation to write this. I'm gonna be honest, this is a really tough chapter, and it was hard to get in this headspace. Suffering a recent heartbreak, things in this chapter are things I have thought also, and so it was really hard for me to voluntarily want to address that. I also started working in veterinary medicine, i do not have the spare time that I used to. We also recently adopted a puppy who we named Bucky! And if you read my earlier posts, you know that I was SA'd last January. All that to say, sorry I couldn't do this faster.

Also want to wish a happy birthday to @musings-of-a-rose, my beloved, my bestie, and my constant support. This is for you. Sorry it's not a happier chapter....

* If a character is speaking fully in Spanish, I will put “[ ]” around the dialogue. I speak pretty decent Spanish but not good enough for this

Suggested Songs: "Exile" Taylor Swift feat. Bon Iver, "I Love You" Billie Eilish, "Vampire" and "Logical" by Olivia Rodrigo, "The Night We Met" by Lord Huron and Phoebe Bridgers, "Genesis" by Grimes

You didn’t even flinch at the landing, which was rough, so that’s saying a lot. When the janky cargo door (which looked like at any time during the flight would be ripped right off) opens, you barely even lift your eyes from the floor. You felt heavy and hollow, somewhere suspended in between shock and just not giving a fuck anymore. The only thing you could still fell was the pinching in your heart. It was still broken.

At some point during the journey, the co-pilot had taken pity on you and untied your arms from behind your back and bound them in front of you instead. You hadn’t struggled. There was no point. Where would you go? Jump in the ocean? You weren’t that great of a swimmer and you loved sharks and everything but the open ocean is not where you are supposed to be.

You have no sense of space and time, so you have no actual clue where you are other than not the mainland. You’re dehydrated as fuck, groggy, your vision’s blurry and you’d figured out the sticky moisture on your face was your own blood. 

Because when you had suddenly blacked out it was because they’d hit you, and had absolutely no hesitation doing so. They did not care about you, they did not see you as a human being, they didn’t even bother strapping you into a seat so you had been sliding around the cargo bay the entire flight, bumping into everything. You were in deep danger, any hope that you would have some ransom protection had pretty much disintegrated. You had hoped that the boys wouldn’t come for you at first. Then you had hoped that they would, because if you’re ransom, even if at the very least you’d be alive until then, right? But “alive” doesn’t mean unharmed.

A shadow looms over you and it finally makes you look up, squinting to adjust your eyes to something so close, as well as the brightness of the sun. It feels like it takes you 10 whole minutes to process that you were being spoken to in English.

“Eh!” The man leaning over you snips, and when you simply blink in confusion and don’t answer, he slaps you lightly on both cheeks. You’re stunned enough to finally look at him, his oval face, beady eyes and unique sideburns seeming so familiar to you but quite frankly you wouldn’t trust yourself with recognizing even your dad at the moment, so you push that thought aside.

He kneels down in front of you. “You listen to me. We don’t want you. We want the money. This means if you don’t fucking piss me off, I might be nice and not kill you, you understand? Be a smart little girl, eh?.”

You nod, you probably should be feeling some sort of panic setting in but you don’t. Whatever. Who even cares anymore.

He takes your silence as submission. “Bueno.” He whispers, leaning down and grabbing you by the arm, lifting you until you are back on your feet. He tilts his head and steps to the side, revealing 5 additional men with AKs pointed straight at you. From behind, you feel the sharp tip of another poking your back, urging you forward and down the precarious ramp. The pilots.

You didn’t trust that they wouldn’t hurt you, but you knew you had no other choice. Trying to fight was asking for it, and once you step out of the hold and realize you were in the fucking jungle, there would be no sensical place to go even if you did get away.

You step out of the plane onto a rickety steel ramp that bounces as the footpad of your sandals touches it and shuffle slowly down it. You feel suffocated sandwiched between four men, your hands chafe where they are tied and you have been in the same positions for so long your whole body is sore. Every touch and movement hurt.

You stumble as the ramp ends but one of the men grabs your arm and yanks you so you don’t fall. It wasn’t kindness. It was a way to hurt you that he could get away with. The tiny dirt landing strip is almost canopied completely by the jungle trees, leaving large patches here and there where the plane flew through, not noticeable from far above. It looks like you’re walking to nothing, just a dirt road that ends right into the thick middle of the jungle, but you don’t stop at the edge. You push through.

It’s hot as shit and you felt sweat buildup in every crevice of your body, your thighs are rubbing raw from your asinine decision to wear short shorts to the fair, and you could feel a heat rash growing under your tits that you couldn’t even scratch because your hands are bound.

You walk for forever. You walk until the friction rash on your inner thighs turn to lesions. You haven't drank water in almost 48 hours and it feels like 150 degrees out, with full humidity. You’ve had to stop twice already to vomit from heat exhaustion and you still occasionally gag even though there’s nothing in your stomach to come up anymore. All the years that you did not appeal to insects are making up for it now, they’re all over you and you can’t walk 3 steps without one getting in your eye.  The jungle gets tighter and you can’t breathe because it’s pushing in on you almost as tight as the hands on your shoulders pushing you forward..

You start crying. At least, that is what you tell yourself as you whimper and sob as quietly as you can. You know you’re strong, but this is just beyond reason that any normal person could take. And when you think about how this is probably what life was all the time in Delta for the boys, you cry even harder because you feel guilty, that you have no right to complain.

Finally, after what feels like forever, the tightness of the jungle seems to loosen. More open. You notice some of the trees look more oddly arranged than others. As you get closer you realize they aren’t trees at all, but tents and dilapidated buildings built into the shadows of the trees.  The huge roots and overhanging canopy of the jungle transformed a bustling camp into what looks like a little village. At the entrance, a line of guards in jungle fatigues that were impossible to detect until you got right up to them. You hear someone speak above you, alerting you to a man up in the trees on a platform tucked between the branches. There was another in the tree on the opposite side. He calls to the man with the sideburns, saying something in Spanish you can’t interpret fast enough, but it’s jovial and they laugh, and it makes you feel like you’re going to go mentally insane. 

It’s like it’s not even serious to them. And it’s so serious to you.

You are pushed through the camp quickly, but not quick enough that you don’t see the insane amount of cocaine packages piled up in the makeshift buildings, sheds, and tents toward the back. Men were milling about checking them, moving them and glaring at you as you walked past.

You continue past the main camp, crossing over a bustling creek whose bridge was literally just planks of wood, but you noticed there were tire marks across them so you felt at least safe it could handle a car’s weight. Across the creek, an old stonework manor stood. You can tell at one time it must have been glorious, but the white stone-worked walls were dirty and crumbling in many places, the fountains out front had dried crusty palm fronds and dirt in them and looked like they hadn’t sprayed water since the 1980s.

It was still oddly beautiful. You thought about how this house came to be, what it might have looked like when it had been first built. A beautiful Caribbean sea mansion. A jungle that hadn’t closed in on it yet. Fountains spraying and colorful birds resting on the rooftops. But then you  realize that this place has probably always been used for what it is now. Someone like Carl Lehder probably lived here and ran an entire cartel within this very jungle. Maybe it was the same one, just run by someone else.

There was a shabbily made shack to the left of the manor with padlocks, piles of debris piled next to the door. You assume that’s where you would be taken, but you were instead led up the stairs to the manor proper. And as your eyes focus in on the ground while you were being guided to the mansion instead, you realize the heap of matter by the shack that you thought was some dying plantation was actually a crumpled human body. A boy looking not much older than 17, shot execution style in the head and left to rot.

Then smell hits you, your knees buckle and you vomit on the stonework stairs, a scream of shock and realization pierces the jungle, making the nearby tropical birds explode from the treetops. When the sicarios pick you up and carry you through the mansion door, you’re still screaming.

Eventually whoever was carrying you became fed up, and simply dropped you at the bottom of the stairs and dragged you up backwards by the armpits instead. You didn’t even feel the step edges hitting the small of your back all the way up, but you would later. 

You were tossed stricken and shivering on a disgusting, top-sheeted mattress on the floor in the corner of a room, your feet still bound together and your rope-bound hands looped through a radiator that was long enough only for you to lie down or shuffle over to a bucket for your business. Everything stank and you still had vomit on your chin so you curled up in a ball and slammed your eyes closed, hoping that in time the voices and smells and fear would give way to just simple numbness. You didn’t hear a female voice speaking to you for several seconds.

Your eyes snap open, skin pulled taut from dried unwiped tears,and you jolt upright to look in the direction of the voice. A woman who wasn’t even tied up was propped up against the adjoining wall, and as you take in her condition you could understand why they hadn’t even bothered. She wouldn’t have been able to run.

Her legs look..wrong, splaying at angles that shouldn’t be possible. They look like they could be broken, but you can’t tell for sure because she was wearing jeans that cover up most of her skin. The jeans were ripped in some places and stained with dark blood spots, the color turning brighter wherever her skin shows through the tears in the fabric. She’s missing several fingers on her left hand that had been burnt at the ends to cauterize, and her face was black and blue, swollen and smeared with more blood that seemed to be coming from her scalp somewhere. Her lips are pale and cracking and her eyes are glazed over and barely open. When she speaks, she already sounds like she is dead. 

She swallows and winces slightly in pain, then licks her cracked pale lips.“Is…my…her–my brother. Did you see him? Out there?” 

Your face scrunches in confusion, which actually hurts a little and you’re not sure from what specifically. Perhaps you look just as bad as the other girl. “Your–I—I don’t understand.”

She’s too exhausted to even be annoyed with you. “My brother. They took him from me days ago. They do not talk to me anymore. They don’t—need me anymore.” A single tear falls down her swollen cheek and you suddenly feel so much connection with this woman and how  incredibly fucking strong she is. Her eyes roll over to you, meeting yours for the first time. There are burst blood vessels in them. 

“I think that they killed him.”

Your lips part and you utter a shuddering breath as you connect the dots. There’s no point in sugar-coating it. You nod slowly. “I think so. But it’s not…recent.” You look away as her eyes slowly close, the additional tears she was holding back finally spilling over and cascading down her cheeks. 

“Bueno.” She says. “Then at least he is not suffering like me.” 

You both fall quiet and you look over her again. Her pants aren’t completely done up and her t shirt is ripped at the neckline, exposing a gashed shoulder. Almost like…

You start crying again, and you feel even worse about it this time because you have in front of you a woman who has been through much worse and is somehow NOT crying. You curl tighter into yourself to try and hide. 

But she simply asks. “Who are you?”

You swallow, raising your head up off your arms, quickly wiping the access tears off on your sleeve. It’s incredible how adrenaline and fear can sometimes make you the most clear-headed you’ve ever been. Your thoughts are swirling but you knew one thing for damn sure, if they didn’t know your name yet, you weren’t going to say it now. 

If I look forward I am lost. Focus on right now. Nothing else. It’s my best chance.

You know enough about trauma that compartmentalizing this moment is your best chance. You can’t think what will happen if you don’t escape, if you aren’t found, if they never come for you. You need to stay focused. You need to keep hope alive. You need to stay coherent, because if a chance pops up, you need to be able to think quickly.

“I’m no one.” You mumble. “Just happened to be dating the wrong person.”

She sniffs and looks away, but it’s muffled because her nose sounds congested. You don’t miss her tone though. “Mmmm. His new one then.”

You blink. “What?”

Her glazed over, discolored eyes snap back to yours. “Pope.” She spits. “Your man. Santia—”

“NO!” You cut her off with a shout, you know there is a guy who is in the area and you still don’t know how much these men do or do not know. “Don’t. Don’t give them names if they don’t already know it.”

“I don’t give a shit about Agent Garcia, or his friends, or anyone else, it’s their fault I am here and it’s their fault my brother is dead and..” She finally, finally starts to cry. “I told him I didn’t want to do it. They said they would let us go if we gave them what they wanted.”

“It was you.” You exhale with a shuddering breath. “They found us cause of you. You told them.” You shake your head, and for some reason you feel betrayed by this woman even though you’ve never met her.  “How could you?” 

“Because all I care about is my brother, do you understand?! I wish I’d never met him, Garcia, we would have just snuck away and no one would never seen us, but no, instead we listened to him and helped them steal from fucking Lorea, and now they found us and I knew they would, and YES, I gave them EVERYTHING because they said they’d let us go so long as they found you and–”

“Eh!” A voice trails in with a watchman you knew was hanging out somewhere in the hallway beyond. He slips through the doorway, a smaller man you were not expecting from that voice, and leans against the deteriorating door frame. He crosses his arms and his legs and it makes the handgun on his hip jut out prominently from his skinny hips. “No talking to each other.” His voice is silky and the words all slide together so it sounds like ‘no talkintoeeachother.’

You shrink back into the dirty wall behind you as your associate spits a bloody phlegm ball in the man’s direction. “FUCK you!” She snarls, a tirade of cuss words in Spanish flying from her lips. 

A loud pop almost bursts your eardrums and your heart and you exclaim in terror as your associate is shot point blank in the head, her back slumping against the wall and her head hitting with a bang, pieces of blood and brain tissue spraying over the back wall with pieces flying in your direction.  

The man remains completely motionless with his arms still raised before huffing a laugh to himself, putting the gun back on his hip, and looking at you with the such an unaffected gaze it leaves you feeling dizzy and you scream and scream and scream yourself hoarse, crumpling onto your mattress in a terrified heap, arms over your head, sobbing hysterically.

A gentle but firm palm wraps around your forearm, yanking you back up to a seated position. You look away, but the man’s other hand takes you gently by the jaw and makes you look at him. And just behind him, the woman slumped in a pool of blood and brain matter. You try to wriggle out of his grip but he tightens ever so slightly, and you can’t help but notice how different it is when Frankie would grab you like that versus this man. Frankie held you the same, sometimes harder, but you had trusted his domination and his care of you and because of that, it made it arousing. That same motion with this man has you more scared than you ever have been in your life. 

“Bebita.��� He coos, thumb lightly caressing your jaw. He wipes at a small speck of blood you don’t know is even there. You can feel yourself shaking and breathing so fast you can see his half waxed back tousled locks that hang past his temples are blowing in its breeze. You can’t answer him. “Look at me.”

You do. His eyes are a dark, almost black chocolate brown, shape mismatched, a scruffy beard and goatee and thin lips. In another world you would find him devastatingly attractive and the fact that you do makes you feel absolutely violated and disgusted with yourself. 

“Do not cry.” He continues. “You have no reason to if you behave, si? You be good and you listen and I will keep you safe you understand? Well, at least for now.” He shifts closer to you, you can smell his breath. It smells like orange and cloves. “There are a lot of men here Bebita. I am sure you understand what this means, si? Answer me.”

“Yes.” A final fat tear spills from one of your eyes, and it stings as it mixes with your sweat and the raw skin around your eyes. 

He juts his head in the other woman’s direction. “This one, she fight the whole time. I like a easy job. Make my job easy, I make sure you always deal with me. Do not make me call in the other guys, they are not as nice. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He releases your chin and you scoot back quickly as he saunters over to the other woman’s bloody body, grabs it by the arm, and casually drags her as dismissively as possible out the door and out of your sight, leaving a bloody trail behind.

At first you just sit there in a slump staring at the opposite wall,, you don’t know for how long. Probably hours. Maybe days. The man, whose name you figured out from when he spoke to someone else in the hall, is Angel. Sometimes he would sit up and watch you, as if figuring you out, your body and the way you shift and switch positions when you are uncomfortable, what it looked like when you were crying and trying to keep quiet and unnoticed. But most of the time he ignored you. Occasionally others would come into the room and either speak to him or approach you, but upon noticing Angel watching them they would hiss or spit a curse and slink off.

The room reminded you of those old houses from the 70s that had those drafty unfinished basements that were simply concrete floors, painted stucco or white brick. To the sicarios, it served as an overflow area, there was a rotting desk along the side wall with a metal folding chair and piles of scattered papers and random household tools on them. Against the opposite side wall was a pretty nice tv, considering, which was always playing soccer. Angel seemed to make that his home base, his lithe frame sprawled across a grandma-fabric sofa, head resting on one of the puffy arm rests. He binge-smoked cigarettes and his right hand was always stretched over his head resting against his forehead in the direction of to an end table with an massive overflowing porcelain ashtray on it. You didn’t used to mind the smell of cigarettes too much but now it makes you feel sick.

You’re ashamed of how little you actually think about your current situation and like the hopeless romantic idiot you are, mostly all you can think about is Frankie. The things he said–you knew he said mean things when he was mad, or things he didn’t mean, but isn’t there always some truth to things that are said in the heat of the moment? That was enough for you to silently spiral. You thought about every memory you had of him and how it could be viewed through the lens that Frankie just wanted to fuck you. Your self confidence was low enough it was believable, and your mind races through every instance of an older man being in a relationship with someone much younger and how of course it was predatory, and how could you not see it, that you didn’t have anything in common? It’s a tale as old as time. He just wanted to fuck you, he wanted to fuck you and dominate you, his dark desires seducing you into feeling so wanted you can’t believe you thought he loved you and didn’t see right through it. 

And his friends, well, they were all in on it weren’t they, because why would they want to hang out with someone like you either? Why would men such as that actually want to be friends with you when you have never experienced half of what they have.

Fuck him. Fuck him and his lying ass, he was a fucking loser addict and you’re pissed at yourself for even considering him. Like how lonely were you?? To choose an old man with a kid who served in an institution that represented everything you hated about this country? To be so easily blinded by pretty words and love bombs to immediately take your clothes off. Because how, if he actually loved you or even like you, could he possibly have lied about something so big?! Or bought you something nice with all that fucking drug money he stole. Not that you’d want it or expected it, but why wouldn’t you want to treat someone you love as much as he claimed to? 

How could he sit there and make up what happened to Tom like that, when you were being so coddling and trying to be a caring ear. And Benny…Pope...if they were your friends they should have told you, that’s what real friends do…

But they weren’t your friends. They were never your friends. 

And if you went the other way, and considered that it was all true, that he did love you, that they were all your friends, and that he lied to you and threw stones to hurt you and push you away, how was that any better? You couldn't even think about a future not being with him, but obviously he could. He could watch you cry and question him and not even look at you, completely ignore you, then not even think about you again. No texts, no calls. No “I’m sorry, please come back.” Silence. 

How could it be so easy for him? How can he just go about his life like you never happened? Why did you still care?

Why did you still want him? 

Why did you still love him so so much. Part of you wishes they’d get on with it and just kill you. At least then you wouldn’t have to feel this excruciating pain. You wouldn’t have to see him show up to rescue you because he has to, to have to see his fucking face and every line, crinkle, scar, the bald patch in his beard and the tousled little curls that pop out of his hat…only for him to save you and then leave again, or die and then you have the guilt of killing a man who no longer loved you.

Yea. You think you’d rather die.

You feel like you’re going to throw up again. You’d let him force his cock in your mouth as far as it could go, let him tie you up and fuck you hard enough to leave bruises you had thought of as a badge of honor. You’d let him cum on your face. You’d let him fucking cum inside you! He’d gaslit you so you actually wanted him to tie you up with zip ties—-

Your heart almost stops. You can picture how his face looked exactly when he said it.

Sometimes rope can give over time.

That’s why we always used zip ties.

You look down at your bound hands.

They’re bound with rope.

#fix you fic #triple frontier fanfic #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie catfish morales x you #frankie catfish morales x reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic

[iamthepulta]

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹!!

‘Relief’ was the wrong word to describe how Westlie felt after a week of living with Lizzie on their own. A weight had been lifted from her chest, but now she was seeing for the first time too. It was like she’d put on magic glasses and the world was suddenly full of roses with thorns. She was still stuck walking through the briars. But she could touch them. She could see them. There was no Arthur trimming off the flowers whenever she got close; no Mary to tease her about every invisible cut and tear. When she scraped a thorn, she bled- and she could feel the pain now, watch the blood run down her arm, feel the determination course through her to reach the rose again. Challenges didn’t seem like they’d be freeing, but she was making the choice to chase them, she was the one in control; the world had moved on from the events of last week and she was left a changed woman in an unfamiliar city; the chains were gone, she was just… Westlie.

The first day of her new job, Westlie woke up, dressed, and started to pull up her hair up from habit when her arms hesitated. There wasn’t a mirror in the little apartment, but she could imagine herself as she stared at the wall: slender, pale, nervous, a curl of red hair over her right cheek; the vest, the skirt, the defiant chin; frightened eyes, sister-less, a guardian, a runaway; free. She wasn’t Westlie from Fairweather anymore and she didn’t want to look it. Free. Westlie’s arms ached a bit, but she didn’t move, just holding the word in her heart.

She was free, wasn’t she? That thing, that word she’d worked to secure for Morgan her whole life- that dream she’d fantasized for Lizzie- she was free to decide whether they should stay or move, free to work for Jamison or any other company, any other goal. She could be a navigator if she wanted. She had the license. She could do it. She could try.

Old-Westlie, the woman in the mirror with the long curls, the hand with the hairpins, with the practiced, ruthless efficiency- that was the person she had been. Westlie made her way over to her carpet bag in a haze. She had a little travel sewing kit with thread scissors. She took them out and raised them to her hair, chopping a curl off at neck length before she could process what she was doing. 

She immediately saw herself in the mirror again, caught in the act, scissors raised like a shield, lop-sided, frightened, new. Like a sculpture she couldn’t see the final form of, even in her mind’s eye. She didn’t want to be the same, but it was terrifying to change. Old-Westlie was a coward, she thought to herself. Old-Westlie might still be with Arthur if she hadn’t run with Lizzie; angry, sulking, bitter, but there. It was Morgan who bought their freedom this time. ... Where was Morgan? Westlie hacked at her hair until it was all the same length and she looked in the imaginary mirror again.

Short, curly, red, pale; brown eyes, chewed lips. … she didn’t feel free now, she just felt… she felt… Not-Westlie, and she didn’t know if that was good, or bad, or wrong, or right, or if she was just a woman trying so hard to grab the roses she saw, she didn’t care how many thorns cut her skin.

Arthur would say she looked unprofessional. Westlie swallowed and tucked a curl behind her ear. Arthur would say she wasn’t worth the work she did. … But Arthur wasn’t here, was he? He was gone and the no-longer heir to Fairweather was left standing in shoes she didn’t know how to fill. She could do it though. Westlie whispered confidence to herself in the imaginary mirror, trying not to think of the shoddy apartment and the stench of honey she’d never be able to get out of her nose. She could do it because she had a new job and a new employer, and she would find Lizzie a new apartment and she was going to make it wonderful because Lizzie should be free. And it started here; it started now, with New-Westlie.

New-Westlie took a breath, softly tapped Lizzie’s nose while she slept in, and stepped out into the musky, London briars to gather some roses.

-=-

Really want to thank you for this one because it kicked my butt into adding to Chapter 17. I’m stuck on getting started, lol. This helped get me into the headspace. :)

#liztlie au #westlie #ask #Loved this! I don't really know how it'll fit into the larger chapter but it's a start. Also I'm sorry if you were hoping for different #characters #Couldn't really get into the headspace of the others at this moment #Jamison would have been interesting #but idk how to work his narrative in #this chapter is technically simple; I just need to introduce Jamison #his goals #show London dissolving into chaos; show westlie and lizzie's new life #show westlie's new job #show Lizzie searching for Morgan #and it's totally achievable all in one chapter lol #maybe I do need to break it down lol #I feel bad that it's not a continuation of Landlady Rowe because Rowe SHOULD get more screentime but that was supposed #to segue into Morgan... doing... something... that Rowe sees #but I'm not sure what that is and if I want it. But it would just be narratively cool and I love the idea that Rowe is just minding her own #business and the Faire sisters are tearing down London in the meantime and Rowe looks at little Lizzie like- Do you want a sweetmeat? #I'm in love with characters who exist as narrative framing #I guess lol

[helyeahmangocheese]

another thing that gets me really emotional about annabeth's adhd in the show is how she so often gets sucked into her own brain, thinking 6 steps ahead, or trying to follow her plan which she has yet to voice out loud, and then unintentionally is a little bit mean on the outside. like, she put percy under the impression that they couldn't be friends because of how she was treating him. she was literally just so in her own head that she didn't notice. she was cold on the bus and snappy on the satyr path because she was working with a lot more context and understanding of the mythical world than percy... which was probably too overwhelming in her own head to sort out and express out loud, too. she was snappy at grover at the arch because they were still trying to find sanctuary from echidna and she was their navigator to the temple. she became conscious of her attitude only after she could somewhat get out of the headspace of navigating. you can SEE on her face that she doesn't even fully understand these moments and that she doesn't mean any harm. you can tell that she was really hurt when percy made that comment about never being friends. if she could control it, things wouldn't be this way, and that's exactly how disorders work.

it's not just some superpower that she can think so quickly and critically--she also pays the price in other ways because this thinking is constant. the reality she experiences is then different from what's going on outside, and that can be so confusing and exhausting to manage. it's a toll on her, and so many of leah's little facial expressions make it easy to believe that annabeth's had her moments of "my brain is broken" too.

#it's such an accurate representation of why expressing our thoughts and feelings is so hard for some of us with adhd & other disorders ! #being inside of my own mind is already exhausting but now I have to translate it and get it out to match the rest of the world now too? #annabeth chase #percy jackson #percy jackson disney+ #idk they're just doing really well on the rep. this is smth I notice with a lot of fellow woc w adhd. if thats u pls allow urself to rest #pjotv #percy jackson live action #percy jackson and the olympians #adhd representation #pjo ep 4

[generalllimaginesss]

"If the entire human population was in front of me, I'd still choose you” with Jack.

I can only imagine what it would be like to have fans attack you if you were publicly dating him. I feel like Jack is so conscious of this. And he’s just soft boyfriend Jack trying to block out the unnecessary noise.

Maybe they just went public and she’s getting a lot of hate and it’s making her insecure. And Jack reminds her that it’s just them against the world and the only people whose opinions matter are their family and friends who love her.

Warnings: self depreciation, insecurities, self image issues, etc. Please don't read if you're not in a good headspace!!!

This is probably my favorite thing that I’ve written. I hope you like it as much as I enjoyed writing it!!

plus size! reader x Jack Hughes

••

You knew that dating somebody in the limelight would have its challenges. Hell, dating an average person was hard. But nothing could have prepared you for the magnitude of hate that hit as soon as Jack went public with your relationship.

It wasn't like the relationship was new. The two of you had been dating for almost a year before he decided to post you on his Instagram. You let Jack set the pace since he was used to the attention. He could let things go in one ear and out the other a lot easier than you could. He was almost conditioned to be able to do that. You, on the other hand, took everything very personally. Every comment about your weight, about what you wore, about how Jack looked miserable with you, they all hit you like a ton of bricks.

You didn't understand why all of these people were coming at you saying so many horrible things, but Jack tried his best to ease your mind and remind you that at the end of the day it was you and him.

He did a really good job at this normally, but he was away on a roadie for a few days and things began to get really bad. This started when you saw a fan account for Jack post something about how Jack downgraded from Sienna to you and all of the comments agreeing.

It was like a rabbit hole...once you clicked on that post it led you to many others. They all made you feel like shit, but when people started commenting on your body, saying that they "didn't know Jack dated plus size girls," it hurt. Your body was yours. It wasn't like you could just zip it off and find a new one, but if you could you would, just to shut the comments up.

You spent the 3 days Jack was gone in a really dark depression. No laundry was done, you hadn't showered, and you barely could make yourself get out of bed to brush your teeth. Dishes piled in the sink, but you couldn't make yourself do them. You knew the signs of your depression, but you welcomed them in a way, almost like a coping mechanism. Not allowing people to see you was the only way the haters couldn't get new material. Was it a healthy way to cope? Obviously not, but it was what worked in the moment.

As soon as Jack walked through the front door, returning from the games, he could tell something wasn't right. You always kept up with the chores when he was away, normally making the house spotless before he got back. So when he saw the state of the kitchen and eventually the rest of the house, he knew something was off.

When he walked into the bedroom and saw that you were pretty much in the same spot he left you in he immediately dropped his bags and climbed into the bed with you, forcing you to look at him.

He gently shifted your body to face him, cupping your cheek gently with his hand.

"Baby, what happened," He made note of the streaks that stained your face, probably from countless hours of crying. He wanted to make them disappear immediately. You were his happy-go-lucky, carefree girl. You danced around the house all the time, singing whatever song was playing. This side of you was uncharted territory that he wanted to take away so bad.

"I just need you to hold me," You began to hyperventilate, worried that if he didn't hold you that he would leave you. Even though that would never in a million years cross his mind. But he did as you asked, and whether it was for 5 minutes or 30 minutes, he didn't know. He held you until you pulled away.

"Can we talk about it?" Jack asked, pulling the hair that crusted on your cheek from the tears out of your face. He treated you like you were fragile, and you hated that he felt that way.

"It's just the comments, Jack. I'm already insecure sometimes and these people come at me in so many horrible ways," You began to explain, loose tears streaming down your face, but you were composed otherwise.

"They compare me to Sienna, and God, I know I'm not as pretty as her. They tell me I'm fat and that they didn't know you dated "fat" girls. It's just insane. Do they not realize that I actually am a real person with real emotions? Do they know that I've believed, at some point in time, the things they are saying? I've worked so hard to get to this place where I'm at, to love who I am, and within the span of 3 days they just tear it all down," You let the words just flow from your mouth, whatever thought that comes to mind is voiced to Jack.

"Baby, they don't care. They don't care because they're jealous," He tries to soothe you, but it almost made you mad. Not at Jack, but at the whole situation.

"What the fuck are they jealous of? My thighs that I cover with leggings and pants so that I won't have to go through the pain of them chafing? Are they jealous of the fucking stretch marks that go up my stomach, so I refuse to wear regular bikini bottoms? I mean what the fuck, do they want my anxiety and depression? I will gladly give them that..." The tears were beginning to pick up, but Jack continued to rub your back, waiting to get the chance to speak again.

"I know you could have any girl you wanted. It makes me sick when I see some blonde walk past that looks like she stepped out of a magazine because I know that's what you deserve. You don't deserve this. You're Jack fucking Hughes," You looked at him, your lip quivering. You were going to say something else, but Jack put his finger on your lips, gently stopping you from continuing.

"You gotta stop that. I can't let you keep putting yourself down like this, not when I love you with my whole fucking heart," He began.

"First off, I had that. I had whatever you consider a girl walking out of a magazine is. Look how that turned out. It didn't, did it? You don't look like Sienna, and I'm so fucking glad because I don't want her kind of beautiful. I want your kind. I want to see all of the things on your body that show me that you lived. I don't want some manufactured cookie-cutter girlfriend. I want somebody that nobody else has," He pulled you in for a hug, continuing to talk while placing kisses ever so gently on your cheek and neck, looking out the window at the busyness that was the outside world. All he could think about was how you didn't see what he saw. Why couldn't you see it?

"Baby, I want you to realize something. If the entire human population was in front of me, I'd still choose you. Without a second thought, with no regrets. Every. Single. Time. You have such a special relationship with my brothers and that means the absolute world to me. They love you so much. My parents tell me I should marry you anytime that you come up in the conversation. The entire team has commented on how much happier I am with you. And if I'm being completely honest, at the end of the day I don't give a damn what anybody else has to say because it's me and you until the end. Do you understand me?" He broke the hug, cupping your face with both hands and wiping at the tears with his thumbs.

"I love you," You whisper, your voice long gone by now.

Jack pulls your forehead toward his lips, kissing it for a few seconds before letting your head go.

"I love you, too. More than you, or anybody else, will ever know. Now, I think we could go for some cleaning karaoke, yeah? I'll wash the dishes if you'll dry them," He poked at your side, trying, and succeeding, in forcing a grin on your face.

"Only if we can get a shower together afterwards," You bargained, taking in the beautiful boy.

"Deal," He says and drags you off to the kitchen, connecting his phone the the speaker and blaring Dierks Bentley's new song "Beer at My Funeral," occasionally twirling you in a circle.

The water may or may not have gotten everywhere since Jack decided it was a good idea to spray you with the hose that connected to the sink, but he enjoyed every second that he got chased by you around the island.

Once the dishes were put up and the shower washed away the remaining bit of your depression, Jack couldn't help but to just admire you. He promised himself then that he would remind you so often of how beautiful you were so that would be the only words ringing through your head, taking up any space that the hate may have. Because it was true. You were the most beautiful and precious thing that had ever walked into his life, and he'd be damned if anyone made you feel otherwise.

*

*

*

*

#nhl imagine #nhl fic #jack hughes #nhl fanfiction #quinn hughes #trevor zegras #alex turcotte #cole caufield #jack hughes imagines #nico hischier #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes x reader #jh86

[flanaganfilm]

I tend to get obsessed with scenes where actors have a particularly outstanding performance. I find myself revisiting them over and over again just to relive the moment. Several examples of this, but one that I just love is in Midnight Mass when Kate and Zach are on the rowboat. What's it like experiencing that live, during production? Are you aware in the moment of how special it is or does that become more evident in post? Love to hear any and all details behind the scenes of how those get made. Also curious what scenes from your favorite movies/TV standout as particularly compelling performances by the actors.

This scene is a strange one, because it was the first thing we shot of the whole series. We had been shut down since March 2020 when the initial COVID lockdown hit, and were the first show in North America to go back into production that summer. We didn't know how to do that, and were juggling constantly evolving safety protocols as we tried to figure out how to shoot in this new world. Because a lot of our sets weren't ready to shoot when we came back, we opted to start easy - on our stages, with blue screen work. The boat scene is shot entirely on blue screen, we didn't even have water - the boat was gently rocked back and forth by grips. Kate and Zach were asked to do this huge, heavy, insanely difficult and emotional scene ON OUR FIRST DAY. I had asked them a few weeks prior if they'd be okay with that, as I was worried - they hadn't built their characters yet. They hadn't put a single scene down to draw from. But both said they'd do it, and so we threw them into the deep end.

(That's DP Michael Fimognari in the boat, trying to adjust lighting through his goggles) It was a VERY weird day. We were all wearing KN95 masks and goggles, the actors had to wear full masks and face shields when we weren't rolling. It was absolutely surreal and just about impossible for anyone to get into any headspace that felt like we were doing scene work. I had been fitted with modified motorcycle goggles, as I needed eye protection to be near the actors (it was all more than a bit ridiculous.) There was a ladder on set - you can see it behind Michael in the picture above - and I started the day by climbing it to address the cast and crew. About ten words into my speech, my goggles completely fogged up and I couldn't see anymore. I had to be helped down the ladder by several grips. I remember the first rehearsal was insane because the actors weren't allowed to take off their masks, per Netflix safety protocols. I was also required to wear my mask and goggles throughout, so giving direction to actors who couldn't see my face was a brand new and deeply strange thing (I'd continue to work this way for the next two years, we all got used to it, but this first day was fucking WEIRD). Kate and Zach couldn't even really hear each other through the masks to rehearse, as it was such a quiet and intimate scene. I was standing a few feet away and couldn't hear a damn thing. It was additionally weird because all of the elements of the scene outside of the boat wouldn't be added for many, many months as we got into VFX. There was no water, no stars, nothing at all to look at but hanging blue curtains and masked crew members. I don't know how Kate and Zach were able to put all of that aside and deliver the performances they delivered - oh wait, I suppose I do know. It's because they are exceptional actors. Kate later told me she was so outside of her comfort zone that she had to just dive in and trust every single thing around her. The scenes in the boat ultimately came together beautifully, but I did apologize to both of them later in the shoot. It wasn't fair that we asked them to do that, to start like that, without letting them build any foundation. But both waved it off. Production is chaos, and that particular production was the very first out the gate with COVID, so everything was crazy. They took all of that vulnerability and uncertainty and discomfort and fear and turned it into a handful of scenes that roar with honesty. It's among my favorite moments in what may always be my favorite Intrepid series.

#midnight mass #kate siegel #zach gilford #covid protocol

[koithelittle]

Hi hi!! Can I ask for a hurt/Comfort fic (or headcanons?? Whatever u feel like writing:3) with copbur?

Like he had to work longer than he told u by accident, but u get really anxious about people being away (I'm not projecting guys I swear-) and when he comes home ur little and sad and he's really sweet about it and feels so bad he accidentally did that to his baby :((

anxious days with happy nights

note; OH MY GOD YES I CAN!!! ngl I really struggle with separation anxiety/abandonment issues in general but esp with a carer so like ooo I'm gonna have fun writing this, thank you!

words; 2.1k

warnings; use of daddy/dada, cutesy petnames (i stick to baby though), separation anxiety, crying, panic, abandonment issues, reader gets a bath, not proofread, lmk if there's more!

pairing; cg!copbur x little!reader (gn)

navigation

taglist; @jjtheresidentbaby @lillylvjy @wilmaslittleflower @whos-nicooo (ask or dm to be added!!)

wilbur usually kept his shifts to the same length every day. his routine was set and it wasn't going to budge. he'd wake up at 6, get dressed and showered and then he'd wake you up to do a little check in. if you were big, you'd handle yourself for the most part; even if he preferred when you let him fuss over you. but if you were little, he'd help you wake up, get you dressed, get you to brush your teeth while he did your hair, etc etc. you'd both have breakfast and by 7:50 he was out the door and on his way to work. that way you'd be awake with him long enough to feel secure and not end up waking up without him and panicking (which has happened before and resulted in him taking an extra day for his weekend off).

his hours were the same, 8am - 4pm, Monday through Friday. it was the same routine every day, and it was easily expected to stay that way. his job usually consisted of more quiet work, like paper work, intake or lunch rounds. nothing out of the ordinary, nothing where he had to handle scuffles or escaped inmates. it was repetitive, and he liked that.

you had woken up in a normal headspace, getting yourself ready and joking around with wilbur before he left. you thought of busying yourself with house work, dishes that needed to be done, laundry that wasn't overflowing but you felt like it needed to be done. but you couldn't manage it mentally, you were exhausted and nothing was to a level of needing to be done at that moment, so you rotted on the couch and did some simple embroidery during the morning. you didn't start to slip until lunch time, having decided on a snack plate instead of a put together meal because you were simply just getting so tired and didn't feel like it. the rest came with it.

the further you slipped and the later it got, the more on edge you were. you managed to catch wil during his afternoon break, texting with him and telling him of your day. part of him was estatic you were little and enjoying yourself, while the other was worried since he wasn't there to actively care for you. not to mention he only had a fifteen minute time window to speak to you before he got swept back into work.

he told you he had to go, and you understood, telling him how much you loved him and missed your daddy! he smiles and puts away his phone in his pocket before going back to his post.

you managed on your own until it was around the time he usually left work, you didn't get a text or a call that he was on his way. he wasn't answering his texts and he should've been home by now. but he wasn't. you were panicking a bit, curled up in blankets and staring blankly at your phone hoping to all hope that you'd get a call from him. that he would be coming home.

your anxiety only built further and further as time passed, you tried to keep yourself cozy and distracted, turning on some cartoons as your phone went unchecked.

another hour passed and you heard the front door click closed, you lifted your head, dried tears over your cheeks.

"daddy?" you call for him, jumping out of bed and waiting for him to answer.

"baby?" wilbur echoes back and he hurries up the stairs, seeing you peeking out of the bedroom door, your eyes held wide with a pout on your lips. he scooped you up into his arms and carried you into the bedroom. he sat down and set you between his legs after he kicked off his shoes. he runs his thumbs over your cheeks as he takes note of your reddened eyes and the tears dried on your skin. he frowns, kissing your nose as he rests his hands on the small of your back.

"how tiny is my baby, mm?" he tries to lighten the mood with a soft question, trying to keep you with him as his mind wanders and runs with different thoughts. feelings of guilt and worry at the sight of you so distressed and he knows it's because he was late. but he'll address that later, right now his baby comes first.

you shrug softly, reaching forward and grabbing hold of his shirt, messing with the fabric and rubbing it between your fingers. it's a softer cotton shirt, and you always like to fidget with it when you can.

"are you.. five? two? ooo is my baby realllyy tiny? hm?" he kisses all over your face as he speaks, trying to coax a smile or a giggle out of you. you crack a bit of a grin, shaking your head as you look up at him.

you hold up one finger, smiling sweetly as he gasp, "oh so you're a little baby, then?" and you nod as he places a big kiss to your forehead, pushing back your hair and tucking it behind your ears.

you move to crawl against his chest and he takes you into his arms, rubbing at your back as you drape your arms around his neck. you don't feel like talking all too much, just so tired and overwhelmed with all the feelings you have, that words just feel exhausting.

silence drapes over the both of you, and wilbur tucks his face into your neck as he hums, "I'm really sorry, baby. I got all caught up at work with a bad guy and I couldn't get home in time, I wish I did," you nod into his shoulder, humming softly as his arms tighten around you.

"s otay, daddy," is what you manage to squeak out, and he sighs, tension and stress being let out with the long breath and you hold yourself tighter to him. you don't want him to disappear, you need to hold on tighter. tighter, tighter, tighter.

he feels your hold tighten, and he rubs your back while leaving little chaste kisses by your ear. he mumbles small words of reassurance, "I'm here, baby. not going anywhere," which earns a little whine from you as you bury your face deep into his shoulder. he holds back a small chuckle, and it comes out as a huff of air as he simply keeps you close.

more time passes, nothing changing other than the intensity of your hold on him, hands grabbing at the fabric of his shirt. it helps you stay grounded, he doesn't mind.

"baby, have you done your routine yet?" he knows the answer, but he still bothers with asking anyways. you shake your head with a huff, his lips curl into a grin and he nods, "mkay baby, time for a bath then."

he then works on prying you off of him so he can effectively get you ready for a bath. you're shaking your head and whining at him, and he tries to soothe you with soft back rubs and little kisses to your face. it works for the most part and your silent complaints seem to fizzle out as he settles you between his legs again.

"can you sit still for daddy while I get things ready? mm?" he coos, knuckles running over the soft skin of your cheeks and you nod vigorously. wilbur chuckles and kisses your forehead before handing you your favorite stuffie and turning the TV to bluey. you focus your attention on the show, sitting still on the middle of the queen size mattress. he slips out of bed from behind you, untucking his shirt out of habit as he gathers up some pj's for you, taking them and laying them out behind you on the bed. then ventures into the bathroom.

he starts by running the water in the bath, then adds some bubbles to get all foamy. he keeps the door open so he can hear if you call for him, or if you fall. he then crouches to look under the sink for some of your bath toys and a bath bomb. he wants to make tonight's bath a bit more fun and exciting than your usual baths. mostly to help soothe the guilt that grows in his gut. he keeps the bath running as he pokes his head into the bedroom from the bathroom and smiles at you.

"hey, honey, the bath's almost ready," you look over to him and nod, reaching your arms out and making grabby motions with your hands. he scoops you up from under your arms and kisses all over your face, "good baby," he cracks a small grin, holding you on his hip as he carries you into the bathroom. after he sets you down on the counter, he kisses each of your cheeks before he begins to help you undress.

"what did my baby do today?" he croons, helping you into his arms before setting you down in the bath. you shrug at him, padding at the water as the bubbles collect around you.

he grabs the little washcloth and gets it all wet before he starts to scrub at your back, "i's watched cawtoons a bit," you finally speak up, eyes droopy and tired as you watch him.

"oh you did now, mm? what did you watch, bug?" he smiles sweetly at you as he gently guides your arm to be closer to him, and he gently scrubs your arm and shoulders before moving to the other arm. he glances between your eyes and where he's cleaning you up, waiting for you to answer.

"Ninjago," you mumble, smile brightening as your eyes widen with it.

he chuckles, kissing your temple and humming at your answer, "zane still your favorite?"

you nod happily, giggling before you ramble on about the episode you watched, and everything that happened. he manages to comprehend most of it, but the rest was all baby babbles that he couldn't quite make out.

after your body was all clean, he sat back for a minute, letting you play to your heart's content as he watched you. his shirt is a bit soaked, and he has some bubble bath in his hair from when you tried to give him a foamy hat, but he doesn't mind. with a small smile on his lips, and love in his eyes, he watches as you play and splash, giggling and including him in your play. he leans closer a moment later, grabbing hold of your hand and rubbing his thumb over the skin. wilbur then kisses each of your fingertips, ending with a kiss to your palm. you giggle and splash about, grinning ear to ear.

"was dat fow?" you ask softly, eyes squinting with a smile on your lips. he grabs your other hand and repeats the order of kisses before he places one tiny kiss to your nose.

"oh, well I'm just showing my baby how much I love them," he smiles softly before he starts to wet your hair and lather up your scalp in soap. you smile and hum, shutting your eyes as he washes out your hair.

when he's done, you're so tired that you don't even fight to stay in the bath, just letting him pick you up and wrap you up in a soft fluffy towel, drying you off. he carries you into the bedroom and helps you get all dressed, kissing all over your face before he helps you get back to the bathroom to help you brush your teeth. you're sleepily leaning against him the whole time, exhausted from your anxiety filled day.

once he got your teeth brushed, he carried you over to the bed, grabbing your hair brush and a couple of hair ties. he sat you between his legs as he unpaused the TV, letting it play as you focused your attention on bluey. he gently brushed out your hair, before splitting it in two and braiding both sections. he places a quick kiss to your temple before turning you to face him and shut off the tv.

"alright, baby, time for bed," you nod, reaching your arms over his shoulders as he picks you up and pulls you into his chest, kissing all over your face. he held you to his chest as he tucked you both under the covers, making sure your stuffie was safe in your arms. after he had effectively kissed every spot on your face, he pushed your bangs back and pressed you to his chest.

"goodnight little one," a small pause as you held him closer, a smile on his lips as he continued, "I love you."

you murmured an echo of his words, telling him you loved him too, and you were soon asleep. held tight in his arms with comfort surrounding you.

#sfw agere #koimoodboards #koiwrites #wilbur soot agere #wilbur soot #cg!wilbur #cg!wilbur soot #wilbur #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur x reader #copbur #copbur x reader #copbur agere #cg!copbur #cg!copbur x reader #cg!copbur x little!reader #cg!wilbur soot x little!reader #wilbur soot x gn!reader agere #koifics

[aew-kun-age-regression]

GUESS WHO FINALLY WROTE THESE 💀 Sorry it took a hot minute to finish these- I got distracted, on another note there's gonna be some small Ghost Headcannons soon lmao. AAA it's nearly half 1 in the morning- I need to go to sleeppp

Regressor!Phillip Graves Headcannons

He's just small kiddo bless him, 0-4 age range.

He denies that he needs to regress/that he does. "I'm a man I don't need stupid stuff like that to cope." (Yes. Yes he does.)

So emotional. Anything and everything can and will set him off.

^ Gets so emotional when alone. He needs a Caregiver to help ground him because he's just too small, he needs cuddles and to be held and told that he isn't bad.

He's a biter. This goes for clothes, toys, and even people. Clothes and toys are normally just because of his young age however people tend to be when he's upset about everything. He doesn't want to hurt anyone or be bad he just gets overwhelmed quickly and if someone is there it normally make that worse, his default reaction is to do something that will get them to leave. (Chances are no he doesn't actually want them to leave, he just needs support.) It's made so much worse by Graves knowing that he shouldn't, it's instinct. He doesn't know why he bites the hand that feeds him. He is in constant need of reassurance that he shouldn't have done it but no one is angry at him for it, no one hates him for a reaction that he couldn't control at the moment. He can't tell the difference between the hand that wants to help him and the hand that wants to hurt him..

He has a duffle bag that he keeps his little gear in. He also stores an oversized hoodie, the hoodie is large and makes him feel small, it's plain black and very comfortable, therefore it's very discreet. It's only real purpose is to initially hide his regression gear if the bag is opened.

Graves is terrified that people won't want to be around him anymore. He gets these thoughts at random and it will completely consume his thoughts until he's reassured otherwise.

Punishments really just can't be done, it triggers him. He needs someone to talk through whatever he's 'in trouble' for and explain.

He cannot be put into timeout he will hyperventilate and has got to the point of passing out before.

On a bit of a happier note he is the utter cutest just curiously toddling around, taking in his surroundings like it's the first time he's ever seen it. (Even if he's seen it a million times before)

When he's deep in his headspace he finds himself scared of Ghost. (It's the mask.)

He had a freakout once and the others (Soap, Gaz and Ghost) were in the room. They were all regressed and no-one knew what to do without a Caregiver there to help out, helping Graves was always hard but Gaz wanted to try and do something. Gaz gets hit a few times in the process of getting close to him but he is eventually able to calm Graves down, running his hands in the younger boys hair.

When it comes to hanging out with other Regressors Gaz is definitely his favourite to be around, he just knows how to calm him down.

Colouring in >>>

If Price or Ghost cradle and/or rock him like a baby it's game over. He's asleep within 10 minutes. ❤️

#agere blog #sfw agere #sfw littlespace #sfw little post #little space #agere little #aewlittlerambles #sfw little community #aewlittleheadcannons #cod agere #call of duty agere #regressor!phillip graves #little!phillip graves

[marvelfanfics1]

daddy loki request!

Could you do one where little one is feel really little and tired after a Mission or something of your choice and loki is in his little office room and little one go around the whole tower trying to find him and gets more aggravated every time she can’t find him ?

I love your little reader work so much!!!

Only Need Daddy

(GIF not mine)

Pairing: daddy!Loki x little!Avenger!reader

Warnings: Age Regression, just fluff

A/n: I'm glad you like 'em!

                                   ⭒𖥸⭒ 

The moment you walked out of the jet you felt how your littlespace kicked in, the mission you just finished together with Natasha, Clint, and Peter had exhausted you and all you wanted at the moment was to be held by your daddy.

You went to your shared room, frowning a little when Loki wasn't there to greet you like he always does, and changed yourself into more comfortable clothes that suited your headspace.

You grabbed your favorite stuffie from the bed and started to search for Loki desperately.

First, you went to the library area of the tower where he usually was but couldn't find him there, then you thought maybe he was doing some workout with Thor but only saw Bucky and Steve doing some combat practice.

"Hey, little doll." the brunette smiled when he noticed you standing by the door, nibbling at your nails. "What you doing here all alone?"

"Where's daddy?"

The soldiers looked at each other, both shrugging and Steve turned to you with a sympathetic smile.

"Sorry sweets, we don't know where he is. Maybe he's in the common room?"

You nod and made your way to the common area but yet again were disappointed when he wasn't there.

You grew more restless and it got to a point where you started sniffling when you couldn't find him anywhere.

You were about to pass Thor on your way back to your room but he stopped you, placing his hands on your shoulders.

"What's troubling you, tiny one?" he asked concerned, you were feeling too little to give him a proper answer and just mumbled out a small. "Dada..."

Nothing else had to be said and Thor took your hand, leading you to the only room you haven't checked, Loki's office. He rarely uses it and when he did it was while you were on missions, on playdates with Kate and Peter, or out with Natasha and Wanda.

Thor opens the door for you and pats your head two times, going to what he planned to do before he found you.

Loki turned around with his chair and smiled when he saw you rushing towards him, letting you wrap your arms around him before helping you sit on his lap.

"Hello, little one. You came back earlier than I expected..." he trailed off when he heard your sniffles. "What's wrong?"

You just shook your head, clinging more onto him and Loki started to rub your back in a manner to calm you down.

"It's alright, you don't have to say anything. Daddy's here now" he whispered in your ear, placing a soft kiss on your cheek and moving your head to lay it on his shoulder.

He stayed with you like that for a while until you were half asleep and stood up with you wrapped around him and got to your bedroom to take a nap with you.

                                   ⭒𖥸⭒ 

Taglist

@marvelsguantletkeeper @my-river-lilly @pauntedblacknails @fanfictioniseverything @devilslilbabysblog @buckymydarlingangel @hallecarey1 @daybreakwinter @loveshineslikethesky @wandaslittlewhore @vase-of-lilies @white-wolf1940 @simpingbutch @mischiefsemimanaged @alina02 @teddybearsgrr @doozywoozy @angelbabydoll28 @st3rgirl @glxwingrxse @lilymurphy03 @veryvaughnny @lokigirlszendaya @youngstarfishdinosaur @little--baby--bear @minideathgoddess @rach2602 @aagn360 @gh0stgurl

#little!reader #little reader #daddy!loki laufeyson #daddy!loki x little!reader #daddy!loki #daddy!loki laufeyson x little!reader #daddy loki laufeyson #daddy loki x little reader #daddy loki #daddy loki laufeyson x little reader

[linkeduniverse-writing]

General LU Headcanons part 1

Heya! So I'm starting this blog with some general headcanons about the boys, I think I'll divide it in three parts so it's not too long. First up are Four, Hyrule, and Legend! Hope you enjoy :D

Part 2 Part 3

Four

It takes him so long to emerge from sleep

Like he'll be in a haze for like 20 minutes, not able to form any coherent thoughts

Which is kind of a surprise because he's one of the early risers, and is super reactive once fully awake

He tends to talk to himself a lot, mostly when he does something or thinks through a problem

It's mostly to exteriorize all the noise inside his head tho

The others aren't as weirded out by it than he feared, and he's thankful for it

Whenever they're in a market or just in a town, he always finds himself drawn to craftsmanship

Like if they need to interrogate people about monsters and stuff, he'll go ask artisans mostly

He feels more comfortable around them

It feels like home

Also he likes to compare his work to other blacksmith's

He feels like he has a lot to learn still, and he's very curious about how the craft has evolved with time

He doesn't know first aid and the scent of blood makes him sick, but if his teammates need tending he'll do his best

He tries to see their wounds as metal work needing repairs

It helps him keep his cool

But he'd rather leave it to someone else

Hyrule

Another early riser, but he hates it

He loves sleeping in and wishes his body would let him sometimes

But oh well, when it's time to wake up it's time to wake up

He's a very light sleeper too, like the wind blowing in the leaves above would wake him up

He hates it

Botany nerd

Loves keeping track of the new plants he finds along the way

He always asks the Link from the Hyrule they're in if he knows about it, and will pick them up if he can't get an answer, to study them later hopefully

He rarely can, but when they have a moment he'll either find a plant book (and a Link who can read it for him) or straight up ask someone if they know about the plant

He's always so polite and genuinely curious, people can't help but answer

He accidentally set Sky's stuff on fire once when showing off his fire magic to Wind

Sky was too impressed to truly be mad at him tho

(Also Hyrule replaced all of the stuff that couldn't be repaired, don't ask him how)

He doesn't mind blood and grime and gore, but can't handle anything with maggots in it

He'll stitch up anything, he'll put bones back in place if necessary, but one bug? In a wound? Don't count on him

He can keep his calm even before the grossest injuries, which is why he's often fixing up the others after a fight

He rarely uses his healing magic tho, he knows he'll tire too easily, and he can't help them if he can barely stay awake

So potions potions potions

He's a gentle caregiver but you better do as he says when you're hurt

Legend

A heavy sleeper, and he dreams a lot, but he never remember them

Probably for the best if you ask him

He usually wakes late, but never truly rested unfortunately

That never stoped him from being immediately efficient and fully awake tho

He knows he has a reputation of being sharp and closed off, but he's a really good listener

He's the kind of person curse the world with you when you vent until you're in the right headspace to find a solution

He kind of encourages the others in their dumbest ideas just to see what'll happen

(not the too dangerous ones, of course)

But he's curious, and after all the adventures he's been through, he believes that if he survived all of this, surely Wild will survive trying to cook a bomb flower

He did, but Twilight almost died of stress

He's the one who helps Warrior with refilling their inventory when they're low on supplies

He's a great negotiator and can get them twice the supplies for the same price

He's sometimes even charming enough to get them all a free meal

It's his favorite skill

He doesn't mind blood but will not look at broken limbs

Not his own, not other's

He tries to keep his cool around the others to not make them panic, but he really hates broken bones

If one of them is hurt, he'll try to distract them and make sure they have water and enough heat

He'll also keep them in place if they move around too much for Hyrule or Warrior to work on them

He's not gentle, but he's still reassuring somehow

#linked universe #linked universe headcanons #lu headcanons #lu writing #lu four #lu hyrule #lu legend #i hope its good #im gonna write the rest of them now wish me luck lol

[happilychaengs]

how twice would break your heart

a/n: i'm kind of going through it rn and this was just sitting in my drafts. this might be my last post for a while. i know it's quite short and there should be more but i don't think i'm in the right headspace to finish this nor do i have the heart to so i'll just publish it instead. and if some seem similar to one other, i'm sorry. i'll add pictures maybe later

angst

headcanon

nayeon

- "we should break up."

- cuts it off clean

- whatever she's feeling: trapped, unhappy, unsatisfied, scared, whatever it is -- she will not hesitate to tell you

- but it's the way the words fly out of her mouth that it's almost as if she didn't care about you

- your relationship at that very moment felt like it was a facade.

- but it's only because it's the way she wants to portray herself that way in front of you

- if only she'd let you really knew how much it hurt her to break things off with you

- it's the way the world would shift without you in it

- it's the way the stars wouldn't mean the same without you by her side

- if you knew how she truly felt, you'd fight harder for her to stay and she knows she would too

jeongyeon

- "i'm sorry."

- it's honest. it's cold. and it hurts.

- there's no other way she can really tell you. it's who she was. she couldn't ease the pain with sugar coated words or actions. she wouldn't.

- but it's the way tears stream down her face that shatters your heart, even more so than her words do.

- you don't know why she does it. you don't know why she's breaking your heart. she doesn't tell you.

- all that's left is in it's wake is nothing but a stream of repeated apologies from her, begging, regret, and doors slammed in front of each other's faces.

momo

- "i don't... know how to tell you this."

- it's always been difficult for momo to express her feelings but this time, it's really never been harder.

- she almost choked on her own words as she sees your face and your eyes, full of uncertainty.

- the moment the words escape from her lips, she already knew how much it would hurt.

- there you stood in front of her: fists clenched, cheeks flushed in red, your eyes pooling with tears

- her hand instinctively goes to wipe them away, but she catches herself. she can't anymore. she shouldn't.

- you see the way conflict internalizes in herself, your heart already knowing it's not hers anymore.

- she refuses to have your heart anymore and that's what hurts the both of you the most.

sana

- "it's not you, it's me."

- sana's words are cold and calculated. almost planned in a way.

- there's no rhyme or reason as to why she did it. it makes you doubt whether what you two has was real but she remains stone-faced, quietly asking you to leave.

- it's the way she tells you it. the cold heartedness.

- there's words that are said that can never be taken back. doors that shut tight.

- but it's the cries that she can hear outside her house now, that does it in for her.

- emotions begin to clog up her throat as she truly breaks down, nothing but regret filling her body.

jihyo

- "i think... we were the right people but not at the right time."

- hopeful yet laced with dread

- jihyo was a passion driven women and it was the height of her career.

- you should've expected it, really. the way she sat you down, hands kept to herself.

- it's the absence of her touch that really that does it for you. normally it's quite the opposite, the two of you never really getting enough of each other.

- you want what's best for her. really, you do. but that doesn't mean you could just let her go.

- jihyo questions her decision nonstop in the face of your tears, but the words were already said. the tears have already been shed.

- when she's finally and truly alone, the apartment you two once shared is void of noise.

- and she's just not sure anymore if this would be worth it without you.

mina

- "you deserve better."

- it's quiet and tired

- the thought of talking with you has obviously been relenting at mina for a long time.

- you're so surprised she actually believes you two should break up because you know that she's the one for you.

- but she doesn't.

- even through all your tears, you can see how it haunts her.

- being with you because she's always believing that there may be someone new, someone better for you.

- and that's what hurts you the most as she walks out the door, leaving you alone for the last time.

dahyun

- "we need to talk."

- it's pulled back, all the emotions barely there

- she has never felt happier but she knows she's never been the best for you

- she can barely express how she loves you let alone say it

- and she knows you'll find someone who can

- it'll just take time

- time better off spent without her

- even if she knows it might be the wrong way to do it, proven by your tears as she walked out on you, it's the only way she knows how to do it

- and that's why she can't let you stay in her heart any longer

chaeyoung

- "we both deserve to be happy."

- it's plain and simple. but it's what she truly believes.

- she's the happiest when she's with you. she's at her best.

- but she knows you aren't. it's dismal without her for such long periods of time and she knows it's hard on you.

- she loves you too much to be the one holding you down and she refuses to have it any other way.

- with a heavy heart, she walks out on you with tears in her eyes even through all your cries. even through all your pleads for her to stay.

- she's so so sorry but she truly believes you'll find someone better.

- she's just not sure if she could do the same.

tzuyu

"i think we're better off alone."

- struggles to truly get it across.

- it's so overwhelmingly difficult for her to tell you because she loves you.

- so much more than you'll ever know.

- she doesn't want to leave you but she feels like she needs to.

- it's the fear of uncertainty that gets to her.

- it's the constant worry of you wanting to leave her that she makes the stupid decision of doing it first.

- it's the way tears dribble down your face as you watch her leave that makes everything come crashing down

#twice imagines #twice headcanons #twice x reader #twice angst

[picnic-at-dreaming-rock]

tw for theories focusing on hallucination/unreality and brief mention of potential suicide and spoiler warning for tbosas novel and movie

------

okay, so apologies for my disjointed writing but I just finished the tbosas movie and my theory for Lucy Gray's fate is that I think she survived and booked it after leaving the scarf/snake trap. In fact, I don't think Snow actually shot her at all.

The snake Lucy Gray hid under the scarf seems to be a milk snake (which is native to the eastern U.S. where District 12 is) which is a non-venomous snake which indicates that she didn't intend to kill him, just to create a diversion to buy herself more time to escape and we know, particularly from the book, that she has very strong self-preservation instincts and the movie very clearly shows that she was very anxious to get as far away from Snow as possible. Therefore, it wouldn't make much sense for her to hang around to stick around like she seems to have done to taunt him with a song when she could have just bolted*.

It was also clear that at this point, Snow was clearly Losing It and he was already in a paranoid/anxious state which might have been made worse by the snake bite as he didn't know if it was venomous or not, he was also making some irrational/impulsive decisions (such as wasting all of his bullets on birds rather than saving them to 'finish off the job') that indicate that perhaps he isn't in a particularly productive headspace. I think this plus the fact that anxiety/stress CAN cause hallucinations indicates that we shouldn't entirely trust Snow's perception at that moment.

When we 'see' Lucy Gray running through the trees, it's brief and only for a moment until she's shot and then her body disappears, just like in the poem, which Snow had heard only a few days prior. There isn't really any indication of how she could have escaped provided that she was shot apart from some kind of fantastical/supernatural intervention which wouldn't track as THG is more or less an exaggeration of our own society and doesn't seem to have any other 'mystical' elements in it.

Ultimately, I think Snow hallucinated about shooting Lucy Gray/her disappearing footprints/her singing The Hanging Tree. I believe Lucy Gray did survive him, but I don't think she would have returned to 12 (at least not immediately nor permanently as she wouldn't have risked the life of the Covey like that) or elsewhere in Panem (including 13). I think it's also likely that she could have wandered until she a) found another society, whether it be fixed or another traveling group similar to the Covey (the optimist in me hopes she finds Covey survivors she was unaware of), b) died from the elements or c) took her own life.

--

*Someone else on here mentioned that Lucy Gray singing as the snakes climbed on her in the arena was her doing what she loved most in what she believed was her last moment, which could also apply here provided she was actually shot and believed she couldn't run away in her condition and wanted to sing one last time/also make one last stand against someone that wronged her, like the Ballad of Lucy Gray Baird in her interview with Lucky. I really like this idea so I wanted to include it here.

#tbosas spoilers #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the ballad of songbirds and snakes spoilers #lucy gray baird #coriolanus snow #the hunger games #tbosas theory #the ballad of songbirds and snakes theory #tw unreality

[theemporium]

thinking about charlandax again and how maybe lando wins his first gp by a fluke. no one expects it, reader isn't even there. it's one of the ones she couldn't make, one of the ones that no one thought would be of any significance. and then all of a sudden it is.

and lando is trying to be happy, he really is. max and charles have taken him out, the club is spinning, too bright, it's just verging on the edge of being overstimulating. and he's homesick, he so badly wishes that reader was here with them. he so badly wishes that she was there to hug him tight and pepper kisses to his face and tell him i knew you could do it, i knew you would do it. max and charles kissing him a sweet congrats when he gets out of his car, in the middle of interviews, sates him but still. his life is good but it could get better

and he also knows what the people online are saying. he know that people out there think it wasn't deserved, that it wasn't a race that he won but a race that was handed to him by a lucky break. how there are people out there who would tear his heart out of his chest and crush it to mud without a hesitation all because of the way he drives a car, all because of who he loves.

and the clubs is still spinning when max sticks his phone in front of lando's face, the lights so bright it only serves to disorient him more. but he sees reader on the other end of the call and he's clinging on like a lifeline. and the connection is shitty and max and charles are crowding him so they can all say hi to her but now he's not too sure if the thumping he's feeling is the beat of the music or the way his heart always seems to race with fondness when he sees her.

and raising his voice to match the volume of the music he tells her i miss you so much, i wish you were here and she tells him no you don't, you wish you were here panning the phone to the empty space of bed beside her showing the messy sheets, the glasses max left on the nightstand, and the little plush charles gave her to hold when they're away. and as much as he wants to deny it, she's right, she always is.

and just for a moment he let's himself think about what it would be like to give this all up, to not have to leave home for weeks at a time, to not have to worry about fans or the hate he gets or his diet. he let's himself wonder just for a moment, because he know that this isn't a dream he gets to have right now, but one he cam promise himself for the future.

-🌠

PLEASE!!!!

I think lando is just one of my favs to just get in his head, ya know? especially in circumstances like this, you just know the way his head would be spinning because there’s a part of him that feels like he doesn’t deserve the win either

and he’s trying to push that down, to enjoy the feeling, to celebrate with charles and max who seem like they are over the moon to celebrate but he just can’t push away the twisting feeling in his gut

and he craves you because he knows you’d understand him. he knows you would understand exactly what his headspace was at that moment. he just craves you

and he feels guilty when he eventually waves charles and max off, muttering something about being too tired to celebrate anymore and just wanting to sleep but he honestly just wants them to sleep so he can think in peace

and he almost feels bad when he stumbles into the bathroom at four in the morning, calling your phone but he just needs to hear your voice. he needs to hear you say that he deserved the win because you know exactly where his head is at and he just needs that reassurance from someone who understands🥹

#cece answers #charlandax.thots #🌠.anon

[kitsune-oji]

Mission Accomplished

Another fic I had in my notes and thought I'd repost! Can't remember what I called it the first time around so it got a new title

Mephisto & Regressed!Mc (they/you)

Word count: 1'699

Warnings/Tags: positive Age Regression, regressor Mc, involuntary regression in public spaces, fluff, Mephisto is a bit tsundere?, Diavolo & co know about Mc's regression

You yawned, trying to be discreet about it while you continued watching your teacher talk. Really, you should be paying attention but you found that to be harder with every moment passing.

If only you weren't so tired and so incredibly comfortable at RAD. By now, the school, no, academy had basically become a second home to you. But it was also filled with so many stressors.

Of course, the at the House of Lamentation you had to fight for time alone as well and the constant attention and fights from the brothers stressed you out but at least you knew them and got comfortable with them. Here, there were so many people you didn't really know, a good portion being demons who didn't particularly like you either, just for being human.

Then there was the need to cram information into your head lesson after lesson, group projects, tests, presentations-

It was really no wonder you sometimes couldn't keep yourself from regressing on campus. Fortunately, the brothers knew about your age regression and always kept an eye out for you. If you did end up going tiny, there was usually always someone there to take care of you, to excuse you from the lesson and take you elsewhere. Somewhere you could stay and play until you slipped out of your headspace again.

It was sort of embarrassing that there was a corner for you to play in Diavolo's Office but oh well, it was nice having them all support and care for you so much.

That was, usually. Right now, there was nobody around you for once. A rare occurrence but possible nonetheless.

It wasn't like you couldn't navigate and survive the RAD hallways on your own but when you felt yourself gently slipping into your headspace, a low simmering panic gripped you. Desperately, you tried to stay big, blinking rapidly and shaking your head but it was of no help.

It was one of those times when you couldn't control it at all. Had something triggered it? You didn't notice anything that could have but sometimes you don't understand why your brain reacts the way it does.

Anyway, you had to figure out what to do. There were lots of other students in the halls, you were undercover now, they couldn't know you're actually tiny. Your mission was to get somewhere safe without anyone finding out you're not big right now.

Alright, you nodded your head sharply only once, determined to succeed.

It was strange walking like this, so tall, your limbs feeling kind of lanky and clumsy in their movements. You tried to take control of them as best you could but a part of you was worried you looked weird in the way you walked. Did you look like a robot? Maybe, maybe not.

Your lips pursed but then you noticed and quickly tried to stop, pressing them together instead. Subtly, you looked around, seeing a door that wasn't like the others. It looked kind of similar to the one heading into Dia's office and with a spring in your step, you quickly walked over to it, happy to find it opening easily.

In one swift movement, you walked in confidently and closed the door, stopping in your tracks while looking at it. Mission accomplished!

Your facade fell like a heavy cloak from your shoulders, a big grin stretching your lips and a giggle as clear as the sound of bells ringing out. You did it! You really did it!

Euphoric, you turned around, just to see another wall in front of you. No, not a wall, a chest.

Slowly, your gaze wandered up to the face of the person standing in front of you. Tan skin, purple hair, looking a bit haughty... You've seen him a few times before. Mephio-hm mephispophe- no, whatever, Mephi.

He looked a bit scary standing so close and looking down at you in what you guessed was disapproval? Sometimes you guessed expressions wrong but you thought you were probably right this time.

Your hands clasped behind your back, you rocked on the palms of your feet, pressing them together just like your lips again. Should you say something?

"What are you doing in here? Do you know how rude it is to just barge in without even knocking?"

Ah, right. You didn't think anyone was in here but Lucifer did say knocking is important.

"'m sorry..", you mumbled, trying to rub your feet together. It proved a bit difficult with your shoes in the way.

Since you were looking to the side, you couldn't see the frown on Mephisto's face deepen. He was sure you were behaving strangely, the few times he had seen or even interacted with you, you hadn't behaved like a child but now..

"Never mind that now, what are you doing here?"

Mephisto sighed and relaxed slightly. There was no reason to stay mad at something he couldn't change right now. Rather, there were much more pressing matters, such as your behavior and sudden appearance in the RAD newspaper office. You should be glad he was the only one here right now.

"A mission!", you exclaimed much to the demon's surprise, "Gotta get away from people outside cuz they can't know I'm-"

Gasping, you clasped your hands in front of your mouth as your eyes widened. You had almost just told on yourself! The mission wasn't successful at all! He had seen you when you weren't acting big!

But why was that bad again? Mephisto didn't seem dangerous or angry or put off by you, so it should be ok, right?

While you were thinking, he watched your facial expressions change with your thoughts. You really had no filter when you were regressed, it seemed.

Yet Mephisto didn't know the reason for your strange behavior and only watched on in curiosity. The more he saw, the more he was sure that you acted like a child.

Unrestrained, honest, pure. The demon had to admit it was kind of cute, no matter how strange the situation was.

"Can't know what?", he asked after a while, eyes following your hands as they lowered and you fiddled with your fingers, unconsciously pulling at your skin.

Without thinking about it, Mephisto took your hands in his and stopped you from further pulling on your skin, his tone reprimanding when he told you to stop it before you accidently hurt yourself. But apparently he sounded too mean because the next thing he knew, your bottom lips started wobbling and tears gathered in your eyes as your shoulders started to shake.

Eyes wide, the demon let go of your hands and apologised, ushering you further into the room and to one of the couches, asking if he could touch you to soothe you. He had meant to maybe rub your back but instead you sobbed and threw your arms around him in response.

A bit overwhelmed, Mephisto shushed you and rubbed your back until you calmed down, handing you a tissue when you finally let go of him. Though it was surprising, he couldn't really say that he minded.

Was that how he found himself walking with you towards Lord Diavolo's office? You held his hand and walked funnily, making strange sounds the whole way there.

He had asked you if you wanted to go somewhere else, since he had no idea what to do with you right now and thought he heard wrongly at first.

"T' Dia!", you had said, throwing Mephisto off completely.

"You mean Lord Diavolo?"

"Yea, Dia!"

Your open palms flew through the air in your excitement. Since going to him meant play time, of course you wanted to go there, surely Mephi must know that, right?

But of course he didn't know, how could he? Still, Mephisto agreed to accompany you to the prince's office on school grounds.

Part of him was glad that class was currently in session and nobody but the two of them roamed the halls. Hell forbid someone saw him with the human exchange student, while they were acting strangely at that.

Though no matter what Mephisto thought, he started treating you as you were acting. Like a child.

There wasn't much thought behind it, it was almost instinctual in the way he made sure you didn't trip and held your hand without complaint. Perhaps this was the the effects of a curse? That was the only reasonable explanation he could come up with.

Until you arrived at Diavolo's office and you let go of his hand to run up to the future demon King with no warning. Instead of confusion however, Diavolo responded with laughter as he quickly stood up to catch you in his arms and spin you around to lessen the impact of your tackle hug.

To him, it was clear that you were regressed. After the many times he had looked after you, it was no surprise. But Mephisto only seemed more confused than before.

For now, Diavolo ignored his questions and set up the play mat and toys with a flick of his wrist. They flew from the cabinets and found their places neatly, only to be disturbed by your hands the moments Diavolo gently set you down.

Normally, he would have let you explain it yourself but Mephisto wouldn't leave until he understood what was happening and since he had already seen you like this anyway..

After the short but precise explanation Diavolo gave him, Mephisto looked back at you.

He watched the way you looked entertained by stacking smooth wooden blocks on top of each other, trying to make the tallest tower but failing again and again. Sometimes, you even destroyed it yourself, sounds of delight leaving you as you clapped your hands.

Not a curse then, just the wonders of the human brain.

Thinking about it, he wouldn't mind taking care of you again, though vehemently denied it when Diavolo asked. Judging by his laugh however, Mephisto hadn't fooled him at all.

Still, if you came to the Rad newspaper club again while in this state of mind, Mephisto would be sure to help you out.

Just because Diavolo would want him to, of course- !

#obey me shall we date #mine #om! swd #obey me nightbringer #race neutral mc #gender neutral reader #gn mc #obey me mephistopheles #Mephisto #obey me diavolo #Obey me fanfic #obey me fanfiction #Obey me writing #obey me oneshot #Fluff #Age regression #obey me agere #fandom agere #X reader #reader insert

[jo-harrington]

Hell - Vampire!Eddie Munson

Summary: Vecna, weak and wounded after the events of March 27th 1986, seeks to enact revenge on those who foiled his plans. And his key to such revenge? A boy left behind, barely clinging to life.

Warnings/Themes: Angst, Violence, Kas!Eddie/Vamp!Eddie, Vecna Lives, Body Horror, Blood, Physical and Psychological Torture, Manipulation, Brainwashing, Necromancy, Loss of Soul, Transformation, Major Character Death and Rebirth, Other Biblical and Literary References

Note: So…welcome to my take on Vampire/Kas!Eddie. This fic, entitled Hell, can be read as a stand-alone, but is essentially going to be one of three companion prequels to a Vamp!Eddie AU fic I have in the works. I want to finish FF and get a few more chapters of Store Manager Verse published before I really start working on this idea…but with tomorrow being the “anniversary” of Eddie Munson’s “death” in the Upside Down, it only seems poetic to explore this first.

That being said, this fic and the subsequent fics/chapters in the series will not be for the faint of heart. Please check the above warnings and ask yourself if you are in the correct headspace to proceed. I am happy to answer any questions via PM or Ask.

You can find the As Above, So Below masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

"And I looked, and beheld a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him."

—Revelation 6:8

In the beginning, there was pain.

Enough pain that it should have been The End.

Eddie believed the pain meant The End.

But he had never been so lucky to experience the end of any suffering before, so he should have known better.

He couldn't recall the moment Dustin's hands were wrenched away from his body, leaving him floating in the darkness. Or the way his body felt before the teeth ripped into him. Or the act of kindness that led him to this horrible punishment.

The road to Hell was paved with good intentions. It vaguely echoed in the back of his mind, taunting him.

And in some way, Eddie Munson always knew he was going to Hell.

Just not like this.

First it seized his body and paralyzed him, as acrid tendrils poisoned his veins and his heart and his mind; he briefly recalled reading about Komodo Dragons in 5th grade. The way they ripped into their prey and let the venom work slowly and painfully to overtake them before the feast could begin.

He would not be a feast for the creatures of this realm but for their Master. Repentance for their failed tasks. They would not feed again until he did, wouldn't taste power until his was regained.

And feed is exactly what Vecna did.

The tendrils carded through Eddie's memories and poisoned them: his hopes and fears, everything and everyone he loved and held dear. His joy and indifference and hatred.

They decimated everything good; ripped them up from the roots and salted the ground below them, only leaving unrecognizable scraps behind. Then they latched onto the bad with no intention of ever letting go. Suckled on his sorrow and his hatred gluttonously.

Vecna especially liked to graze on the pain though; those morsels were most succulent and came in abundance. It was never enough, though; in the howling silence, even more pain was willed into existence.

You are alone. They are at fault. They tricked you. Sacrificed you.

Eddie never had a reason to let the pain weigh on his heart before, but his tormentor would see that rectified. He would break him down...

They left you behind. Left you to this fate. Left you to me. To do with you what I please.

...Until he no longer felt anymore.

And do to you I shall...

After eternity had passed, Eddie's body was unceremoniously dragged across the barren, uneven earth of the Upside Down. He watched the chilling, sizzling, flashing of the unfamiliar sky as he was transported for miles and miles, ad infinitum.

Until a threshold was crossed, and he entered the next circle of unending torture.

His carcass was rent into unnatural shapes, bones cracked, the marrow scraped out. Skin was flayed, flesh split open, until his barely-beating heart was on display and blood splashed weakly onto the over-saturated ground.

His eyes though...remained.

For some reason, Vecna wanted him to see.

The eyes are the windows to the soul, after all.

So he let Eddie stare at the rest of his collection—an unfinished one, but an impressive one nonetheless. He let Eddie stare at the looming pillars; at the empty sockets and gaping maws. At twisted husks that would never truly be filled again.

Because he wanted Eddie to choose to lose his soul. Wanted him to sell it. To trade it for salvation, lest he end up like the others.

It was almost disappointing at how short a time it took...

It was only a day—a day of staring at Chrissy and Fred and Patrick—before he wailed so wildly and begged so loudly that his jaw unhinged and every part of him truly became broken.

And at that moment, everything Eddie Munson was or had been or could ever hope to be no longer belonged to him. He was ripped apart both literally and figuratively. Whatever damage the bats had instinct to cause, it was but a mere drop in the sea of carnage that their Master endeavored to create.

He could sense the creatures around him, sense their anticipation to frenzy. Whether that was to fight or to feed, only time would tell.

They had worked tirelessly to stitch him back together. Followed their Master's instructions. Some were sacrificed to the cause: their bodies freely given, because their minds would remain.

Part of the greater whole.

He would never be considered whole anymore, but he was possible more than whole; the extra pieces sustained what would have perished due to the crucial part of him that was missing.

"Rise," a groaning, creaking voice sounded and all went silent. As all the creatures of the Upside Down witnessed the completion of a wicked metamorphosis.

The product of their collective toil began to writhe and twitch as it was reborn.

Resurrected.

"Rise," Henry repeated, "and become what you were always meant to be."

And in a realm full of monsters, the thing that rose was truly monstrous.

Leathery wings. Rows of teeth, too many to fit so they left his jaw unnaturally wide. Talons that could rip. Eyes that could cut through any sort of darkness.

He wouldn't bow. His Master remade him so he would never bow. But he still knew his place.

This gift he was given could easily be taken away. He wouldn't squander it.

He made a vow. A promise.

He would serve.

But he made a promise before, he recalled.

A promise not to be a hero.

And as a consequence of breaking that promise, he could never be one again.

Eddie always knew he was going to Hell.

He simply never thought he would become the Prince of it.

“You are privy to a great Becoming and you recognize nothing. You are an ant in the after-birth. It is in your nature to do one thing correctly: before Me you rightly tremble. Fear is not what you owe Me[.] You owe Me awe.”

—Thomas Harris, Red Dragon (1980)

#Eddie munson imagine #Eddie munson angst #Eddie munson horror #Eddie munson stranger things #vampire!eddie #kas!eddie #stranger things fic #As Above So Below

[epiclamer]

MELT ME MORE, BITCH

im sorry that's rude

have food 🍧🍧🍧🍧

that's right ice cream anon is

mean

ITS BACK!!!!!

@whump-headspace @hstoria @ajiansaa @letthebodyfall @equestrianwritingsstuff @i-am-overly-complicated @deadwhisper @sufferfictionalcharacters @wolfeyedwitch @kurocantcommunicate @those-damn-snippets @qualityrabbitsoup @alwaysalilhigh @thedeepvoidinmyheart

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Melting Pt. 9

Villain could barely believe what they were hearing. Sidekick, the one bravest, strongest and seemingly happiest sidekick of them all, had been hurt by none other than their very own mentor. To hear it was like a fever dream.

They just couldn’t bring themselves to trust it.

“No. You’re lying. You’re lying to get into my head and pretend like you and me are the same, when we’re not. You’re lying because you work for Hero and you work against me.” Saying their fears out loud helped them work through them, helped them categorize what was possible and what wasn’t.

At the moment, none of their fears even seemed plausible. Not with the sidekick’s genuine tone or watery eyes in the room.

“Villain,” they took a step forwards and the villain countered with a backwards one. “I’m not going to hurt you. I work for Hero as their sidekick, not their evil minion. Hero hurt me just like they hurt you, I would never lie about that.”

The confession left a burning acidic taste in the criminal's mouth; would the sidekick really be cruel enough to lie about pain?

They had seen it before, they knew it was possible.

But did they trust the other enough to believe for once in their life that there was a world without pain waiting for them?

Sidekick took a step back, allowing the other room to dwell, but that didn't extinguish the flame of desire in their heart to help. They couldn't pin point why exactly they wanted to help a villain of all people, but suffering together would always be better than alone.

One deep breath, a dry swallow and a shaky exhale later and the villain had made up their mind. If it cost them, they could deal with the consequences later.

"I trust you."

There was no relief in the room, no tension loosened, nothing changed. Villain wasn't even sure their opinion on the sidekick had. But they had committed themselves to the bit and they weren't about to double back. This was the choice they had made and if Sidekick decided to exploit them for it, they deserved it.

Sidekick smiled--only slightly--and it softened Villain's defences just as much. "Could I run you a bath? Or would you like to start slower than that?"

Villain appreciated the option, the control that the sidekick must've known they desperately needed. But some time to themselves to focus and get their thoughts straight seemed heavenly at the moment, so they nodded before giving it a second thought. "I would like that. The bath, I mean."

An expression of understanding washed over the minor hero's features and they left the villain to their own devices. Villain's eyes trailing after them as they disappeared down the hall and into the washroom. Against the simple decor and tidied surfaces they couldn't help the feeling of being out of place.

Blood stains against white carpet.

The lonely part of them hoped that the carpet hadn't always been so white.

Distantly they registered the sound of running water shaking through the pipes of the apartment, alongside the sporadic opening and shutting of what they recognized to be cabinet doors. But they felt their state to be too much dream-like to be able to process the movement around them.

In a blink, the sidekick had returned, towel in one hand (a pile of neatly folded clothes atop), a plain bar of white soap in the other. They said something as the villain took it gently from their arms, but the sound of water hitting acrylic was drowning it out.

Not literally of course, it was rooms over and a hallway across but to their own ears the villain was sure they were submerged already.

They nodded to move forwards, feet mindlessly following the path the other had taken just moments before. Dragging them into the bathroom and closing the door with a swift but soft kick.

Carefully the villain placed everything aside, stacking it in a neat pile on top of toilet for easiest access. Eyes glazing over the room in a daze as they began to strip down and out of their suit, shutting off the tap just in time to keep the water from spilling out of the tub.

Climbing in is what managed to pull them out of their stupor. The warm water engulfed their body and brought peace to their thoughts. They noted the slight hint of peppermint as they laid down, muscles relaxing at a single touch. Epsom salts had always been their remedy to stress; maybe Sidekick had something more to them than just being Hero's pet.

Maybe they had something else in common.

Villain could live with that, they decided, feeling themselves let go just a little bit more.

#im drukss #yalan habe no idea how oing this tokk me #just to make watbe intro #oh fsid #i lobe my wife #hero x villain #villain #villain x hero #hero #drabbles #fantasy #imagines #scenarios #hero and villain #villain and hero #I wrote those tags in the beginning like a month ago-- #still love my wife tho ;))) #heroes #villains #heroes x villains #villains x heroes #hurt comfort #hurt/comfort #villain whump #villain whumpee #sidekick caretaker #hero whumper #whump #caretaking #caretaker

[missmaywemeetagain]

Pink Scarf - PART 8! (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

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

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

TW: Mentions of sex. Nudity. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.  

Rating: PG-13 (ish?) (but other parts are very NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)        ||     Word Count: 4994

A/N: Our Reader is feeling it, y'all! I am, too! Getting into the right headspace for this part was tricky for whatever reason, and it's a bit long, so thanks for your patience. I wanted to get a bit more backstory in there, so hopefully the flashback scene works well. And a little Young!Elvis doesn't hurt anyone, right? I also couldn't help myself and HAD to include the detail about his stutter because I just keep finding all these deliciously real and human parts of him that make him such a rich, full person/character, so forgive me my indulgence!

To all the babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments mean the absolute WORLD to me. Finding out that some of y'all are liking it enough to be reading it MULTIPLE times blows my freakin' mind. Like whaat?! This story (and EP) has taken over my heart and soul, so for those of you still with me, and to all the newcomers, I'm sending you all the love! And I promise there's more good stuff coming ahead, complete with more smut, angst, and tension.

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

If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks since now I know how they work lol)! I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues.

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

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

1957

“So, I hear you’re gonna make an honest man out of our Jacky Boy.”

You look up from your seated spot on the cool grass, Elvis’ tall frame lording over you in the dark of this humid midsummer night and you smile.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” you blush happily, playing with the small, simple diamond that now adorns the ring finger of your left hand. It’s not much, but it’s yours. You can barely stop staring at it, you are so excited.

Elvis folds himself down next to you on the lawn, his long limbs a little less lanky than they used to be. A couple of years of being well-fed after a lifetime of poverty has done him well. He looks good, albeit tired. Hollywood and fame have certainly made him more beautiful, his resting face now always looking like it’s ready for a close-up, but the lightness that used to surround him is a little heavier, a little darker now, like he has the world resting on his shoulders.

He turns his head to really look at you, taking you in. It’s a look that might’ve made you self-conscious at any other time, but it’s dark and you’re too distracted by your engagement ring to really notice. “You happy, doll?” he asks, but answers it himself, “You look happy.”

You can’t stop smiling. “Yes, I’m most certainly happy,” you reassure him.

“Good,” he nods as if this has satisfied him in some way. Then he leans back, laying down in the grass, and stares up at the stars. That look comes over him again, the heavy one. It worries you a little. He’s been gone so much lately, and things have been moving so quickly for him, you’ve barely had a moment to talk in what feels like forever.

“How ‘bout you, E, are you happy?” you ask quietly, looking down at him.

He is silent at first, and you almost don’t catch the sigh he lets out before speaking, “I ain’t got nothing to be unhappy about, baby. All my dreams are coming true.” He says it almost as though he’s trying to convince himself of it. He doesn’t look at you, instead focusing all his attention on the sky.

“You didn’t really answer the question,” you say gently.

He finally looks over at you, those big blue eyes of his exhausted, rimmed with dark circles. “It’s all been moving so fast, I barely got time to catch my breath. I’m constantly around people, but sometimes I feel so lonely, y/n…and Hollywood ain’t all it’s cracked up to b-be,” he says quickly, but in a whisper, as though he’s terrified to be overheard.

You open your mouth to speak, but he rushes to continue: “And I don’t w-w-wanna seem ungrateful or nothin’ b-b-b-because I-I-I am gettin’ to do what I love to do and I’m supportin’ my family and it makes lots of folks happy, and God’s b-b-blessed me with that…b-b-but so many people hate me, makin’ it their mission to misunderstand me and they don’t even know me.” He takes a deep shuddering breath, frustrated and trying to get the words out.

You know he’s emotional and tired because his stutter keeps getting in his way as he tries to speak. Most people don’t even know he has one because it doesn’t happen when he sings, and he sure as hell doesn’t let it stop him from doing what he wants to do, but you’ve heard it pop up now and again in conversation over the years, usually with nerves or when he’s “excited,” as he calls it. He told you how he thought he’d blown his initial screen test in Hollywood because of it, because he was so nervous that he couldn’t get the words to come out like he needed them to. Luckily, he said the director liked it and even said it made his acting seem more genuine. You find it endearing because it’s a very real part of him and his humanity, which you think is something much needed when the world is striving to make him a commodity. It still makes him a little self-conscious, though, so you don’t rush him or react, you just wait for him to continue.

 “Sometimes I-I feel like I’m b-b-being pulled in a dozen different directions, all at o-once. I-I-I constantly feel like I’m tryin’ to prove myself. Sometimes it just gets to me, is all. So, to answer your question, yes, I am happy, but it sure comes with a price,” he pauses. “I’m sorry, I-I shouldn’t’ve unloaded on you like that, today of all days,” he says, eyes now downcast and concerned.

“Don’t you feel sorry. I asked, and I’m glad you answered me truthfully. Seems like you needed to get that off your chest,” you say kindly, with a small smile. You hate to see him so weighed down. But you are pleased and surprised by him being so vulnerable with you. It makes you feel like you’ve got your friend back.

“You won’t go tellin’ no one, will ‘ya? Not even Jack,” he pleads, looking at you wide-eyed.

“Of course not, Elvis. I swear it,” you say seriously. You wouldn’t dream of betraying his trust.

He nods, relieved, and looks back up at the stars.

“I’m real proud of you, E, all of us are. It takes a special person to do what you do with the grace you do it with. God knows I couldn’t do it,” you say, suddenly feeling a little shy.

Elvis looks at you with surprise. “Thanks, y/n, that means a lot comin’ from you,” he says and the way his pretty eyes search your face sends a strange feeling through your body.

You don’t know what to say to that, so silence sits heavy, but not uncomfortably, between you.

Playing with your engagement ring, knees pulled into your chest, you look into the night sky.

“How’d ya know? That Jack’s the one?” he suddenly asks, out of nowhere.

The question both surprises and delights you. “Hmmm, well, let’s see,” you ponder. “He’s there when I need him. He makes me feel special, like the only girl in the world. I know he’ll always take care of me. He is mine and I am his. Sometimes I almost feel like we were made for each other, ya’ know, like we were meant to be,” you rattle off. “That may seem silly and saccharine and hopelessly romantic, but it’s true. So, I suppose that’s how I know I love him and want to spend the rest of my life with him,” you say, a giddy excitement running through you.

Elvis is quiet, his face unreadable. You’re not sure why, but you feel like you’ve said something to upset him.

“Why? You got a special girl or three, Mr. Presley?” you ask, in a faux-reporter voice, holding a pretend mic to his mouth to try and lighten the mood.

“Ha!” he scoffs with a laugh and a roll of his eyes.

“Oh, it must be so hard for you, to have thousands of beautiful girls to choose from, all clamoring for a piece of you,” you tease. You know he is dating quite a bit because he brings some of them home, whether from Hollywood or somewhere on the road. He always seems to be falling hard and fast for a new girl, but they never seem to last.

“No, there’s no one special I’m datin’,” he says, sitting up, intently playing with a blade of grass. “I mean, I’m seein’ lots of nice girls, great girls, even. It’s just…none of them’s the one.”

You are a little taken aback by his honest answer. “Well, you can’t force it, E. You’ll know when it’s right,” you say, patting his hand.

Elvis looks down sharply at your hand on his, almost like it’s burned him. “Yeah, I reckon I will,” he says, looking back up at you, his face unreadable once more. He’s gotten too good at that in Hollywood, you think, shutting the vulnerable parts of himself off from an untrustworthy world.

For the second time this night, silence hangs over you. This time it feels charged, but by what you do not know. You can’t figure out what’s going on with him.

“You gettin’ enough sleep, E?” His moodiness has always been worse when he’s tired.

“Oh, you know me, doll. I was barely sleeping before all this and now I sleep even less,” he replies. “There’s too much to do and I got all this-this crazy energy, ya know?” He wiggles his limbs, exaggerating. You can’t help but laugh.

But your laughter dies out quickly. “Seriously, Elvis, promise me you’ll at least try to get some rest while you’re home. It worries me to think you’re running yourself ragged.”

He nods but doesn’t say anything, as if he doesn’t want to make a promise he can’t keep. Instead, he abruptly changes the subject.

“C-c-congratulations, y/n. Jack’s a lucky guy and I-I’m glad you’re happy. You—you both—deserve all the happiness,” Elvis says, his gaze kind but guarded. Then, unexpectedly, he leans over and presses his lips softly to your cheek. They are warm and plush against your skin, lingering there for just a moment too long. Your breath catches and you can feel heat blossom through your body and into your cheeks in a way that surprises you.

Then, just like that, he pulls away, getting up and brushing himself off, like nothing happened. He holds his hand out to you to help you up off the ground. “We should get back,” he says.

You blink rapidly, trying to process the last few moments. You are glad the darkness hides the red on your cheeks. Elvis seems unaffected, so you take his hand and let him help you up. You chalk whatever strangeness that has happened up to Elvis being exhausted, pushing whatever silly, fleeting thoughts you have far, far away.

*

The long-buried memory hits you hard as you stand at the door to Elvis’ bedroom, poised to knock. You’ve spent all night in anticipation of this moment, excited and nervous about whatever comes next, but this memory shakes you, knocking something loose in your brain. Something you had forgotten until just now.

You are trying to grasp it, the thing that is niggling at the corners of your mind, but before you can lock on to whatever it is, the door swings open, startling you. You didn’t remember knocking—it’s like Elvis just knew you were there.

And immediately everything else is forgotten because the tantalizing smell of him wafts over you, and your heart starts to pitter patter in your chest because he’s just so beautiful, and the brilliance of his light blue, dark-rimmed eyes nearly knocks you over.

Elvis pulls you in to the room quickly, trying to avoid any possible prying eyes, shutting the door quietly. The light is much dimmer in here and it’s silent, save for the sound of your breathing. He is so, so close, his eyes travelling over your body approvingly. His eyes ignite flames within you wherever they linger.

“I knew you’d be a showstopper in this, baby. And the tan is a nice touch,” he says, smiling coyly, running a finger down your bare arm, sending a shiver down your spine.

Words get lost in your throat because all you know is that you need him. So instead of words, you grasp his face and kiss him as if your life depends on it. You sense his surprise at your boldness in the way he tenses at first, but it takes only a second before his arms wrap around you, and those soft, pliant lips open to yours.

But the butterflies happening in your stomach now are different than the heat you’ve experienced when kissing him before and that surprises you. Scares you, even, because the heat and the sex make a certain kind of sense. It’s biological, you think, natural to be drawn to him. Everyone is drawn to him. What you’ve already shared physically, what he is teaching you about pleasure, is addicting—you want more. Of course, you do. But what’s happening to you now is more than that, as much as you want to push it away and deny it.

You pull back from him slowly, his lips chasing yours with another gentle kiss. Your eyes raise, meeting the endless blue of his, and you are caught there, drowning, as you try to understand the man he is now. You can’t help but think that these are the same eyes that looked upon you on the lawn of Graceland so many years ago. Reconciling that Elvis with this Elvis feels so utterly strange. So much life has happened between then and now, yet under it all, you can still see that sensitive young man, striving and eager for everything life has to offer.

“Well, hello to you, too, honey,” he says softly, searching your face, trying to gauge what is going on with you.

“Hi,” you breathe out, “I missed you.” It just falls out of your mouth, a truth you aren’t sure you should reveal, but it’s too late now. It feels silly—you saw him less than 24 hours ago, but it feels like a lifetime.

This pleases him, his mouth turning up in a small smile. “I missed you, too,” he replies, giving you another soft kiss.

This invokes your own smile, a shy one. Your stomach continues to flutter like a schoolgirl’s.

He pulls you into the room, your hand small in his, the Vegas skyline bright outside the huge windows. To think, just a few nights ago, you stood in this very spot, furious and ripping him a new one for ruining your life. Feels like a million years ago now.

Elvis is barefoot, wearing a set of satiny deep blue pajamas, which somehow, even though they are sleepwear, still flatter him. You suddenly feel quite overdressed. You’re not sure what he has in store for you because his countenance doesn’t quite match the sexual fire from when he dominated you on the couch and sent you to the stars last night, but he is somehow no less intense.

His fingers brush through the pink fringe of your top, feathering over the bare skin of your back as he moves around you to a box on top of the piano. Curious, you move with him, stopping as he lifts out a slip of a nightgown that matches his pajamas exactly. Your eyebrow quirks.

Setting it back down, he glides towards you, wrapping his arms around your back. “Let’s get you more comfortable,” he says, unzipping your top slowly, removing it, throwing it to the side. You shiver under his gaze, exposed in the lacy petal pink bra he bought you. He looks delighted that you are wearing it, though his gaze is still light and controlled, even though he is undressing you.

“Shoes,” he tuts, and you slip out of your heels, kicking them to the side. Your eagerness builds, the fluttering in your stomach wild and catching fire, but you let him guide you, as he seems wont to do.

He reaches around and unzips your skirt, pulling it gently over your hips and it falls in a heap at your feet. He hums and looks over you approvingly in your matching underwear, and the look alone has you weak in the knees. It’s criminal how handsome he is and what it does to you. Based on your previous encounters, you half expect him to take you right there, but he makes no move to do so. Your breath is shallow, your body on alert, waiting on pins and needles.

Next, moves in close, his fingers brushing up your spine. A shudder courses through you. He unhooks your bra, sliding it off you and placing it on top of the piano. You think for sure he will now devour you, but he waits.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” Elvis whispers, taking in your figure and you suddenly feel shy under his adoring gaze. You resist the urge to cover yourself, your nipples standing at attention in the cool air. He doesn’t touch you (you desperately want him to), though you can see by the smoldering in his eyes he wants to, too. Instead, he hands you the nightie. “Put it on,” he requests, and while you are confused, you do as he asks. The expensive, silky softness drapes over you, hanging perfectly off your frame.

Nodding as though some requirement that is unknown to you has been fulfilled, he pulls you into him, kissing your forehead. His embrace is warm and comforting against the cold of the air conditioning and you wind your arms around his neck, fingers weaving into his fine hair. While there is heat growing in your belly for him, it is like glowing embers rather than an engulfing flame.

This feels different. And then you realize, it all feels so domestic.

The thought is jarring, yet not unwanted. You had assumed (rightly so) that he wanted you here so you could fuck all night long. But this, this is a decidedly different vibe to your uninterrupted night together. And while you are a bit confused and surprised by it, you are curious.

“Elvis,” you say quietly, without expectation, “what is this?”

A boyish grin spreads across his face, reminding you of the memory that blindsided you before, the one you still need to dissect. “I want all of you, not just a part of you,” he says, nuzzling your nose with his. It sends tingles down your arms. You’re not quite sure exactly what it means, but you get the gist that he wants more than sex from you and that is surprising.

Is it, though?

He pulls you up and onto the huge bed with him. You lean back against the pillows, the ornate headboard, and he turns to you, brushing flyaway hairs off your face. His crystalline eyes have an openness you haven’t seen in a long time, as though all the glitz and glamour of “Elvis” is stripped away and it’s truly just the man here in front of you.

“How was your day?” he asks.

It’s such a simple question, yet the fact that he asks it of you almost has you in tears. Perhaps it’s because until this moment you haven’t realized that it feels like no one has asked you that, or truly cared to, in a very long time. And the fact that it is coming from him, of all people, makes your heart simultaneously break and leap at the same time.

You clear your throat, pushing the emotion away. “I…uh, well, I went to the pool with Sandy. Hence the tan. She happened to be in the room when your gift arrived, though, so that was interesting to try and explain,” you say.

“And what did you tell her?” he asks, resting his head on his hand, looking up at you with puppy dog eyes. You are distracted by them and almost forget what he asked.

“Um, I basically told her I couldn’t tell her anything. How could I? I mean, we haven’t really talked about…” you motion between you two, “us, this. I couldn’t very well talk to her about it before I talked to you.”

He smiles that crooked smile of his, the one that melts your heart. “And how did she take that?”

“Oh, she was disappointed but didn’t pry. As soon as she saw the underwear, though, she’s made it her mission to figure out who the mystery man is. She’s been my shadow all night. It’s gonna be hard to keep this from her for very long,” you say dismally.

He laughs. “You can tell her, honey,” he says.

This floors you. “What? But aren’t you afraid…I mean...?” you worry.

Elvis puts his hand on your cheek. “Baby, I wanna keep seein’ you, and I think you wanna keep seein’ me.” The way he says it sends warmth radiating through your chest. But that warmth is quickly chased by cold, pragmatic fear.

He continues, “And I know she’s your best friend and y’need someone y’can talk to. Jerry knows already, anyway. I’ll make sure she knows to be discreet.”

Your mouth opens then closes. To say you are flabbergasted by this response doesn’t quite describe what you are feeling. It’s a mixture of relief, surprise, elation, confusion, and terror, and what seems like a hundred other things, all at once.

If Sandy knows, it makes this all real. Too real. This was only supposed to be a one-time thing. A way to stick it to Jack. A way to take some power back. A way to quell the unbridled sexual tension that had grown between you and Elvis.

But now you feel wildly out of control. Mind-blowing sex with the ethereal man in front of you has morphed so quickly into a passion you didn’t expect that you feel like the air has been knocked from your lungs. The more you think about it and the more you remember, no matter how much you are shoving it away, you know that this was never going to be a one-time thing for Elvis. He knew it, too. The fact that you are here right now, like this, is proof. And you are not sure if that makes you elated or angry. Maybe it’s both.

This is too dangerous. Go back to Memphis and forget this ever happened.

Maybe that would have worked two nights ago, but the thought of leaving him now fills you with more despair than the anxiety of staying.

What happens if this all blows up in our faces? Because you think it will. You can feel the pressure building even now, though you aren’t sure to what end.

Elvis seems so utterly calm, so sure. You don’t know if this is because he lives in a world so above everyone that everything seems possible, like a strange naivety, or if he is just an optimist, but either way, you don’t know how to respond. You know you have to say something, though, because of the way he is looking at you, his eyes expectant and watchful.

“How? How are we gonna keep seeing each other, E? I go home tomorrow. And what about Jack?” you say in a whisper, all your emotions caving in on you at once. Tears spring to your eyes, which is not at all what you want or expect, and you are mad at yourself for ruining the mood.

“Hey, hey now, darlin’,” Elvis says with concern, sitting up and taking your face in his hands. “Don’t cry, baby, don’t cry. I got it all figured out. I’ll take care of you, honey,” he reassures you. He kisses your tears as they fall down your cheeks, his lips soft and warm.

Then, unexpectedly, he leans over and presses his lips softly to your cheek. They are warm and plush against your skin, lingering there for just a moment too long.

The memory flashes back to you, startling you as the past and present meld together.

He kissed you then much like he’s kissing you now. You pull back and look at him with wide eyes.

“Baby, y’look like you’ve seen a ghost. What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?” he asks, eyes searching your face.

So many seeds have taken root, blossoming in your mind. (Or maybe they’ve always been fully bloomed, and I just never saw them.) You shake your head. Your heart is beating too fast. This isn’t the time to dive into this.

But when? you wonder.

How long has he…?

No, absolutely not. You won’t let yourself go there, you can’t, not now, not when he’s looking at you like this.

“I’m sorry, E, I just got caught off guard and got overwhelmed,” you finally respond, wiping your cheeks. “You—you said you have it all figured out?”

Throwing it back to him is the right call because now he’s excited. “You’re stayin’ in Vegas, honey.” He says it so matter-of-factly that you want to believe him, but you don’t understand.

Your heart drops into your stomach, as if you are plummeting down a roller coaster, the feeling where fear and excitement meet. “Elvis, you’re not making any sense. If I stay in Vegas, Jack is gonna want to know why, and I certainly can’t say I’m here for you. And I’m pretty sure Jack doesn’t particularly want me here, anyways,” you say with distain.

“Jack’s got his fuckin’ head wedged so far up his ass, he can’t see straight,” Elvis says, blatantly annoyed. “Don’t you worry ‘bout him.”

Don’t worry about him? He’s my husband! You almost say it, then think better of it, not wanting to get into that right now. Plus, you are curious as to this solution Elvis has miraculously come up with.

“Baby, remember the other night when you’s was tellin’ me you’re unhappy, that you don’t know where you belong, what your purpose is?” he says, practically bouncing.

You nod. How could you forget? That’s what started this all in the first place.

“Well, I figured it out. You belong here, with me, with us,” he says, beaming, taking your hand in both of his. You can feel him vibrating with energy.

“Wait, what…? Us? Who’s us?” you say, utterly confused.

“Us, the show. We’ve been talkin’ about needin’ someone to sing the high voice parts, along with the Sweet Inspirations. And it just came to me, after you were singin’ in the shower. It’s you. Of course, it’s you. Now you have a reason to stay. We get to be together, and the show will have a new member. It’s perfect.” His excitement is palpable, he’s nearly glowing with it.

Oh, this man is outta his goddamned mind. You shake your head, shock and fear like ice in your veins. “Elvis, do you not remember me telling you how terrified I am of singing in front of people? I could barely sing in front of you without having a meltdown!” you practically shriek, dousing his elation.

“Hey, there’ll be none of that!” Elvis raises his voice at you, eyes darkening. It’s not a yell, but it’s stern as hell, and you realize that Elvis probably doesn’t like having his “good idea” shot down before it’s barely out of his mouth. His change in demeanor shakes you enough to calm down a little. You know him well enough to know his mood can change on a dime, and you don’t think you can handle that on top of your own panic right now. You force yourself to take a long, deep breath.

“I’m not sayin’ you’re gettin’ up on stage with me tomorrow, honey, but I am sayin’ that maybe you need a little trainin’ to prepare you for the possibility that it could happen. And that trainin’ needs to happen here, in Vegas, with a vocal coach I already got comin’ in,” he explains more gently.

You are starting to understand what he’s getting at, and your fear abates a little. He’s not saying you’re joining the band (yet), but if you are training for it, whether it happens or not, you have a reason to stay.

“Now, I know you love music, baby, I know it in my bones cuz I see it in you, always have, plain as day. Maybe this is that purpose you’ve been lookin’ for. It’s kismet, I’m tellin’ you, honey, all this happenin’, here at once. You and me. Us needin’ another singer. Even Jack bein’ a dipshit. Can’t you see, baby? It’s meant to be,” he says fervently, holding onto your shoulders, his eyes wild with passion. He’s so enthusiastic, it’s hard to not be swept up with him.

It's meant to be…

You nod, letting him pull you along down this road. You do love music. You have been searching for something, a purpose. And you’d get to be here with him, not thousands of miles away, being sad and lonely in Memphis. What do you have to lose?

A lot, a voice counters. This is a bad idea.

You quash that voice, wanting to believe in this as much as Elvis does. As scared as you are of how out of control he makes you feel, how your feelings for him (and his for you) terrify you, you know that the stifling sadness of your old routine is slowly draining the life out of you.

If nothing else, Elvis makes you feel alive.

“Okay,” you whisper.

Elvis beams. “Really? Okay?” he asks.

“Okay, I’ll try it. I’ll work with your coach. But I can’t promise I’ll be any good or even be able to get up there,” you add pointedly.

You have to give him credit, though, because the more you think about it, the more genius the idea becomes. It could actually work in terms of your relationship, whatever it may be. But more importantly, the thought of doing something with music, something outside yourself, is enticing.

“That’s okay, we’ll just take it one step atta time,” he says, ecstatic. He grabs your cheeks and kisses you. “I just want you to be happy, baby. I wanna make you happy.”

God, he says it with such fervor, such sincerity, that you can’t help but be enveloped in it with him. The fact that anyone out there has your happiness at the forefront of their mind is amazing to you, much less it being Elvis Presley. And he seems to believe in you in a way you haven’t even believed in yourself in a very long time.

And that does make you happy.

Even if it scares the hell out of you.

**

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