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weepingfoxfury · 13 days

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The man on the radio says he went out last night to The Gaiety, and on a school night too. As ever, I'm distracted so don't catch exactly what it was he went to see. 'The Very Thought of You' with Ella Fitzgerald follows as he continues to extol the acting virtues of Dan Butler.

Weather today is mild with a heavy hint of chicken manure. Still preferable to the chemical 'fresh air' that the shiny metropolis denizens seem to have a penchant for.

The larger size moths have hatched indoors again, so I'm vying with them for the light of the screen.

The water butt dwellers are also busy increasing their numbers whilst diving away from the twig missiles that the Rooks keep dropping mid flight. The guttering is beginning to look like a strange kind of legless porcupine with the amount of nest material that's landed in it.

Obviously time to put in my bid for The Umbrella (Ireland only has one) ... all sorts of things to dodge now the breeding season is well underway. If you don't hear from me for a while, I either got buried beneath the latest nesting material deluge or I'm now part of someone's nest ;-) ...

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daz4i · 3 months

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how and why is there discourse about whether or not certain queer identities exist/if people should be allowed(???) to use them. why is "people know their own identity better than you ever could, and they're the only one who get a say on what they are" such a tough concept to grasp

i think if you find yourself offended by the label someone uses (especially if they're a stranger) or think it invalidates your own, it's a good idea to look inside yourself and question why that may be. more often than not, it's a result of insecurity or uncertainty of your own identity (or many other things, but i won't make a whole list here). whatever reason it is, until you resolve it, you shouldn't take it out on people for having an identity you don't understand

many have said it before but it's worth saying over and over. infighting only helps our oppressors. conservatives don't care if you're a cis gay or a xenogender aegosexual aplatonic lesbian, they hate all of us either way. trying to fit in by going for people who are easier targets for them isn't gonna help you, it'll just alienate you from your own community, and you're never gonna please them. the momentary rush you get from hearing you're not like "one of /those/ gay people" is not worth it and is gonna do more harm in the long run, i assure you

also, it is important to me to say this, but having some less than nice kneejerk reaction caused by confusion about an identity you don't understand doesn't mean you're a bad person or anything. as long as you aren't mean to that person, and you take a second to think smth along the lines of "wait a minute, this isn't any of my business" after having said reaction, you're good 👍 a lot of reflexive reactions we have to things are ingrained into us simply by. well. living in a society 🤡 and you're not terrible for having those thoughts. it's your actions that matter, and your second thought (the "wait, why did i just think that?") is more defining of your actual character and morals than your reflex. i know that having thoughts like this, even tho they're unwanted, can very easily make one spiral, so it's important to me that whoever needs to hear this knows this doesn't make you a bad person 🙏 you're good, keep taking actions to be good, accept other people even if you don't understand them, and you're on the right track :)

#i considered adding that last part in the tags but i figured it'll be too long for that 😭#i noticed i'm posting a lot of rants lately. sorry. but i do wanna make sure no one's actually feeling bad over them #if i complain about something that you do or call it mean and such. that doesn't make you a bad person #you can always work to change and grow 👍 it's not easy but it starts with smaller steps than you'd expect #and now i just switched to a whole other topic from my original point. oops #i do firmly believe that any discourse about someone's identity is dumb as fuck #seeing it in poll blogs always makes me 😐😬 like how is it any business for any of us. why is this up for debate #if a person says they're queer then they are. they don't need to pass some test or go through initiation to be accepted #if they feel comfortable with a certain word that's awesome. why does it matter to *you* which word they use #'they're only using this microlabel to feel special' so? is there anything wrong with that?#'this label contradicts [insert other identity that falls under the same umbrella]' ok. but does that hurt anyone in any way #a lot of identities can even be self contradictory. does it matter tho? does it affect anyone in any way?#'they might realize that label is wrong later' again. what's the harm in that.#i don't blame anyone for these thoughts bc like. this is how cishets view a lot of the even more common labels #so you're basically taught to think this way from day one. that doesn't mean you need to stick to that thought process #you might have these reflexes forever no matter how hard you try. but you'll get quicker about moving on from them #but you do have to try. you do have to realize that other people's identities aren't about you #anyway. this post feels like batting at a hornets nest. really hope i don't get some bad faith readers here lol #(i noticed a lot of places one could apply bad faith but like it's 3:30 am i'm too tired to add this many disclaimer.#so i'm gonna trust you to not jump to conclusions and to approach this in good faith okay? mwah 🖤)#also my whole ramble abt morality (in the tags too) is relevant to. any topic really #i may just make a separate post about it really. .....tomorrow tho.

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in-a-slanted-outhouse · 2 years

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I am making another post because people are actually starting to disagree with me

Okay right

In regards to Aidan Gallagher and sexualisation

I doubt that the target audience will actually bother to read any of this but I'm putting my opinion out there anyway because there’s a chance they will. Once again, I would appreciate that you read the whole post before commenting

TW// Sexualisation of a Minor, Mentions of CSAM

I’m putting this under read more because I have a lot to say and this got long

There is a difference between older adults sexualising him and people around his age sexualising him. I know that. I’ve already talked about how wrong it is for those creepy adults to sexualise him and I am tired of doing that. If you haven’t read that post yet, read that first because I am not going over that again. This post is a lot less angrily written than that one. You can find it here

This time I am going to do a general overview of the whole situation and also talk about minors and younger people sexualising him as well

And just to specify, when I talk about Five I’m talking specifically about Five in the show, not Five in the comics

So anywho

I am an teenager. I am sex favourable. That is not information you are entitled to have but I am giving it to you for context

I get why people who are that way inclined have sexual fantasies or have crushes on people. I get it. Having a crush on a celebrity is a safe way for teenagers and young adults to explore their sexuality because they’re in most cases never going to actually meet that person let alone have sex with them (99% of the time). I believe that self-exploration is important both sexually and non-sexually. And a lot of people who do experience sexual and/or romantic attraction will start having those feelings during puberty and that is completely natural. Having sexual fantasies and reading or writing fan fiction is a way to explore those feelings both safely and healthily and having a crush or even sexual feelings for someone who is a similar age to you is perfectly normal

I’m not demonising anyone around Aidan’s age for being attracted to him either romantically or sexually. The thing is that with anything like that there’s gotta be consent. Consent is important. We all know consent is important. But a lot of people seem to be forgetting that consent doesn’t just apply to when you are actually fucking someone

Aidan cannot control what people are thinking about him. He cannot control what people are doing in their own homes. Nobody can control that and to try to do so would be absurd. But when you are sharing things online whether it be smut fan fiction or nsfw art or making comments about how you want to have sex with someone, etc. that’s when you start actively involving another person in your fantasy and that’s where consent must be obtained

And there are a lot of people out there who are adults above the age of consent who are okay with people posting those kinds of things about them. Aidan is not one of those people. Doesn’t matter whether he’s above the age of consent or not, he has previously told people that he doesn’t appreciate being sexualised

So posting sexually explicit content involving him whether it be drawn or writing is still violating his consent

And it’s not okay

Some of you keep waving around the fact the that Aidan is an adult and therefore can legally consent whilst somehow simultaneously disregarding what the age of consent means. So I’m going to explain something really simple

I’m going to go back a couple years now

If you under the age of consent, then you cannot legally give consent. Aidan has been sexualised online at least since he was 14 and as a citizen of the United States of America, means he was under the legal age of consent in every state during that time of his life. Most of this sexualisation was through, and still is through, fan fiction and fan art. Writing or making a piece of artwork depicting a minor engaging in sexual activity is counted as CSAM and I really hope that I don’t have to explain to any of you why CSAM is illegal

So people saying that it’s okay now because he’s a legal adult irl, where were you when it wasn’t? Because it was never okay and it still isn’t

Him being an adult now, doesn’t excuse anything that happened previously

And I don’t care about that “loophole” of Five being mentally fifty eight because it doesn’t matter. If the person involved in sexual activity appears be a minor then it is still counted as child pornography even under Tumblr’s Community Guidelines

“Don't post or solicit content that features the abuse of a minor, that includes suggestive or sexual content involving a minor or anyone that appears to be a minor, or that facilitates or promotes child sexual abuse. "Content" may include photos of real individuals, illustrations, animation, or text.”

There is no loophole. It doesn’t exist. It was made up. Five being mentally fifty eight doesn’t matter. Sexualising him has always been wrong

So now we are here. Aidan Gallagher is an adult and is above the age of consent. Now what does that mean? It means that he can consent to sexual activity. But here’s the important thing, he doesn’t have to. That’s what consent is, it’s the ability to make that choice

And what people appear to be ignoring is the fact that Aidan has chosen not to give his consent

And that’s his right. He has the right to not give consent

It is that simple. If somebody doesn’t give consent then you do not have the right to sexualise them

Boundaries do not evaporate just because someone is famous. That’s still a human person. That’s still a human being with thoughts and feelings

Just a quick hypothetical scenario to really hammer into everyone’s heads. Imagine there’s a kid who’s just graduated high school. Just a regular non-famous kid. Someone who a lot of people from that kid’s school fancy. There’s nothing wrong with that. There’s nothing wrong with those kids fancying another kid. But if one of them, someone from that high school that the kid didn’t even know, decided to write a story about them graphically fucking that kid and then posted it on social media for the world to see, that would be wrong, right? If someone decided to draw a picture depicting that kid in a suggestive scenario, even if they were the same age, that would also be wrong, right? It would be understandable for that kid to feel upset or distressed or threatened by that

This situation isn’t that much different. If you are sexualising Five, then you are sexualising Aidan. Five isn’t a real human being, but Aidan is and it’s his body that’s being inserted into these scenarios

And I try so hard not look at these kids of things because it’s really uncomfortable. I’ve scrolled through the tua tag and seen fan fiction promoted with all different kinds of kinks. I’ve scrolled through Instagram over just the past three days and found two suggestive drawings of Five and one suggestive photo edit of Aidan. It just goes on and on and has being going on and on for years

And you know what? Aidan could turn around tomorrow and decide that he’s fine with it all. He has the right to do that as well and at that point, consent would have been given. But right now, as I’m writing this, that has not happened, nor does it look like it’s going to happen

So stop doing it

And I fucking mean it

I don’t want to hear any excuses

Stop sexualising Aidan Gallagher

#kicking the wasps nest today #i spent all day writing this #this is okay to reblog #tua #the umbrella academy #aidan gallagher #number five #number five hargreeves #five hargreeves #louie says shit

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ismellpestilence · 1 year

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based on my findings I’ve concluded there are three main ways people interpret Izzy and his role in the show:

the If it Were Played Serious, His Behavior Would Be Inexcusable type

focuses on his treatment of Ed (and Lucius)

”EdxIzzy is toxic/abusive” and/or "Izzy's expectations about Ed's masculinity are rooted in control and/or racism"

may or may not see him as homophobic

believes he cannot be redeemed

the He's the Hero of His Story type

focuses on Izzy’s frustrations with Stede (and Ed and the crew)

“EdxIzzy is tragic/unrequited love” (usually with emotional repression on Izzy's part)

his lack of backstory leaves room for a gazillion plausible headcannons

believes he deserves a redemption

the He is an Antagonist AND a Blorbo type

dislikes his actions and laughs at his motives

"Izzy isn't emotionally intelligent enough to recognize his feelings for Ed" and/or "Izzy is in love with Blackbeard/the idea of Ed, but not Ed himself"

doesn’t want him to be redeemed, but doesn’t want him killed off, either

the guys who want to put him in a jar and shake it

placed in the middle of the two, with some leaning closer to one side than the other

hence why trying to sort out the mess that is the Izzy tag is so complicated; when people call out Izzy Haters or Izzy Stans for their interpretation, they're assuming the other group sees Izzy through the same lens they do and are just choosing to ignore it, when odds are they have no idea how people came to that conclusion.

#izzy hands #ofmd izzy #fandom critical #ofmd #izzy critical #ofmd critical #our flag means death #I know I'm swinging a bat at a hornet's nest but it's worth a try #I'm trying very hard to be unbiased and generous here #the main point here is that every time people talk about Izzy Stans and Izzy Haters they sound like massive umbrella terms

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flickering-nightfall · 2 months

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Playing with some ideas mostly regarding gender/reproduction in RW, and slugcat colonies.

Full transcript under the cut!

Creatures in Rain World are typically simultaneous hermaphrodites but require partners to reproduce, with either individual capable of being a genetic donor or carrier. Alongside what we are familiar with, this has lead to interesting reproductive strategies such as rotating donor/carrier roles, or dual/simultaneous genetic swaps.

Rotating donor/carrier roles - A K-selection reproductive strategy. One partner carries the first child, the other partner carries the next child, and so forth. Allows each partner to recover from the demands of childbearing.

Rain Deer aren't quite monogamous, but they tend to choose the same breeding partner whenever mating season rolls around. They serve as a donor one season, then bear and raise a child the next. Calves are raised away from the rain and worm grass, in places that have less food but more safety. Calf wool is softer, not yet gunked up by the dirty rainfall. Their legs are sturdier as children, allowing them to run for cover while the parent wards off threats.

Dual/simultaneous genetic swap - An r-selection reproductive strategy. Parents fulfill the donor and carrier role for each other. The more children you make, the more likely some are to survive!

Multiple batflies lay thousands of eggs in a single "blue fruit." Several eggs congeal and become nutrient paste for the surviving eggs (and for hungry slugcats). Like some plant seeds, batfly eggs that are consumed before pupating can survive passing through the digestive system. Ew.

Ancients also fell under this umbrella. Their genders (and the genders of iterators by extension, who have no sex anyways) could have been determined by a variety of other factors, such as societal role, donor/carrier preference, or simply different categorizations of personal expression.

It's difficult to say how well their common pronouns would translate to ours, but it seems they can translate to an extent, given what Moon and Pebbles use canonically.

Slugcats, like real slugs, can have children with a partner or self-fertilize. Unlike real slugs, they are often known to adopt.

In the case of self-fertilization: children who are born from one parent may display a large amount of genetic diversity despite the circumstances. Maybe slugcats have some sort of... genetic reservoir independent of their own genetic code?

Slugcats live 20-30 years on average... if they manage to reach adulthood. Their mortality rate is sadly rather high, especially in pups. If they were to develop as a civilization, it's likely their lifespan would increase dramatically.

Slugcats in a colony are more likely to have more children, and to successfully rear those children to adulthood, than those who wander alone or in small groups. The safety and stability of a colony cannot be understated.

Colonies either have a set, cycling migration path, or wander continuously. Survivor and Monk's tree home was a nesting site that their colony frequents about once a year. So it's likely that they'll see their family again!

...also, the strength of large colonies are why scavengers are likely to become the dominant species. In the time of Saint's era, continuous migration has become more of a risk, and it has become more difficult to support large populations. Slugcat populations have shrunk back to the more forgiving equatorial zones.

Saint's tongue is pretty unusual and probably unique to them, or to a small population that they hail from. Fur (of varying thickness) is much more common.

Meanwhile, scavengers are bulkier and covered in thicker insulating fur. They:

have seemingly massive populations

have a burgeoning society (the existence of merchants, tolls, bartering, elites and leaders)

are adept at communicating (non-verbally)

manipulate their environment

can build structures (scavenger-made structures were a scrapped idea from Saint's campaign)

can create complex weapons and tools

may have agriculture behind the scenes (unsure if scout parties prioritize exploration or hunting)

I would wager on scavengers developing more quickly than slugcats, but it would be nice if there was a future where both could co-exist.

#oops! impromptu rendering practice!#rotating donor/carrier roles could also be an r-selection strat #but i feel like it'd be more common as a k-selection strat #rain world #worldbuilding #headcanons #flickerdoodles #art #um #ask to tag?#that goes for all of my posts #rw spoilers #dp spoilers #saint spoilers #long post

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hunnieknight · 1 year

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"The Birds and The Feathers"(+Art)

Just a pretty swan in its nest by the lake living its best life....until these avians decided you are their target of affection.

Broken grammar, Swan!Reader x Avian Constellation characters {Kaeya, Diluc, Xiao, Ayaka, Layla, Al Haitham, Kaveh, Fischl}, GN!Reader, Modern AU(?), the reader is oblivious(?), non-establish relationship, you are "that one neighbour" type of thing feral-like behaviour, everyone acting similar to their representation bird, hints of yandere, possessive and obsessive behaviour, a bit of suggestive if you squint.

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Note : Human with bird wings! Nest refers to everyone's own house, You are a swimming trainer at your local pool.

Note (13 May) : this was drafted before Mika appearance and during Kaveh first appearance (so no Mehrak)! So thats why he isnt here,and im already drained to add him

Kaeya {Pavo Ocellus//Peacock}

My my, a pretty bird isn't he? Your charismatic neighbour who would greet you with that bright smile of his.

He is that one neighbour who is always curious about your activity but won't pester you much if you refuse to answer, respecting your boundaries.

Checking up on you seems to be his favourite thing, he will briefly visit your humble hut near the lake and offers you some fruits or veggies he brought on his way home. Whenever you decline he somehow always gets an urgent call and can't bring all the groceries he had bought. Well, since he is already at your house, why don't you just accept these fresh fruits he so dearly brought to you?

If he is stopping by your nest, he often lazes around your house whilst chatting about his daily life and you just listened to him while munching on snacks he brought to you. If you are swimming, he will sit by the dock under a shade, leaving you to enjoy what you like the most. Beside, he is also enjoying seeing what he likes the most

One of the things he often gives you is little trinkets...well...the only kind of trinket he gave you is a peacock feather in a resin. It could be a bookmark, a keychain, or a small wall decoration. Since the rarely have time to hang out with you, he needs to make sure part of him will always be with you.

Peacock does value their beauty to attract their female counterpart, but for you? He would gladly be featherless with no second thoughts.

Diluc {Noctua/Great Horned Owl}

A magnificent fancy owl, isn't he? An admirable owl in its prime age running such a huge wine tycoon. Compared to the other houses in the neighbourhood, his is the biggest.

You often see him around but never interact until you bring your swimming class to collaborate with Dawn Winery. There, you saw him personally bring the crates of grape juices for your students. You both start a small conversation, and after that day you often see him on your way to work. He will pull over by your side and insist on driving you there.

His wings span is HUGE. When the sun's heat stings your skin, he will use his wings as your umbrella. What a gentleman indeed.

For some odd reason, he is active during the day and awake at night. How did he get enough proper sleep? You are not sure yourself. Another owl trait of his is his quiet steps or walk, you are always startled whenever he greets you at the swimming centre to bring grape juices for your students, and your wings spread to smack him in the face. After that incident, he always makes sure to approach you from the front.

Other than acts of service, his language is also gift-giving. At first, it was some raw meat to cook or a perfectly cooked steak you can eat, but after learning about the swan's diet, Diluc changed it into grapes and grape juices from his winery. Let's just say sometimes your nest smells like his wine.....like part of him.

Somehow this owl makes sour expressions whenever he sees peacock trinkets around your house after you confirmed Diluc where are those gifts from, he started giving you a quill pen with a feather interestingly similar to his.

Xiao {Alatus Nemeseos/Black-Tail Jade Finch}

Hm? Are you worried about your nest's safety at night? Afraid to go home by yourself when it is late? Suddenly crave eating in the middle of the night? No need to be worried about that anymore! This finch right here, Xiao, is ready to be your bodyguard.

You rarely chat with him, considering he is an introverted bird and prefers to stay in his nest. Other than seeing him dropping off and picking up his little sister, Qiqi at the swimming centre, you guys only meet in public places like parks or convenience stores, where it always started with a curt nod from him and an acknowledgement smile from you. Other than that, you guys don't talk much. However, if you guys do meet in public coincidentally at night, he often 'offers' you to walk back to your nest.

If you count 'waiting for you in front of the convenience store and walking side-by-side with you with no talking' as an offer.

Although his wings and bird's form looks small and cute, he is the most resilient and intimidating among your avian neighbour. Once you saw him decked a man thrice his size because -according to Xiao- 'He looked at you funny'.

He will not hesitate to guard you to your nest, no matter how often you tell him you don't want to bother him, he will just quip back "-and you prefer to get hunted by those bad birds?". As much as your interaction with him is awkward, you always offer tea whenever both of you arrive at the door. But he just refuses politely and 'scurry away'.

Although, he doesn't underestimate you. Once he saw you, the delicate swan became a vicious eagle to protect your swimming students.

Well, now he ought to see you protecting their child together- huh? No that's too far, he is thinking too far. He can just settle with protecting your nest and accompanying you on walks.

Ayaka {Grus Nivis/Snow Crane}

(Note : Ayaka's ability to walk on water refers to her Alt Sprint and how cranes mostly spend their time in shallow water)

Oh my! Look at her beautiful snow-like wings. Such a delicate bird and a classy one too. As a Kamisato, her giant nest (estate) where she lives with her brother is standing proudly on top of a man-made island above the lake with lilypads and lotus blooming here and there. The estate is so beautiful, you are drawn to the magnificent estate to take photos, especially the lotus lake, your swan instinct just brought your feet there.

You purposely approach the lake behind the estate. Avoided the guards so you can have a peaceful time. There, you saw her. The famous snow crane lady Kamisato Ayaka..she seems like dancing? You were mesmerized for a bit by her delicate moves, her flowy hair spinning around her like snow ribbon, and her blue ey- wait what?! She saw you, her wide blue eyes can tell she didn't expect an audience. You awkwardly make a thumbs-up and clap a little. Your wings cover your body whilst you run away from the spot.

You were just swimming around the lake near your nest, the swan blood in you just loves water so much. When you raise up above the water, you find yourself surrounded by beautiful lotus and lilypads floating around your lake, you turned around to see the snow crane above the water, smiling softly at you.

After that lilypad meeting, you both often meet behind your house -something about her feeling more comfortable to become a regular snow crane. She never hated the life of royal birds but living freely without rules to follow seems fascinating to her. So, you showed her your humble nest and how you teach little birds to swim. In return, she integrated you into her life; introducing you to her charming brother -Ayato- and the nice housekeeper Thoma, serving dishes that fit to swan's diet whenever you visit, and often a bundle of Otogi sticks or some fragrant oil from Otogi given to you before you leave-as decoration for your house she suggests and to make your nest smells more like hers.

Layla {Luscinia/Nightingale}

Poor little one, this small bird often crashes by your nest to nap or rest. Her eye bags get darker every time you see her. The least you can do is offer her warm milk to drink before she naps.

Well, you two have been close since you both were still little chicks. At this point, your nest is hers and hers is yours. Her wings feather is everywhere at your nest, from how often she is having a 'sleepover'-which is mostly you pushing her to get enough rest. She even has her own little corner in your nest, where her work drafts and papers are scattered around.

Speaking of sleeping, Layla, you know has an alternate personality that manifests from her when she is in deep sleep. This persona is energetic and determined, if Layla forgot to drink the milk you gave her before sleeping the nighttime Layla will drink it before she does her work. This Layla is very bold and affectionate to you, talkative too! Often she asks your opinion about her paper, and although you don't much about her study, you gave her the encouragement she needed.

Nightime Layla often asks for your blessing every time she is about to sleepwalk go outside. You often give her hugs and cheek kisses as a blessing. Once you gave her a mini dreamcatcher keychain with your feather on it, saying she could always ask for a new feather if the old one snapped, was dirty, or was missing...and she does. She keeps asking for another of your feather because somehow she lost it.

However, what you don't know is, she always keeps the keychain in pristine condition, she just likes to collect parts of you as a good luck charm!

Well....this often leads to Daytime Layla waking up to swan feathers in her closet and her desk drawer. She was confused but not thinking much of it. Instead, she uses the feathers to fill up her pillow fillings or quill.

Ah, somehow she always dreamt of you with this special pillow of hers. Hmm..can't have that..she misses you, welp! Time for another sleepover at your nest!

Al Haitham {Vulture Volans/White Backed Vulture}

So apparently, vultures often spread their wings wide to dry up their wings..and you learnt how wide vultures' wings are. How do you know? Well, this neighbour of yours, whose backyard is coincidentally facing the lake of your nest, often sunbathes his wings there near the lake whilst reading a book.

So, imagine your fear when a buff tall man of a carnivore bird with a stoic face just spreads his wings for an hour, sitting by the lake. You both just nod to each other in acknowledgement while you shake in fear, deciding not to swim that day.

You can tell he has a roommate, judging by the bickering noises and how there are extra shed feathers that aren't his. It is too soft and delicate to be Vultures. You wanted to bring it up to him as a worried neighbour, but you decided it will only make you a nosy one so you keep quiet, and keep greeting with nodding when you both meet by the lake.

Well, either he has sharp eyes or you are too obvious. One day he gave you some fruits and veggies along with small fish. You could tell he searched swan's diet, considering vulture's diet are all meat. "I apologize for any disturbance we may cause, my roommate and I are not on good terms as you can hear." his eyes glanced towards his nest. You waved your hand dismissively clearly not wanting to make things awkward, so you offered him to eat the stuff he gave to you together on your dock.

Well, his logical and rationality views on everything aside, his company is enjoyable. He is open to any perspective, even yours who isn't a scholar. He never belittles you if you awkwardly ask about some terms he had mentioned, you can see his eyes light up a bit as he enlightens you in detail to you, yet he also makes sure it isn't overwhelming.

Apparently, he prefers a quiet environment and so do you as a mute swan. You both often spend quality time together as neighbours with him reading books and sunbathing at your dock whilst you swim or float around on the lake.

Well, isn't this the domestic life he dreamt of?

Kaveh {Paradisaea/Paradise Bird}

Well, this is the bird that the vulture keeps talking about, though you didn't expect it is a bird known for its artistic side.

Paradise birds are known to be delicate and magnificent birds, the male all dance and sing and are pretty. Well, this one...surely a unique one. You first saw him when he stumped out Al-Haitham's nest all pent-up and angry, even his wings are all puffed out. You both had eye contact, his red orbs widen to see you so as to not make anything worse you swam away.

The next day, while you relax by the dock eating some fruits, you saw him carrying some wood and building materials into the nest. Whilst he is putting down the materials his eyes caught on your form, sitting by your dock with your cheeks puffed full of food. He smiled and waved then make a small jog towards you.

He introduced himself and apologize in advance if any of his model-building activity bothered you. You waved him off saying you spend your time teaching swimming to kids anyway. After giving him some of the fruits you eat, he excused himself and walks back towards Al Haitham's house //creak// well..until he stepped on a board on your dock that is loose. His architect side just crouches down and examines your dock, then offers you a free repair of your dock, oh he doesn't take no for his service alright.

Well, now there he is, on your dock doing a repairman job. Every time you want to help, he just told you to sit down all pretty. Just a feast for his eyes.

It is not just the dock he fixed. Even the decoration of your nest-exterior or interior- he gives suggestions and recommendations. Hell, he goes as far as making some bookshelves for you. In return, you listened to his rants about his roommate and offered him food since both of you has similar diet. Sometimes Al Haitham or Layla join in with the two of you.

Isn't he a creative man? he is able to turn the shed feathers into a dreamcatcher, keychain, and even earrings. Your white feathers and his brown-to-goldish one really give an elegant aesthetic. The thing you didn't know is that he has another pair of earrings from your feathers. He doesn't want to wear it since he will not hear the end of it from Al Haitham, plus it may make you uncomfortable although you have shown appreciation to all his crafts, even the small little things he made to your nests.

Well, for now, Kaveh can only help you with decorating your nest, next time, he will make sure to build a nest fit for you both together.

Fischl {Corvus/Raven}

(Note: I wrote this with platonic implications in my head, I am 22 and writing romantic stuff for her feels illegal to me// Oz and Fischl is like apes to human (totally different but has similarity))

Quite the eccentric one, isn't she? Mysterious, all-dark, and how she talks are all out of your dictionary, no worries, her loyal friend, Oz, is your saviour in communicating with her.

You knew her from your fellow swimming teacher, Mona, which Fischl often picks up after work. Whilst waiting for Mona packing up, you hit a conversation with her..which was...unique you can say. She spoke so politely and formally that you didn't know how to respond. Oz was there to translate her words (or simplify) and even then with him, you can //barely// hold onto a conversation with her.

Although she likes speaking in another' language' when you talk to her, her quirky personality and roleplaying with Oz always brighten up your day. Even if Mona can't clock in for the day, Fischl still go there to visit you. You often stay behind to make sure all kids got picked up by their parents and then enjoy the pool all by yourself, usually Fischl would take off her shoes and dangles her feet in the water whilst chatting with Oz and you.

Do you know how ravens remember the faces of people who feed them? Yeah, Fischl often payback your good deed 10 times bigger than what you have done. Like how you offered her some of your fist-sized bread whilst waiting for Mona and the next time you guys meet she gave you a whole-ass pie in return.

Her raven traits also showed up in her collecting shiny trinkets. The urge to hoard shiny things seems to override everything in her brain. She would stop and impulsively walk towards any shiny stuff she see and buy it, sometimes she and Oz would chatter about the trinkets collection with you-from delighted caw to sad croak from not being able to own any valuable stuff she saw.

You once asked her 'what's the best thing you have ever lied your eyes on?". Her light green eyes widened at your question, her hand went up to her chin and she thinks-even Oz made the same gesture, eye closed and humming. Fischl then answered, "Too precious that if I tell you, I'm afraid I will lose them." You giggled, amazed at her mystic answer. You express your curiosity to one day be able to see the thing she is talking about.

Must be so valuable and precious that she won't show it to you, huh? Well, it's not like she won't...But how does she show you to yourself?

#genshin x reader #imaginedraw #diluc x reader #kaeya x reader #gender neutral reader #ayaka x reader #xiao x reader #layla x reader #kaveh x reader #alhaitham x reader #fischl genshin impact #fischl x reader #genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin impact

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miikapie · 3 months

Text

Your boyfriend Choso gives you scary dog privileges!!

wc:..1k!

cw:.. Choso x fem!reader, reader gets harassed by a creep at the bar:(, bad grammar as always. this is literally just me barfing up an idea because i love the idea of choso protecting reader from weirdos!!

Along with his resting bitch face, his tall stature makes strangers shiver. Whether that be in a bar, out on a nighttime walk, or in the city. Aslong as Choso is not even two paces away from you you're practically untouchable!

Its amazing, ofcourse, he keeps away weirdos with just a glare, sending them running in the opposite direction. You think that's fantastic obviously!! You'll have no need to invest in self defense classes when Choso is around you 24/7! Well, he can't be around you all the time...

You were sat on the high stool of the bar, waiting for your boyfriend to come back from the bathroom. Specifically he placed his black bomber jacket on the seat beside you to silently let it be known to anyone who even thought of approaching you that there was already someone sitting there.

You sat twirling the cocktail drink with the little paper umbrella your bartender had given to you in the meantime while you wait for your lovely boyfriend to return.

It was a rare night for you both. Usually, nights like this were spent on the couch together, while you scratched his scalp softly like a (not so) little puppy. Well, he was your puppy afterall!!

As you sat daydreaming innocently about your sweet boyfriend to distract yourself from the bustling atmosphere of the bar, a particularly tragic attempt at a suave voice made itself known beside you.

"Hello, cutie~" A waft of alcohol hit your face like a brick, originating where the voice came from.

It was a drunk guy, leaning on the table beside you. His eyes hung low, shamelessly checking you out, and his hair was a greasy bird's-nest. You almost gagged at how fucking badly he smelled.

"What're you doin' here all by yourself?" He slurred, a burp following suit as he moved closer to you. "Shouldn't a woman like you be in my bed? hmmmm?" And jesus fucking christ, you wished your boyfriend would hurry up in that damn washroom.

"I uh.. im here with my boyfriend." You reply with a deadpan, slightly leaning away from the man who was inches away from your face.

"What boyfriend, baby?" He cackled "I don't see no man with you..hmmmm?" And you swear you could puke just from how putrid his breath was.

His filthy hands come in contact with a lock of your hair, and he inched impossibly closer to you, whispering. "Me, you, my bed, tonight. How does that sound?"

"No. I- Choso, there you are!" You smiled, catching eyes of your boyfriend making his way through the crowds that separated like the red sea infront of him- some people marvelling at how intimidating he was, and some cowering.

A small smile resonated on his features before he caught eyes of the creep right beside you. He saw the nervousness in your eyes and knew immediately that you did not know this guy.

The smile dropped immediately, as he locked eyes with the creep beside you.

He stood just a foot away from the stranger, as he let go of your hair and stared up at your-quite frankly-terrifying boyfriend, gulping audibly. You saw a drop of sweat fall down his forehead.

"Thats my seat." His voice, usually softer in tone, dropped an octave as he subconsciously grit his teeth infront of the man. You watched along like a giddy child on christmas day opening their gifts.

"...i-"

"Beside my girlfriend." He stated plainly, venom laced through his words. Now you could see why strangers cowered under the gaze of your other half.

The creep could quite obviously be seen scrambling around his empty head for an explanation to your boyfriend. You held back a snicker and took a gulp of your drink.

"Get out of here. Never approach her again." Shaking his head, your boyfriends eyebrows furrowed.

The man nodded haphazardly and scuffled swiftly away into the dense crowd to get far, far away from Choso. After his sharp eyes followed the man making his way out of the bar, he finally sat beside you awkwardly. You couldn't stifle the giggle in your throat any longer and you leaned your head on his shoulder.

He looked down to you, a small sigh leaves his lips.

"Im s-"

"Choso, dont apologize" Predicting exactly what he was gonna say. choso was a softie at heart, and knowing him, you knew he was gonna blame it on himself- even though he wasn't there.

"But I wasn't there, so its my fault." aaand there he goes! You roll your eyes in response with a smile, classic Choso.

"Its not your fault, Cho. I promise you. I could feel someone was eyeing me up for a while, I guess he was just waiting for you to leave."

Your eyes met his, and he looked a little bashful. he always looked bashful when your eyes met.

"Hes a scumbag." He spat quietly, looking away from you. A laugh erupted from your chest, making him smile. You always made him smile. Your manicured hand rested beside his on the wooden table.

His shoulders slumped a little and he nodded. It seems you guys wont be going to the bar anytime soon, instead opting to spend now 100% of your nights curled up on the couch together, where no creeps could harass you!

"Al..alright then, i believe you." Were the words that leaves his lips, his larger pinky finger wrapping around yours for mutual comfort.

Fascinating, really, how your boyfriend barely has to say a couple of words and hes sent a creep running out of the door. If only everyone knew him like you did- for what he really was.

It doesnt bother him at all, actually. he likes it. He finds a sense of pride in it, being able to protect you from any unwanted attention without having to lift a finger. He feels content devoting himself to loving and protecting you.

And if he had a say in it, he'd continue doing both for forever, for you.♡

#choso x reader #choso kamo #choso fluff #i love choso sososo much #jjk x reader

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bumblebeesfromvenus · 3 months

Text

All I see is Red ♦️

Leon S. Kennedy x reader

A/N: holy shit, this took me so long to edit fml it's the longest thing I've written so far. I also think it's terribly paced, but I'll leave that to you. I hope you like it anyway <3

~Fi 🐝

《Warnings》: ADA SLANDER. Girl is getting wrecked in this one. Ada's a bitch. Reader is absolutely furious, Leon is supportive but a lil bit useless, description of injuries, feminine rage, RC flashbacks.

《Word count》: 6.1k

Inspired by this post of mine <3

Reader's codename is 'Loon/Loony' after the bird!

Please don't copy my work. I put a lot of effort and heart into the things I write.

🗡°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°❤️‍🩹°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°🗡

Red. A color that held many a mystery, signifying an infinite amount of things and emotions. Every shade as different as the next. Ruby, crimson, maroon, burgundy.

Where others commonly thought of the symbol of love, a deep red rose, or perhaps the pale plush on the cheeks of newly confessed lovers and the sensuality of passionate nights, you saw different things.

Your relationship with the color red hadn't always been a complicated one, not until that fateful night. You wished you could go back where red was just that; red, a color, nothing more. Not something that had you anxious and alert.

You didn't see love, passion or deep devotion. What you saw where the horrors of human greed and pride. You saw the blood dripping from the gnarled jaws of the first infected you'd ever encountered at the gas station with Leon. You saw the red lights of broken down and abondend cop cars. You saw the red of dismembered police officers and civilians.

You saw the red of Kendo's Gun shop and the redness his daughter, Emma, held in her eyes. You saw the red of lieutenant Branagh's bloody finger prints in officer Elliot's notebook. And you couldn't get all the other shades out of your head- especially not the red of her dress, or the red dripping from his shoulder because he took a bullet for her.

It only ever haunted you, the tearing lump of flesh that once was Dr. Birkin, or the blaring red lights deep inside the NEST.

It wouldn't leave your mind. It was filled with red, overflowing with its common link to anger. The hot, excruciating fury that boiled in your veins when the facade of the woman in red broke into two, revealing what she really was.

You thought, as you watched her fall and saw the ruby shade being enveloped by unforgiving black, that you could move on.

But you never did. You never could. The betrayal and anger were still deeply rooted in your veins. But not only for what she did to you, but what she did to him. How she used and abused his kindness, loyalty, and care for her gain, pretending to care only to repay the both of you like this after you'd saved her.

But you weren't alone, fighting to stay afloat in the red sea that was trying to drown you. You changed your approach.

Instead of all the blood and anger you saw in red, you tried seeing Claire's jacket. Or the woven, red hair band Sherry wore. As well as the redness in Leon's cheeks after all the running and fighting.

You tried seeing the dark, dull shade that soaked his bandage, signifying that it was over. You were safe, he was safe, Claire and Sherry were safe. And it worked.

You saw the shiny crimson of Claire's bike, the leathery red of a matching jacket that Sherry desperately wanted, and the beautiful shade of the single rose that Leon gifted you on your first date.

You even saw the pale red reflections of the lovebites that littered your skin from time to time, courtesy of Leon.

The red of that nights horrors slipped to the back of your mind, just like the red of the Umbrella logo and the red cross that sat exactly where Raccoon City once was, standing out against the pale paper of a map.

All was well as love and passion took the reigns on the red in your mind, but if course things don't stay well forever.

And your peace was broken when you caught a faint glimpse of red from the corner of your eye.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

This place wouldn't have been your choice of a vacation destination, but lord knows the government doesn't give a shit about that.

The village was rundown, muddy, and most importantly, full of walking corpses.

Unbeknownst to you, of course.

The horrors had started ever since you and Leon stepped out of that god forsaken car, the red of blood, innocent blood, forcing its way into your mind once again.

You tightly gripped the red ammo box you'd just picked up from the ground after Leon had kicked a wooden crate into splinters.

"Hey, hey, easy! You're shins aren't made of steel." You scolded the blonde agent on your left, who only responded with a very playful eye roll while checking the mag of his gun.

"Don't you worry about my bones, Loony." He chuckled, patting your shoulder.

"Don't call me that! S'not my fault you got the cooler codename." You grumbled. "And for your information, Loons are excellent swimmers!"

"You see any water?" He shot back with a grin which earned him a huff from you.

Your gaze turned back to the pale red box in your hand, slight indents forming where your fingers were as you subconsciously squeezed it a little too hard.

The edges were worn and the colors were dull, but the bullets inside clinked together like the shuddering melody that haunted you ever since Raccoon City.

Leon noticed your dazed stare at the small container, they way your brows were scrunched together and the structure of the paper box crumbling under the hard grip of your hand.

"Hey, you okay?" He asked softly, firmly placing one of his hands on your shoulder. Your head snapped towards him, his gentle words pulling you from your trance.

"Hm? Oh, yeah, yeah, I'm fine." You smiled awkwardly, shoving the box into your pocket.

"Alright. Let's see if the locals know something." He replied firmly. The air he had about him told you he hadn't completely believed your answer and that he would keep an eye on you.

The last thing he needed was you getting in your head. He needed your full support and attention in order to pull this off.

You were about to respond when a small zip sound made you whip your head in its direction.

"Did you hear that?" You fully turned to face the way the sound came from and narrowed your eyes to see whether whatever caused that noise was in your sight.

"Hear what?" Leon asked puzzled.

"It sounded like a... a zipline or something." You glanced at Leon, who still had his brows furrowed in confusion.

"Never mind." You muttered, walking past him towards the village entrance.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

The locals did know something. They knew that they definitely did not like the two of you and that there would be nothing more satisfying than watching you burn.

The haunting screams of one of the Spanish Police officers echoed off the broken and shitty houses as he went up in flames.

"Jesus Christ.." Leon breathed out, reaching for his gun.

"This is not gonna be pretty." You mumbled, aiming for one of the villagers, who had noticed you by now and were storming in your direction, and pulled the trigger.

The bullet hit him right between the eyes with a splat sound and your eyes widened when he only held his head before continuing his way, lit torch in hand.

"What the fuck..."

Leon looked just as shocked as you, but didn't hesitate to feed the fucker four bullets to his forehead until he finally toppled over.

"Something's not right." You stated quietly, a crease between your eyebrows.

"We'll talk later." He said firmly, aiming his weapon again. Giving him a sharp nod, you moved in and took out any local that blocked your way.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

You had underestimated the number of people that lived here. You were completely surrounded, standing in the Plaza of the village, careful not to slip on the muddy ground. Leon's back was firmly pressed against yours as you tried your hardest to fight off the horde.

The once quiet town was now filled with the piercing sounds of fired shots, the unholy screams and screeches from the townspeople and the heavy thud of bodies falling into puddles.

Your elbows were locked as you mercilessly took down local after local, only stopping to quickly reload your pistol. While reloading, you noticed the smallest flash of bright red flitting over the terracotta roof tops.

You froze and, stupidly, lowered your guard as your eyes were frantically searching for whatever that was. The fact that it was red made your blood solidify in your veins and your breath to get caught in your throat. It was as if time around you slowed down, the images of that night seeping into every crevice of your mind. The blood, Leon's blood, the lights, Kendo, and his daughter, Dr. Birkin and her. It all hit you again like a truck that was carelessly speeding down the road.

But you had no time to get lost in those horrific images swirling in your head or to slip into a panic attack because you were tackled onto the dirty ground, wrinkled hands wrapping around your throat, squeezing tight.

You were struggling for air, desperately clawing at the discolored arms that quite literally held your life in their hands. An old woman had jumped on top of you, screaming phrases you couldn't understand in your face as her spittle landed on your cheeks.

Her face was sunken in, more than it should at her age, and the veins around her eyes seemed almost black. And in her eyes there was only rage, a burning fire just like the one they'd lit before.

You were thrashing your legs, anything to get her off and her hands away from your neck. You could feel yourself getting lightheaded, your heart pouding in your ears. Leon came to your rescue quickly, harshly ripping the woman away from you and shooting her in the head twice with no hesitation.

"Loony, are you alright?" Leon asked firmly, keeping the few remaining residents at bay.

"Yeah, I... don't worry about me.." You heaved, soothing the red mark on your neck. You were coughing and panting, trying to steady yourself. Leon had given you a very sharp look that said I'll take care of this. and you weren't about to argue with him. There was no point in wasting precious ammo with how shaky and unreliable your hands were at the moment.

You dragged yourself behind a small fence and took deep breaths, pressing the heel of your palm into your temple.

Suddenly, the loud sound of the church bell bounced off the buildings and everything went eerily quiet. The once furious and aggressive villagers now slowly made their way to the church, mumbling soft illegible words and phrases.

They payed no mind to Leon as they brushed past him like nothing happened and he didn't exist. The door fell shut with a heavy sound after all the remaining people had entered. Leon turned in confusion.

"Where's everyone going? Bingo?" He huffed, his voice being the only thing heard, besides the soft crackling of the fire at the stake, and the quiet rustle of leaves as a soft breeze passed through them.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

"What the hell happened back there?" It was clear Leon wanted an answer for your little freeze up. He knew you, and you would never let someone, or rather something, get that close to you.

"I... just got distracted." You mumbled, keeping your eyes on the sweet cow you were currently petting. Leon had gone looking for more supplies in the empty houses and had spoken to Hunnigan about Baby Eagle's whereabouts while you stumbled upon the gentle creature chewing on some grass in one of the open stables.

You needed to get your head back on right, and scratching the cattle helped clear the fog over your mind. It mooed softly and licked at your hand and you could feel the roughness of its pink tongue against your palm. Leon sighed and tipped his head forward.

"We can't afford distractions, Loony. You know that."

"I know. I just... have a really bad feeling about this. It's like... we're being watched. And I saw something red moving across the rooftops and I.. got inside my head. It won't happen again." You kept your voice small and quiet, looking down to hide the faint spark of shame in your eyes.

You wouldn't fuck this up. You couldn't fuck this up. You needed to pull yourself together and get back to the task at hand.

"Good." Leon said softly, placing his hand on your shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

He wished he could do more. He wished he could take you into his arms and kiss your forehead. He knew how odd and complicated your thoughts on the color red were. You'd told him all about it, and he held you through it all, as the two of you relived that nights events in your own minds.

But you'd set a strict rule. Absolutely no display of affection during work. The risk of the enemy finding out was too high, and they would surely use that newfound information to their advantage.

It wasn't easy being in a relationship and then working together like this, but you made it work. You made it work purely because you worked. You matched Leon perfectly, and he matched you.

You were a dream team to the government, which is why they kept you close. And now you would use your skills as a team and save Ashley.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Ending up in this Castle had not been part of your plan. It was an impressive building, no doubt, but the light marble walls and beautiful greenery that was littered with colorful little

blooms painted a wrong picture of its owner. The... host, shall we call him, hadn't given you one second to breathe. You were running and fighting, and running and fighting, and occasionally taking a hit or two to shield Ashley from as much harm as you could. It was all so... familiar. It felt like just how you tried to shield and protect Sherry from Chief Irons.

It made your head cloudy with bad memories. The constant separation from Ashley reminded you of how you somehow always caught up in the middle. You'd started out in the Police station with Leon after the crash but ended up in the orphanage with Claire, trying to rescue Sherry.

Well, that's not quite true, actually. Claire needed your help, so you left Leon... with her.

She seemed trustworthy enough with those big three letters plastered next to her name. What a fucking mistake that was.

There hasn't been a single day where you don't regret your decision. You felt so betrayed, and you still do. You were used just as much as Leon, putting your trust into someone who would've left you to die.

The memories rippled in Leon's blood, staring you right in the face, as you took a look at his injured hand. Whatever was inside of you had gotten inside of Ashley's mind, causing her to attack Leon with a knife. It sliced open his palm as he tried to stop the swing.

You were currently using some first aid spray on the wound before wrapping it on a piece of cloth you'd cut off from the many curtains around the Castle. Leon, as always, insisted he was fine and you needn't fret over him, but you were truly fucked if he couldn't hold his guns correctly.

You shut him down and began lecturing him on how stupid it was. And he listened, like he always did, staring at you with a smile on his face. He glanced past you, eyes falling on the gate that had separated Ashley from the both of you, and his smile was replaced with a small frown.

Ashley looked so terrified, and it broke your heart. She didn't deserve any of this, being ripped from her life and then having to fight for it all the same. You had to find her before Ramon did.

"Can you fit that under your glove?" You asked softly, tying a tight knot on the makeshift bandage around Leon's hand.

"Uh, yeah. Should work." Leon mumbled, squeezing his hand in a fist multiple times to test the flexibility of the wrap before putting his glove back on.

"Alright," he groaned as he got up from the edge of the stoke fountain he'd been sitting on,

"Let's get our Baby Eagle back." He held out his good hand to you, which you took, and he pulled you off the ground.

"Are you sure your hand's okay?" You questioned with a crease of concern between your brows when you saw him wince as he grabbed his gun. He only smiled at you softly and gently brushed his calloused thumb over your cheekbone.

"I'm okay. I promise."

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

The courtyard was really quite beautiful. The high and dense walls of green gave it a somewhat mysterious and mystical feel. There were plenty of old and mossy stone statues littered around the place, with a few fountains here and there. If it hadn't been under these circumstances, you might've called your stay here enjoyable.

It didn't matter now as you slipped from the literal maze that was the courtyard, into an open stone hallway right by its side. The gate was locked, so your only chance at finding Baby Eagle was to go around, which meant through the dark walls of the Castle. You weren't thrilled, but it was your only option.

There were two doors in the hallway; one to your right, and one straight ahead, at the end of the corridor.

"You go right, I'll take the one straight." Leon said, motioning to the wooden door in front of him.

"Okay." You nodded, checking the mag of your gun. There was no telling what else would hide in the Castle. Leon reached out to the door handle, but you interrupted him, making him stop in his tracks.

"Leon?"

"Yeah?"

"Be careful. I saw some snakes around here."

He gave you a firm nod and proceeded, as did you, carefully entering the room.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Leon slowly pushed the door open, having his gun at the ready if anything decided to jump him. When he couldn't detect any immediate threats, he stepped inside fully and looked around.

The room was lit up in a warm hue from the various candles burning, their wax dripping down the metal candle holders.

There were many wooden cabinets pushed against the walls, filled with all sorts of shiny junk. An open window at the back if the room caught his eye, and he carefully moved closer as the hinges creaked.

"You can stop right there, Leon." A voice called from behind him, accompanied by the cocking of a gun and the clacking sound of high heels against the old wooden floors.

"Wouldn't make me use this, would you?" He'd know that voice anywhere. It haunted his dreams, whispering sweet lies and betrayals in his ear, only to fade away when it's owner fell to their death.

He clenched his jaw and chuckled bitterly, letting his gun fall to the floor with a thud.

"Well, after six years, that is one hell of a greeting... Ada."

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

The room was uneventful. It was mostly bare, only a big table in the middle filling the space, littered with scrap pieces of paper and metal parts.

There were no windows, only a couple of candles to light your path. You searched around nonetheless, and found a small pot with a green herb hidden in the corner.

You hummed at your find and plucked the stems, storing them in your pockets so you could grind up the leaves later and combine them with a rare yellow herb Leon had found in the courtyard.

You rummaged through the papers on the table, just in case, but were pulled from your task when you picked up muffled voices coming from Leon's direction. Alarm bells went off in your head, alongside utter confusion.

Who could he be talking to? You doubted the.. lovely.. gentlemen who had welcomed you had a knack for talking. It wasn't Ramón. It didn't sound nearly as pitchy and annoying for it to be him. There was no way it was Ashley..

what was going on? With furrowed brows and immense caution, you quickly walked down the stone hallway to the room Leon had chosen to investigate, finding its door ajar.

Your heart stopped when you heard what sounded like a gun hitting the floor. Next, there were sounds of struggle and soft grunts, same with a noise like a blade slicing through the air.

It felt like your feet were rooted in the ground, refusing to move. You had to pull yourself together. Leon was in potential danger.

You kicked open the door so hard that it smashed into the sturdy stone walls with a loud thud. When your eyes landed on the sight before you, your hands fell limp at your sides, your mouth slightly agape.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

Leon had his knife pressed against Ada's throat and she slightly shifted her head to look over her shoulder, straight at you. She made an amused sound before turning back to face Leon.

"You brought your little friend, too, I see." She said with a smirk. Her voice was so smooth, too smooth. All you wanted to do was put a scratch in it. Leon stared at you, and you stared at him, with the occasional glance to the woman who ruined your life.

You stepped further into the room, keeping your eyes on her while letting the heavy door fall into its lock.

The second you finally met her eye, every single emotion you felt that night, and all the six years after, came bubbling up all at once, almost choking you. Your eyes were burning, your jaw was clenched and your breathing became irregular. You circled around her until you stood right next to Leon.

"Why the fuck are you not dead?" The bite and disbelief in your voice was evident, you balled your hands into fists to keep the fury and sadness at bay.

"Ooooh, Ouch." Ada feigned hurt and smirked back at you. God, how badly you wanted to slap that stupid smirk off her face.

You took a breather, trying to sort the words in your head. You didn't know what you wanted to say first. Everything wanted to come out at once. All the pain, and the anger and the fear. All the deep hatred you held in your heart for her. You looked up at the ceiling and shook your head with a small scoff.

"I can't believe this... for six goddamn years I've been trying to move on and get over what happened, get over what you did. And just as I was starting to get a grip, you show up. Why? You couldn't just do your shitty job without bothering us? You just can't go quietly, can you, Ada?"

"What, you're still not over that?" She shifted on her feet and almost rolled her eyes. There was no remorse in her voice, no regret, nothing. Just annoyance for your inability to be over it.

"You're awfully confident for someone with a knife at her throat." Leon said harshly, earning him a glare from Ada.

"You... are you serious? You used me! You used Leon, preyed on our fear only to... to fuck everything up! Do you even have an ounce of an idea of what you did?" Your throat started closing up as the emotions ran amok in your chest, leaving you with a shaky voice and a burning in eyes.

"We were fighting for our lives, thinking we were the only survivors and then you came along with your fucking FBI badge and gave us hope. Do you even know how-" she cut you off with an amused scoff that turned into a scowl.

"Oh, please. I didn't give you hope. You gave yourself hope." Your face dropped slightly, which only lasted a second before an expression of unimaginable rage took over your features.

"You fucking-" Leon stopped you from surging at her with a firm hand on your shoulder, sheathing his knife, "he took a bullet for you! I twisted and contorted three times over for you because we thought you wanted to help! We- We had faith in you, and we trusted you." You had to hold back a sob as you recalled the painful memories of betrayal that still sat deep in the marrow of your bones.

The first few tears sprung from your lashline, leaving streaks of salt on your cheeks. You were so, so incredibly angry and hurt. Your nostrils flared as you exhaled sharply, cleching your fists.

"But now I see that I should've shot you between the eyes first chance I got." You said lowly, staring daggers at Ada.

"A feisty one, huh?" She smirked bitterly, "Keep your bitch under control, Leon."

"Say that again, Ada, and I swear to god-" Leon hissed as he pushed past you, towering over her in an attempt to intimidate her. She laughed, she fucking laughed, and tilted her head at him.

"What are you gonna do? You're too soft for your own good." She spat, the venom in her tone could burn through your flesh like acid. Something inside you snapped.

The thin, tethered line of patience that you'd been holding on ever since you stepped foot inside this room crumbled under the weight of your emotions.

You quickly pulled Leon's combat knife from its sheath and pressed it against Ada's neck, successfully backing her up into a corner until she hit the stone wall with a grunt.

"I would choose my next words very carefully. I'm not above slitting your throat and watching all the lies spill out." You warned lowly, your eyes darkening. You saw a flash of something in her eyes. You couldn't decipher it. She was impossible to read. Everything about her was fake.

She could get on her knees and beg for your forgiveness and you'd believe her. That's how dangerous she was, how unpredictable.

"That was you in the village, wasn't it? The red I saw flashing on the rooftops? The weird sound I heard? That was all fucking you, wasn't it?" You seethed, pressing the blade to her neck, almost slicing through the knit fabric of her dress.

"You are a pest of a human being, Ada." You continued angrily, letting everything spill out.

"We were willing to die for the cause, for you, just so you and that stupid sample could get out and prevent this from ever happening again. The fact that that means nothing to you shows how truly rotten you are. You're not a good person, Ada, and you never will be." You noticed a shift in her demeanor when you harshly spat the last sentence.

The corner of your mouth twitched upwards. You'd hit her where it hurt, apparently. A gentle hand on your shoulder made the harsh crease between your eyebrows soften.

"Loony, we have to get Ashley. We can't let Ramón get her." Leon said quietly, trying to tug you away from Ada by your arm.

With a sharp jerk of your shoulder, you shook him off of you, nicking her jaw with the edge of the knife in the process. Ada breathed heavily as she tried to keep the knife away from her neck. She looked past you, directly at Leon.

"Leave the girl. She's lost no matter what."

At the mention of Ashley and without thinking, you struck her across the face. She gasped in surprise, both at the impact and that you had the guts to slap her.

"You don't fucking get to decide who's lost!" You bellowed, trying to keep your hands steady with all the rage that was coursing through your veins.

"You better thank whatever God you believe in, because that's the only one standing between your neck and my knife." You threatened with a harsh stare that made Ada swallow.

"Loony-"

"If I catch you near Ashley you're dead meat, Wong." You said lowly before stepping away from her and pressing the knife back in Leon's hand.

With a last angry look you walked towards the door. You pulled it open, the hinges groaning under its weight. You looked back over your shoulder.

"Just know this... no amount of good deeds will ever undo what you've done. You're the one that's lost. Not Ashley."

You didn't wait for a reaction, or for Leon, you just needed to get away from her.

You headed towards the courtyard again and sat down near a fountain, watching the small stream of water drip from the stone vase.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

It was over. This absolute nightmare of a mission was over. You were exhausted and covered in... well, maybe you didn't want to know. You'd removed your Las Plagas parasite, and Saddler met his demise at the hands of Leon.

You could get Ashley back home and then barricade yourself in your shared apartment with Leon, waiting for the next shitty mission to come along.

It was an endless cycle of exhaustion and pain, but you were lying if you said it wasn't addictive.

You fell to your knees with heavy breaths, letting everything fall off your shoulders. You were so relieved you could cry. Your neck and shoulders hurt from tensing up, your back had been crushed into too many walls, and you'd been thrown against a barrel.

Holding your side in pain, you lifted your head up only to see Leon on the ground, reaching out for the amber. Your body sagged, the adrenaline fading away by the minute.

However, your head shot up when you heard what sounded like a metal clang of shoes. Ada came down from the sky, tucking her grapling gun back into its holster.

"Jesus christ- do you ever fucking go away?!" You yelled, more to yourself than her. She bent down and plucked the amber right from under Leon's nose. You heaved yourself up with a groan and grabbed one of the small knives you'd found along the way.

You aimed and threw it at her, you didn't care where it hit her, if it hit her at all, but if she didn't get the hint that you wanted her to fuck off now, all hope was lost.

The blade embedded itself in her thigh, making her cry out in pain and, in turn, dropping the amber.

You used all your remaining strength and threw yourself at the small glass container, grasping it tightly. Ada's eyes widened, still holding onto her injured thigh.

"W-What.. what are you doing?" She demanded through hisses and groans. Dragging yourself up with the support of one of the metal rails, you held up the amber in the light.

"Fuck you.. Fuck this stupid little stone.. Fuck whoever you're working for. I am done." You panted, throwing the amber as far as you could, watching as it disappeared into the deep, dark ocean.

"No!" Ada screamed, reaching out for the stone, "do you have any idea what you just did!?"

"I don't give a shit."

You limped over to her and bent down, meeting her at eye level. Pulling the knife from her thigh, you couldn't help but chuckle.

"This feels a little... familiar, wouldn't you say, Ada?"

You thought back to when a piece of metal had lodged itself into her leg back in the Umbrella lab. You'd found her by coincidence, lying on a pile of debris and rubble. If it hadn't been for you and Leon, she would've died in that hellhole. Not that you ever received a thank you.

"Go to hell." She spat in your face, holding her bleeding thigh.

"I'm already in hell." You mumbled bitterly, sinking down next to Leon, who had an expression on his face that you could only describe as awe. With a scowl on her face, she heaved herself up and limped towards the helicopter that had flown up.

Ada managed to get into the heli, with a little trouble, and smirked back at you.

"I'd offer you a ride, but... I think I'd rather watch you be blown to bits and pieces."

"If I ever see you again, I'll be your worst nightmare." You snapped at her, praying she'd just fuck off already.

She scoffed with a frown and signaled the pilot to take off.

"Have fun being mince meat."

You sighed and slacked against Leon once she was gone. Your head fell against his shoulder and you closed your eyes.

"We need to get out of here, the whole Island's gonna blow." Leon sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

"I know, just..." Your voice was shaky, trying to suppress the tears that would ultimately spill. You took a deep breath, blinking away the salty water droplets. You needed to be strong. You needed to get Ashley out of here.

You had plenty of time to break down when you were back at home. Leon noticed your fight to keep the tears away and wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly while pressing a kiss to your temple.

"You're okay. Ashley's okay. I'm okay." He cooed, gently rocking you.

"I love you. And I would love to spend the rest of my life with you, but we can only do that if we find a ride out of here. Now." Leon said as softly as he could. He wanted to comfort you, hold you, and kiss you, but the situation was urgent.

"You know I'm always prepared." You sniffled with a small grin, holding up a pair of keys for Leon to see.

"Where the hell did you get these?" Leon asked bewildered. You got off the ground with a groan and grinned.

"She's got some pretty shitty pockets." Leon followed suit with getting up with an amused smirk playing in his lips.

"You clever little thing."

You winked and tossed him the keys. He chuckled once he caught them and noticed the little bear Keychain that was attached to the keyring.

"Cute."

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

You were sitting on your couch, knees tucked under your body as you watched the TV. Your gaze was unfocused, and in reality, you weren't watching the TV at all.

You were thinking about everything that happened. About all the emotions that you didn't get out, all the things you hadn't managed to say.

You were inside your head all the time. Not being able to focus on anything without slipping away into that September night or those rainy days in Spain.

Leon noticed. Of course he did. And it broke his heart to see you like this, all dull and void of joy. But he knew that this would pass. He wouldn't allow you to get lost.

Which is why he held you that little bit tighter and whispered how much he loved you just that little bit more often.

You didn't notice Leon coming into the living room, jumping slightly when he slid down next to you on the couch and slung his arm over your shoulders, pulling you into his side.

"Look what came in the mail." He said softly, pressing a small decorative card into your hand. You looked him with furrowed brows but he gave you an encouraging nod and pressed a kiss to your temple.

There was a big, red 18 on the front, surrounded by small hearts. You turned the card over and began reading the inscription. Your eyes got brighter with every line you read, and a smile tugged on your lips.

"How sweet of her. Sherry invited us to her 18th birthday party." You smiled softly, looking at Leon. He hummed and pulled tighter against him.

"She called earlier when you were taking a nap. She's really excited to see you again, you know." He replied softly. You chuckled.

"Yeah, me too. It's been forever. God, I can't believe she's turning 18 already." You sighed.

"Time flies, huh?" Leon grinned.

"It sure does." You giggled, snuggling closer to Leon.

"Hey, is Claire still planning to take Sherry for her first ride on her bike for her birthday?" You asked.

"Hell yeah, she is. She's got her Harley all polished up for the big day." He smirked. You laughed and let your head fall back against Leon's shoulder. He pulled you into his lap, your back pressed against his chest, and started littering soft kisses down the side of your face.

"Lee! What are you doing!" You giggled, trying to get away from his wet kisses. He held you tightly, not letting you escape his grasp.

"Jus' wanna see you smile, baby." He mumbled against your skin. With a mischievous smile, you let yourself fall onto the length of the sofa, dragging Leon on top of you.

You placed a sweet kiss on his lips, brushing some of his blonde locks out of his face.

"I love you."

"I love you too, sweetheart." Leon whispered, looking at you with a smile, blushed cheeks and slightly red lips.

Maybe the color red wasn't so bad, after all.

🗡°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°❤️‍🩹°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°🗡

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precious-little-scoundrel · 5 months

Text

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

Fully co-authored with: @ab4eva 🤍

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

Date: 1962, Summertime

Word Count: 9k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cat’sup?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Holy shi-“

“Uhem!”

“Somebody put it out!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds like it.” Jesse sides with mama.

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

It’s that simple for the twin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Elaine!” Elvis hisses at her indiscreet lesson.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For what, E?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hope y’all enjoyed!

If you’d like to be tagged in this particular series please drop a note below. Xoxo 💋

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#elvis fanfiction #elvis presley #elvis fanfic #elvis imagine #elvis #fic #elvis presley x reader #elvis and me #elvis presley fic #welcome home elvis #elvis presley fan fic #elvis fans

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marlynnofmany · 2 months

Text

Things to Do on Ice

I adjusted the heat shawl against my neck, tugging my collar over it to keep out the chill breeze. Heatseekers sure knew what they were doing when it came to warming devices. A regular scarf had nothing on this. It was almost enough to let me forget the snowy temperatures on this alien planet.

Not that I could fully forget, with the snow drifting down into the streets anywhere there wasn't a storefront with a heat-field umbrella. The city-goers were from a range of species, and anyone who didn't have heavy fur was bundled up against the cold in some way.

Even Zhee, who objected to coats on the grounds that they covered up his glorious purple exoskeleton, was sporting a range of scarves and bracelets that radiated heat. It seemed like an inefficient way to keep warm to me, but that was his business.

Speaking of business, there were hours left before our ship was due to leave, and everyone was taking the chance to see the sights. Zhee and I had volunteered to scout out the tourism hub. Several others would be joining us shortly.

“Is that the sports arena?” I asked when a wide building loomed ahead.

“Yes.” Zhee pointed out a sign with his pincher arm. I'd missed it because of all the burly, yeti-like locals milling around in front of it. “One building, many sports, all open to anyone.”

I was more than a little curious to see what sort of sports were played here. “Let's take a look! Paint and Eggskin will probably come here first anyway; it's bound to be warmer in there.”

“A valid point,” Zhee agreed, stepping quickly. His clicky bug feet had the most adorable little booties on, for all the world like something a toddler would wear to keep from slipping on the kitchen floor. The sparkly thread woven through the rim probably meant they were high fashion where Mesmers were concerned. I hoped they were waterproof.

I tromped through the slush in my normal human boots, and soon enough we entered the arena doorway to a much more comfortable temperature. I found the control tab for the heat shawl and turned it off, though I left it draped under my shirt.

Zhee deactivated several bracelets. “A respectable range of sports,” he observed.

I scanned the signs. “I don’t recognize the names of any of these.”

“The viewing areas are this way,” Zhee said, padding off down the main hallway. “Perhaps you will recognize one if you see it in action.”

Surprisingly enough, I did.

“Is that hockey?” I asked a moment later, staring through the big window at the ice rink where two mixed teams of local yetis and offworld Smashers careened around in chase of something small. The full-body thumps vibrated through the floor.

“They’re calling it ‘puck chase,’ Zhee said, reading a sign.

“That’s amazing. We have this exact sport where I’m from.” I looked for differences. The puck looked bigger and heavier, and the sticks were a different shape. Judging by the amount of violence going on, the rules were probably different too. But it was very much the same on the surface, with goalies in front of nets and everything. “I suppose it’s an obvious sort of game to think up when there’s a lot of ice around, but still. I know a few people who would have loved to see this.”

Zhee sniffed. “It’s a bit pedestrian.”

“I suppose,” I said with a smile. “Not your style?”

“I’ve never been one for the more feminine sports,” Zhee said with a flick of his antennae.

“Feminine?” I asked.

He pointed with a pincher arm, keeping it carefully folded. “All this ‘protect the nest; steal the enemy’s egg’ nonsense.”

I blinked. “I guess that’s one way to think of it.”

“Judging by that sign though, there promises to be something more masculine down this way,” Zhee said. He headed off down the hallway.

I hurried to follow. The sign in question had another name I didn’t recognize, though I could guess. I dodged around a trio of yetis — which smelled like cinnamon and herbal tea, with none of the wet-dog scent I’d been subconsciously expecting. I reminded myself not to make unflattering assumptions, and caught up with Zhee just as he turned the corner.

“There we are!” he said in satisfaction. “Now that’s a sport. Even Trrili would have to appreciate this one.”

Figure skating. Aliens of a variety of body types and clothing styles glided around on the ice, leaping and spinning and generally being as flashy as they could. Somebody with wings was even doing a high-speed series of flips that were almost certainly a mating dance. Every skater moved past the others with elegance and grace, a far cry from the violence in the other room.

“I’ll be here for a while,” said Zhee’s voice, already farther away.

I turned to see him gliding toward the entrance to the arena, reactivating his heat bracelets and pulling a currency card from a belt pouch. A vending machine just inside the door looked like it sold force-field ice skates to fit any foot.

“All right, I’ll keep an eye out for the others,” I called after him, though I doubt he was listening. He disappeared through the door in a gust of cold air.

I looked around at the passersby, some of whom were watching the action with recording devices. I quietly got out my phone. I had a suspicion that seeing a praying-mantis-shaped alien strut his stuff in the manly art of ice dancing was about to be very memorable.

I was right.

~~~

Shamelessly inspired by this post.

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come! And I am currently drafting a sequel!

#my writing #humans are weird #and so are the aliens #hfy #haso #eiad #humans are space orcs #science fiction #writeblr #writblr #culture clash #sports #gender #in spaaace

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niki-phoria · 1 year

Note

I have a leon request cuz re2 leon is just the cutest!

It’s set after the events in re2. reader is leon’s best friend, they got separated while fighting mr x and ended up in a coma. he managed to escape nest and survived (thanks to ada, but he doesn’t know that).

a month after that, he wakes up and finds leon in the room, waiting for him. leon cries, thinking that he lost him and accidentally confesses to him. reader feels the same way as him and need i say more?

- 🕊️

pairing: leon x male!reader (no pronouns used) genre: fluff/comfort word count: 941

includes: re2 leon, reader getting hurt, it's implied that ada saves him, probably inaccurate descriptions of a coma lol

a/n: thank you for requesting !! i love this idea, i hope you like it :))

requests open !! read my rules first

“y/n!” leon’s scream mixes into the chaos of everything else around you. you wince as the giant man standing before you effortlessly throws you to the side. your body slams into a pile of nearby debris; concrete digs into your back and shoulders at uncomfortable angles. you crawl onto your knees, violently coughing in an attempt to catch your breath. your lungs burn with each shallow breath.

suddenly it feels like every part of your body suddenly gives out at once. you collapse onto the ground, too exhausted to move. through blurry vision, you can just barely make out a red figure approaching you before it all goes dark.

leon curses under his breath as he dodges yet another attack. he peeks over from behind another pile of debris as he looks for you. his breath hitches in his throat when he can’t find you. a pool of blood stains the concrete where you used to be laying. he squeezes his eyes shut as if you’ll reappear before swallowing his fear and returning his attention to the man.

the ground around leon crumbles beneath his feet. he jumps across to steadier ground before an open container slides across the ground towards him. inside is a rocket launcher neatly tucked between two thick pieces of black styrofoam.

leon grunts as he leans down to grab it, lifting the gun up onto his shoulder. the weight feels heavy as it sits on his arm. he aims it at the apathetic giant before firing once into its torso before raising his hands up to block the aftershocks of the explosion. thankfully, the giant’s legs lay on the ground - finally dead.

he scrambles back up to his feet, pushing through the smoke and debris in search of you. “please be okay,” leon continuously whispers to himself as he desperately crawls over concrete and metal.

a soft gasp escapes him when he finds you. your unconscious body lays carefully placed far away from the fighting. a bandage has been tightly wrapped around a cut on your arm. “christ, y/n,” he whispers, kneeling down beside you. he brushes his fingers against your neck, pressing down until he finds your pulse. your heartbeat feels steady despite everything you’ve been through. he carefully brushes a few stray stands of hair out of your eyes before dropping his hand against your cheek to wipe dirt away from the skin. “don’t worry. i’ll get you out of here.” leon uses one hand to support your head before snaking the other underneath your legs to lift you up bridal style before running away from the remains of umbrella’s lab in search of help.

a slow, rhythmic beeping from beside your ears greets you when you slowly begin to come back into reality. your eyes slowly flutter open as more of your senses come back. your surroundings smell overwhelmingly like bleach. it’s quiet - too quiet. the beeping monitors, the smell, and the quiet: they’re all the markings of a hospital.

you groan, squinting up at the ceiling above you. you startle when the door creaks open before footsteps echo across the tile floor. they pause as you shift to look over at him. “leon?” you whisper. your voice is raspy. your throat feels scratchy as you force the words out.

“y/n,” he gasps. he all but runs to your side, leaning to look down at you. he reaches up to brush his fingers against your cheek once again, carefully checking you over. tears well in his eyes as they stare into yours before he leans down to pull you into a hug. “god, i missed you so much.”

“i missed you too,” you chuckle, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as much as you can. “what happened?”

leon sniffles as he pulls away, sitting down on one of the nearby chairs. “you took a bad hit after umbrella’s lab exploded,” he sighs. he reaches over to grab your hand, intertwining your fingers together. “i found you after i killed that… thing and i brought you here. how are you feeling?”

“tired,” you let out a dry chuckle, leaning back against the stiff pillow. “my body hurts.”

“yeah, a coma will do that to you,” leon replies.

despite his sarcastic response, the tears welling in his eyes slowly begin to roll down his cheeks. you furrow your eyebrows slightly as you reach up to cup his cheek, brushing your thumb against the skin to wipe them away as soon as they fall. “hey,” you whisper. “what’s wrong?”

“it’s nothing,” he whispers, shaking his head.

“leon…”

he sighs. “i just… i thought i lost you, y/n. i thought i lost you and i didn’t know how to handle it. i don’t know how to handle it.”

“leon,” you whisper.

“no, just listen,” he takes a shaky breath, wiping away a few stray tears before turning back to you. “you got hurt. i couldn’t protect you. i love you so much and i couldn’t save you!”

“leon!” you lean up as much as you can to pull him down into a kiss. he freezes for a second when your lips meet before he slowly relaxes. his hand reaches up to cup your cheek once again, holding your face in place as he kisses you back.

you softly smile at him when you eventually pull away. “what-”

“it’s my turn to talk,” you interrupt. “it wasn’t your fault. you do protect me. and i love you too.” you chuckle when leon’s face flushes a light pink. he smiles as you pull him back into another kiss. and then another. and another. and another.

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doctorgerth · 1 year

Text

a/n: This one was so much fun to write!! Mihawk is always daunting to write for at first, but I always end up having fun and am usually pretty happy with the results when it comes to him. Want to know if Mihawk gets a smooch? Read on to find out! 🥰

pairing: Mihawk x GN!Reader

word count: 1.4k

candy heart prompt: True Love - Something on their/your lips

MIHAWK + TRUE LOVE

It was the first beautiful day Kuraigana had experienced in quite some time.

The thick fog that perpetually decorated the war-torn land was lifted, and the clouds above were broken enough to allow rays of warm, unfiltered sunshine illuminate the hidden beauty of the gloomy island.The lush greenery and produce the three of you had worked so hard to maintain practically sang in the light of the sun. Leaves glistened with dew, some reaching toward the rare blessing of light as if to grab it and hold onto it. It was a perfect day for farming.

“It’s such a beautiful day,” you sighed happily, stretching your arms out above you. Mihawk grinned from beside you, but you were too busy basking in the comforting warmth to notice.

“It is rather…bright,” Perona stated as she gripped her umbrella tighter.

Mihawk thought quietly to himself, determining that Perona’s discomfort might work to his advantage for once, “Perona, how about you go back to the castle and prepare some snacks. The weather is nice, maybe we can have a picnic.” He felt his heart squeeze in his chest when you smiled widely in his direction, your head nodding enthusiastically.

“Don’t order me around!” She huffed, though a reprieve from the too-bright sun sounded ideal. She turned the other direction and floated towards the castle.

“Oh, and don’t forget to pack something for the humandrills!” you called out to her.

“What am I, everyone’s servant?” She stomped her foot in annoyance and puffed out her cheeks, “I’m too cute to be bossed around like this…”

When Perona was out of sight, you laughed to yourself, “She’s particularly moody today.”

Mihawk hummed beside you as he dropped some seeds into the earth, “And it’s only going to get worse.” He used a hand shovel to gently pat the dirt back over the seeds.

You peered over at him, “What do you mean?”

He laid the shovel down beside him and wiped his gloves along his dirt-stained pants. Retrieving a folded up newspaper page from his back pocket, he handed it over to you. Your eyes scanned the paper, the bold title Gecko Moria Alive! caught your eyes instantly. It was a strange sensation. You had no ties to Moria aside from his pink-haired subordinate, but still, for Perona’s sake, you felt warm tears well up in your eyes.

“Oh, Mihawk, she’s going to be so happy,” you said in a hushed whisper, though Perona was hardly in earshot, “And also really angry that you haven’t told her sooner. This newspaper is from three days ago.”

He chuckled, “I know.”

You felt a pang in your chest, “I suppose that’s another chick leaving the nest.” You were still recovering from Zoro’s departure and now Perona was soon to follow. You’d grown quite accustomed to your family you shared in the last two years. Though two years wasn’t a very long time comparatively, it felt like it’s always been the four of you.

“It’s for the best,” he replied, “Danger is coming.”

You stiffened, “You don’t mean…?”

“I believe the Reverie attendants are going to vote in favor of the abolishment of the Warlords. That means Marines will be surrounding this place very soon,” he sighed and closed his eyes. “I don’t want Perona to get in harm's way for something that doesn’t involve her.”

You smiled in his direction, “You’re a kind man, Dracule Mihawk.” The tightness in your chest was easily replaced with gentle thumping. If anyone else were to refer to him as kind, he’d scoff in their direction. Hearing it from you, he felt a familiar heat creep up his neck.

Much like Zoro and Perona, Mihawk just ended up being stuck with you a few years ago. He warily offered his hospitality, but miraculously, it didn’t take long for Mihawk to warm up to you. When you proved yourself to him, you became the unofficial first mate to his unofficial crew. Though, with your time together on Kuraigana, you hardly acted as Captain and Crewmate. You tended the land together, sought peace with the humandrills together, and lived your day to day lives in the castle of Kuraigana together. Waking, working, and wasting the days away together. You weren’t sure what you were to Mihawk, but it definitely felt different than a mere subordinate.

“I suppose it’ll just be us again, then.” The thought of it going back to just the two of you simultaneously excited and saddened you. Mihawk looked over to you. He didn’t utter a single word, just stared. Though you’d assumed you’d be used to the intensity of his hawk-like eyes, they still had a way of making you feel embarrassingly shy. You absentmindedly wiped at the sweat forming on your upper lip. The sun was beginning to burn.

Just the two of you. Mihawk always loved the sound of that. Though he’d enjoyed his time training Zoro and cooking with Perona, he often thought fondly of when it was just the two of you. Why then did it make him so nervous to return to that? The dab of soil on your upper lip caught his attention and stole his thoughts.

You had mistaken his silent staring as a denial to your statement, “Unless you intend to send me away with Perona?” Your throat suddenly constricted. Surely he didn’t mean that. “Mihawk, I know things are about to get intense, but I promise I can protect myself and will help you with whatever you need. Just don’t…”

You stopped your sentence when Mihawk shifted beside you to turn and face you. His right hand reached up to your face and you waited with bated breath as you were unable to process what was happening. Mihawk’s never touched you like that before. You gasped when his finger swiped across your upper lip. Holy shit, he was going to kiss you. You instinctively closed your eyes and sighed against his finger, awaiting his lips to meet yours. A cool, empty breeze brushed against them instead.

“I’m sorry. You had dirt on your lip,” he said simply.

How embarrassing. You felt unbelievably hot under the small pockets of sunshine now, “Right, of course. Thank you.”

You wanted to leave his hold, leave the garden, leave the whole entire island, but Mihawk held you firmly; his left hand mirroring his right as they both caressed your face gently, “I’m not going to send you away, (Y/N). I want you by my side.” His face lowered to yours, noses brushing. The words he spoke stole your breath from your parted lips, “Stay with me as long as you wish.”

“Mihawk…” you managed to huff out. His name on your lips, so unfamiliar in this low tone — he could drink it right up. How long has he been holding himself back from falling completely into you?

“Say it, please,” he murmured. The movement of his lips caused them to bump against yours. A tease of a kiss, “Say you’ll stay with me.”

“Mihawk,” you whimpered once more. You weren’t sure you’d be able to say anything else. Not when his intoxicating warmth and tender embrace was robbing you of air. But, you wanted him to know how you felt. How you’ve always felt since joining his side, “I want to be with you forever.”

Your confession was the gravitational pull to at last close the distance between the two of you. His lips slotted against yours with promise, a silent oath to stay with you and protect you for however long you’d want him to. Your skin no longer burned, instead kissed by sunlight as his lips rained down on you, moving with yours as if he’s planned this moment out for years. In truth, he wished he’d done so much sooner.

You pulled away for air, but Mihawk wouldn’t, couldn’t stop. His lips tickled against your tender pulse line as he continued his kisses along your neck, pulling you tightly into him by your waist. He muttered confessions in-between kisses. How long he’s wanted you. How long he’s loved you. How long he’ll continue to want you. How long he’ll continue to love you. Forever, forever, forever. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him back up to your aching lips to let him know you reciprocated his devotion. Years of unchecked desire was evident in the urgency of your shared kisses, spilling forth like an endless fountain as you lost all sense of time against each other’s lips. Nothing would hold either of you back now.

Perona rounded a corner and caught sight of the two of you embracing each other. She silently gagged, but decided to leave the both of you to your moment. The sun was a little too bright for her anyhow. As she turned and floated away, a smile stretched along her face. She always thought the two of you would be cute together.

a/n: Hate to see him go, but love to see him kissed 💋 We unfortunately say goodbye to Mihawk for this event, but I have a feeling we’ll see him around in the future. 🤭 Thanks for reading!!

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