#Can you tell I'm fed up with the potatoes?

[lookingformoondrop]

could i request a boyfriend!andrew graves x reader headcannons or scenarios? i LOVE TCOAAL🫶🫶

Boyfriend! Andrew Graves x Reader - Headcanons

TW: Andy has a foul mouth, reader gets groped, Andy is a little possessive, a tiny bit of violence (-is always the answer)

♥︎Notes: I'm kind of an idiot so if you notice something is spelled incorrectly, feel free to send me a dm so i can fix it (totally not at all referring to my first Yandere!Andy x Reader post where I spelled dark as darmfk ;-;). Also this is kind of short because so many people requested for Andy x Reader, so I didn't want to pull out all the stops. I hope this meets your expectations <3.♥︎

The first thing you gotta to know about dating Andy, is that he's very touch starved.

I can just headcanon that due to his aloof personality and very broody behavior, he doesn't get many hugs...

So when you enter his life, best believe that Andy shows you this completely different side of him!

I'm talking.... Cuddling in the mornings till the point where you're almost late for work because he refuses to let you go.

I'm talking.... Andy being able to sense when you're about to go into the shower. His spidey-senses tingles, and the moment you're about to hop in, he's right there already getting his hair wet.

I'm talking.... Trapping you with his kisses when you're making food, definitely not noticing that he's causing you to burn dinner.

And no amount of protest can deter this man either.

Speaking of making food... Andrew is the master-chef of the house!

Now he's no Gorden Ramsey (as he likes to tell you whenever he makes you a sandwich), but everyone knows that one bite of his food is enough to make a sailor come back to the land.

So it's very nifty when you're sick and at home, in need to have someone take care of you.

The first time you ever got sick was when you and Andy were still living separately.

It was a Friday night, and it was supposed to be your 1-year anniversary with Andy. Unfortunately, due to some unhygienic biotch at the office, you caught a cold and had to cancel.

At first Andy didn't respond, instead leaving you on read. You felt bad, figuring that he was mad at you for canceling.

But lo' and behold, exactly 10 minutes later, that was a frantic sound of keys jiggling into the your front door.

You had gotten up from your couch-potato position to see the person who wanted to rush into your home so badly, when it occurred to you;

Andrew is the only one with another set of keys...

And with that realization, Andy burst through the door with a pharmacy store bag in one hand, and a grocery store bag in another.

In an instant, Andy made you take a disgusting amount of cold medicine, and blessed your cold home with the warmth and smell of spices and herbs (likely all from the soup).

When the food was ready, he sat you up with a pillow and hand-fed you soup for the rest of the night. You felt so bad for ruining your anniversary, but everytime you tried to apologize for it, Andrew would stuff your mouth with more soup and would say;

"I don't care about that romance and anniversary shit. We don't need to go to a fancy restaurant or an expensive place just to feel like we're honoring an important date. That date is important because it is our date. We don't need to one-up that memorable time just to remind everyone of how special it is... Y/N, you're crying into the soup."

Needless to say, you cried.

But Andrew doesn't just take care of you...You best believe he also protects.

Well, sorta.

You could be in a grocery store, at a Boba shop, in the mall, getting new shoes, it wouldn't matter, Andrew would always have his hand on your waist.

Be it because he saw someone look at you, doesn't matter who or how old they are, he'll always wrap his arms around you and whisper ever so softly, "You're mine..."

It has definitely given you some weird looks over the years, but you know he means well.

And if anyone ever actually looks at you funny? It's over for them.

Andrew will make it VERY clear that you're not to be messed with.

For example, a couple of months into your relationship, you were riding the train. Enjoying a simple conversation about suspicious neighbors and whatnot, when all of the sudden some guy came up behind you and tried groping you discreetly.

Andy noticed very quickly that all the blood drained from your face. He looked behind you and noticed the old geezer trying to get a hand full of someone way younger than them, and Andrew could feel every restraint in his body snap.

In an act of "self-defense" as told to the cops later on, Andrew punched the living daylights of the guy and sent him flying into a pole.

You fussed over Andy's fist for awhile, completely forgetting about how you felt. But the only thing Andy could think about was how he should've hit that guy harder.

When you guys were finally walking home, hand in hand, you leaned on Andrew.

"I'm sorry about today Andy... I didn't mean for you to get all banged up."

Andrew snorted, "My knuckle is a little scratched up, so what? That perverted asshole had it coming for him."

You kissed Andy's cheek, which granted you a dark blush from Andy, and a grin from you.

"Thank you Aaandy~" You brushed his hand with your thumb,

Being in a relationship with Andy is a little messy, and yes sometimes a little crazy. But no matter what happens, Andy will always stick by your side.

"You're welcome, sweetheart." Andy squeezed your hand in return.

Thank you for the ask<3

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Ravel

A Seams Christmas special oneshot | Moodboard

{ Part IV: Notch | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: T

Summary: Joel swings by yours with a little something before Christmas dinner at Tommy and Maria's.

Warnings: Unapologetic fluff and softness, inspired by this ask from @casssiopeia from the beginning of the year, no use of Y/N, very lightly edited

Word count: 2k

Notes: I'm so proud of writing up this little drabble. I've been in such a weird place with my writing, I'm just happy to end the year on a creative high. Obviously, I'm a few days late to Christmas, but better late than never!

There is a voice in my head telling me that this isn't good enough, that it doesn't hold up to what I was writing earlier this year. But I need to rewire my brain. There is no such thing as 'good' or 'bad' when it comes to fanfiction. All fanfiction is good fanfiction. This is our hobby, not our jobs, and we need to be kind to ourselves.

I am posting this at 11:59pm on New Year's Eve. Happy new year y'all, I hope Joel and Pin can bring you some festive cheer ❤️

Joel is this close to have a fucking breakdown.

He would measure out how close this is between his thumb and index finger if they were not currently tangled in webs of yarn, rapidly unravelling from from the bottom of what is supposed to be a sweater.

Your sweater.

The book that Lucy lent him months ago lies on the table before him, the pages yellowed and dogeared, open at the the easiest pattern of the lot to knit - a simple pullover in chunky yarn, in your favourite colour.

Well, it was supposed to be easy, anyway.

Despite Lucy basically holding his hand throughout the whole project, he’s had far less time than anticipated to work on it. Too many nights he finds himself at Tommy and Maria’s, elbow deep in dirty baby’s clothes and diapers, making himself useful for whatever needs to be done around the house. 

Even Ellie chips in without being asked, often bringing back food from the canteen and making sure the severely sleep-deprived adults are eating, if not well fed. Joel honestly doesn’t remember how he did it with Sarah as a clueless twenty-something, with an even more clueless younger brother.

As he attempts to free himself from the quagmire of wool, he grimaces at the stiffness all over his body, feeling it especially in his back after sleeping in an armchair all night with a rapidly growing two-month old.

He’s too old for this shit - but there’s no saying no to the little rascal with Tommy’s nose and Maria’s eyes.

The knitting needles clatter to the floor when he jumps at the front door opening and slamming shut, a frustrated fuuuuuuck slipping past his gritted teeth. 

Ellie’s voice rings out loud and clear as she scampers up the stairs, getting progressively louder until she’s outside his study. ‘Hey! Did you remember to put the potatoes in the oven? We have to leave for Tommy’s in an hour - dude, what the fuck is happening?’

‘What do you think is happenin’?’ he growls.

Crossing her arms, Ellie leans against the doorframe wearing a far too amused expression. ‘Maria said no gifts.’

Joel rolls his eyes. ‘It’s not for Maria.’

The teenager squints, perplexed, at the bits of wool in his hands. ‘What is that meant to be?’

‘... A sweater.’

Ellie bites her bottom lip, holding in a poorly concealed giggle. ‘I think a sweater is meant to have sleeves.’

‘You think?’

‘Want me to go get Lucy?’

With a heavy sigh, he mutters, ‘Fine.’

At the arch of her half-eyebrow, Joel adds begrudgingly, ‘Please.’

Ellie grins, sneakers skidding on the floorboards as she takes off. ‘Hang in there, old man!’

Despite the cold, his palms are sweaty, sticking to the kraft paper wrapped haphazardly around the even more haphazard package clutched tightly in his right hand. 

The night air mists before him in puffs of white as he shuffles a path through the falling snow. His ears are tingling from the cold, and flexing the stiff, frozen tips of his fingers, Joel knows he should’ve worn his gloves. They weren’t in their usual place by the door though, and he was so frazzled that he barely got his shoes tied up before dashing out the door, sending Ellie ahead with the potatoes (that are definitely undercooked) to his brother’s.

Your cottage glows yellow and orange in the darkness, and your stairs no longer creak when he trudges up them, having fixed them just in time before the first snowfall.

He hears your footsteps come from deep within this house when he knocks. Your eyes are wide when your door cracks open tentatively, but then your lips curve into a smile - the smile that he takes with him and keeps him warm when he has to leave Jackson for days-long patrols.

‘What are you doing here?’ you ask, ushering him inside, not batting an eye at the snow he tracks inside. ‘I thought we were meeting at Maria’s.’

Pressing a kiss to your lips, he softens at the way you lift your face towards him to catch it, careful to keep the parcel out of sight behind his back. ‘Yeah, we were, but thought I’d see if you need a hand with anythin’.’

‘Such a gentleman,’ you tease. 

A low fire burns in the hearth, the wood he chopped for you in the fall stacked in a tidy pile next to the mantelpiece. Sweeping his eyes across the living space, he spots the book with the cracked spine that he reads when he’s here on the coffee table, next to yours. On the other side of the couch is the Christmas tree that he cut for you, and he watched you dress it up in tinsel and fairylights one night after a quiet dinner and before hot cocoa under thick blankets.

He likes seeing himself at your home. In the things he does for you; in his things, casually scattered around - like they belong in your space.

‘The pies are in the kitchen, could you please put them in a bag?’ you ask. ‘I’ll just grab my coat and we can go.’

‘Sure, sweetheart,’ he answers, waiting until you’ve disappeared into the bedroom before setting down the present under the tree.

He’s leaning against the back of the couch when you pop back in, a few layers deeper than when you left him, the pies nestled safely in a carrier bag by his boots. 

‘Shall we?’ you ask brightly.

Joel hesitates, wondering if he should wait until after dinner to tell you about the present. It only takes his eyes darting to the foot of the tree for the briefest moment for you to catch on. The slow smile that stretches your cheeks and lights up your eyes warms him from the inside out.

You cock your head to one side, playing coy. ‘What’s that, Joel?’

He shrugs, feigning cool. ‘Why don’t you go ahead and find out?’

His chest physically swells at the way you dash towards the tree, landing on your knees in uncharacteristic recklessness, the impact only softened by the rug underneath. You cradle the lumpy package to your chest like something precious. ‘You got me a present.’

He settles on the end of the couch next to you, his heart beating harder in his ribcage than he’d like to admit. ‘Don’t get your hopes up, sweetheart.’

You frown at him. ‘Why?’

‘You’ll see, but I wanted to give it to you anyway.’

You open the package carefully, as if it was wrapped in the fancy paper people used to buy at the shop. Joel holds his breath when you peel it away to reveal what’s inside.

He’s far too inside his own head to hear your inhale that sounds a lot like wonder. You pick up the sweater gently, shaking it out, and Joel winces when he sees it in the flicker of the firelight.

Disastrous doesn’t begin to cover it. Lucy managed to connect the sleeves to the shapeless body in a last-ditch salvage attempt, but one is clearly longer than the other. The stitches are untidy, some have obviously caught onto something and pulled loose. Rough around the edges is putting it kindly.

Joel wants to reach out, grab it, chuck it into the fire and let the flames swallow it whole.

Finally, the silence gets the better of him, and he blurts out. ‘I’m sorry.’

You stare at him, stunned. ‘What?’

Under his whiskers, his cheeks flush in embarrassment, and he rambles, ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinkin’. You deserve better sweetheart, here, let me -’

You almost lose your balance keeping the sweater out of his reach. ‘Don’t you dare, Joel Miller.’

Confused, he watches you rise to your feet, shucking your outer coat and another layer. ‘What are you doin’?’

Grabbing the sweater, you slide it over your head and thread your arms through the sleeves. The soft knit drapes over your curves, too big over your shoulders and the hem falling unevenly, higher on the right side than the left. One sleeve is long enough to cover half your hand, while the other sits right on the wrist.

And yet. 

You’re beaming like you just picked up something at Bloomin’dales or whatever the fuck those department stores were called back then. 

‘I love it,’ you declare, no trace of irony in your voice, as hard as he’s trying to find it.

He scoffs in disbelief. ‘C’mon, sweetheart, you’re just sayin’ it -’

You surprise him, grabbing him by the scruff of his collar and dragging him towards you to plant a firm kiss on his lips. 

‘I love it,’ you repeat slowly, with conviction, as if willing him to believe you. ‘Thank you.’

He doesn’t quite still, but he smiles and kisses you back. ‘Merry Christmas, sweetheart.’

‘Since we’re doing this -’ you trail off, sliding out of his grip to reach around the back of the tree, pulling out a neatly wrapped gift. ‘This is for you.’

Joel pauses. 

For him.

For the longest time, nothing had been for him unless it was soul-crushing grief and pain.

And yet here it is - his name on the tag written in your neat handwriting. Something he can hold in his hands. For him.

His fingers tremble when he reaches out. The package is soft, and the paper crackles under his grip. He all but tears it open, uncaring of the way the wrapping falls to the floor.

A laugh bubbles out of his throat, and you look relieved at his reaction. ‘You like it?’

It’s not quite a Santa hat. It’s a chunky dark red beanie with a white brim folded back, and topped with a white pompom. 

‘My ears were so cold walkin’ over. It’s perfect,’ he says, pulling it over the crown of his head. Of course, it fits just right, sliding soft and warm over his ears. He adds with a wink, ‘Y’know what, I might just shimmy down some chimneys after dinner.’

‘As long as you shimmy down mine too,’ you retort, not hearing the euphemism.

Joel quirks an eyebrow at that, one large palm squeezing your backside through the layers. ‘That an open invitation, sweetheart?’

You duck your head, more out of habit than actual shyness, with mischief in your smile. ‘Don’t be so crude, Joel Miller.’

Adjusting his new hat so that it sits comfortably, he points at the pompom and jokes, ‘Shame I can’t wear this on patrols.’

Right on cue, you hold up a finger. ‘Funny you should say that.’

He chuckles when you pull out a second, plain black beanie, as if out of thin air. ‘You really thought of everythin’, sweetheart.’

You shrug playfully. ‘I’m smart like that.’

‘I know you are,’ he smiles.

‘Merry Christmas, Joel.’

His lips find yours again in a slow, lingering kiss that has you leaning into him for more when he pulls back. ‘Thank you. For everythin’.’

You hold his gaze - heavy with meaning, light with joy. It wouldn’t take more than a tilt of the head towards the bedroom to derail your evening plans, and you both know it.

In the end, you’re the one who stays strong. Taking one step back from his warmth, you reach for your coat. ‘We’re late, we should go.’

His eyes widen. ‘Wait - you’re not wearin’ that to dinner are you?’

‘Of course I am,’ you say, buttoning up your coat over the sweater.

‘You don’t have to, sweetheart,’ he almost pleads with you.

You grin, heading for the door, blowing out candles as you go. ‘Too bad, I’m never taking it off.’

Joel shakes his head with a wry huff. ‘Well, I hope not never -’

You have one foot out the door when you suddenly remember. ‘I almost forgot - you left your gloves here last time. They’re in the cupboard by the door.’

Ah, that’s where they went. He opens the drawer and pulls them on, one after the other, the leather, worn smooth with age, creaking as he wraps his fingers around the handles of the carrier bag.

Joel is about to follow you out the door when he pauses over the threshold. Glancing down at the black beanie in his grasp, he reaches up and hooks it on the coat rack, nestled among your clothes.

He hopes that when the time comes for him to wear it for the first time - maybe on a patrol that will take him away from you for a few days - it will smell like you.

Gorgeous dividers by @firefly-graphics ❄️

More notes: I hope I will return to the main series in the new year. I've missed these two lovebirds, I hope you enjoyed this little interlude! ❤️

[cheapshrimpysheep]

A Break Under The Lights

SUMMARY: You suggest taking turns for some to rest while others peel potatoes on the boat. You can choose who will pair up with you outside to enjoy the boat lights under the night sky.

CHARACTERS: Port Fest Steering Committee (Floyd, Ruggie, Rook & Jack)

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; Flirting; Kissing

WARNING: Spoilers from the Port Fest Event; Vignettes from Floyd's Port Wear and Rook's Port Wear

WORD COUNT: An average of 600 words per character.

COMMENTS: I wanted to write something for this event, but I couldn't remember anything. Until I finished the story and saw what they said about the lights on the boat. That was asking to write something romantic about it. I didn't get Jack's card, so I don't know his vignette story. 😔 But I'm pretty happy with what I wrote. 😊

My logic for the order of the characters was: R > SR > SR > SSR

I hope you enjoy 😉

CONTEXT: You were all peeling potatoes in the hold of the boat while talking about the festival. Remembering what they say about the exterior: It’s gotten real quiet since all the guests have gone home at the end of Port Fest.

Ruggie: “The neon lights on the Golden Straw sure are pretty.”

Rook: “Oui, more dazzling then even the stars twinkling in the night sky. I believe they only turn them on for Port Fest.”

Floyd: “So today’s the last day they’ll be on, then.”

Jack: “Yeah. This’ll be our last chance to check them out until next year’s festival.”

And that's why you remembered to suggest that you take turns to rest and enjoy those lights outside. You suggest pairing up and while one pair is outside the other two continue peeling potatoes. And then you take turns. Everyone wants to be paired with you, so they let you choose who you want to be paired with.

“Looks like Koebi-chan is getting slier.” Floyd tells you with that cunning smile of his on his face. You say you don't know what he's talking about, in a tone that shows you're lying. What makes him laugh.

“The break thing was a good idea, thou. I was getting tired of those stupid potatoes.” He walks to the bow of the boat and rests his elbows on the railing as he looks out over the sea below you two.

“I heard you won a music contest.” you tell him, approaching the railing as well. “Congrats”.

“He he. Thanks~ But it was too easy. They were all amateurs.”

“You mean it was a contest for amateurs? And you didn't tell anyone you were already experienced?”

“Nobody asked. Aha ha ha ha.” The disapproving look on your face just makes him laugh harder. When his laughter calms down he adds: “Winning the contest was cool and people applauding me too. But I got pretty fed up with that shoal that wouldn't let go of me.”

“A shoal? Are you talking about literal fish or people?”

“I wish it had been fish. So I could just have eaten them. But no. I'm talking about the people who seen me play the saxophone and have been asking me to keep playing for them.” then he looks at you with that creepy smile “You wouldn't be that annoying, right Koebi-chan~?”

“Awww. I was going to ask you to play something for me. I didn't hear you play in the contest.”

“You saw me play at that concert in the end of Port Fest.” He reminds you. You try to look sad and pout at him. But it doesn't seem to work and he seemingly changes the subject. “What about you? You may not have won first, but I heard that your photo won a good place in a photography contest.”

“Hum? Ah yes. Rook was the one who won first place.”

“And he was the one on your photo, wasn't he?” there was that creepy smile again “It really was a good photo. It deserved the place.”

He gets closer to you. You take a step back and your back ends up meeting the railing of the boat. He grabs the railing, each hand blocking your way out. Looking up you could see his face and the neon lights of the boat above the two of you.

“You took pictures of me too, right?” he was smiling, a little creepily, but he wasn't showing his teeth.

“Of course I took. But I didn't get as good an angle of you as I did of Rook, unfortunately.”

“You have the camera with you, don't you?” He asks. You had. You always carried it with you like a shoulder bag. Floyd lets go of the railing. “So you can take some more now.” His good mood returned in a flash. Mood swinging as always.

You seize this opportunity. A photo of him illuminated by those neon lights at night is sure to be beautiful. You take some pictures of him, until he asks if he can try taking some pictures too. You allow it and hand the camera over to him.

He starts randomly taking pictures, until he stands behind you, with the camera in front of you to take a selfie of you bouth. His chin resting affectionately on your shoulder. He takes a photo. Then kisses your cheek. Takes another photo. And if you turn your head to let him kiss your lips, he'll take one last photo.

Ruggie stretches, his arms up high. “AHHH Freedom... For a limited period of time.” he drops his arms. “Good idea. I really needed a break.”

There are no deckchairs or anything to sit or lie on, so Ruggie just lies down in the middle of the deck with his hands behind his head. “*Sigh* I'm exhausted.” he looks at you standing next to him. “There is enough deck for two if you want to rest too. Didn't you walk around taking pictures? Besides, the neon lights are really pretty seen from here.”

You decide to accept Ruggie's offer and lie down next to him. He was right. Those neon lights with the night sky behind it was really a beautiful sight.

“I heard a photo of yours won a place in that photography contest. Congrats.” he smiles at you. “Did you gain anything else from it?”

“Nah. Just that honourable mention I guess.”

“Not even a free snack? Man, what a prize... You know, if the picture had been of me, maybe I'd have considered giving you a waffle with whatever topping you wanted, for free.”

“Really? Oh, wait. The key word here is considered, isn’t it?”

“Shye hee hee. You're getting to know me too well.”

He's messing with you, so you decide to mess with him too.

“Well, maybe that's why I took that picture of Rook and not of you.”

“Oh yeah?” he sulks a little and his ears tip back. “What did he offer you in return? A bunch of praise?” he looks at you with a mocking expression.

“Better that than a possibility of waffle that in the end I might not even get to have.”

“Fine. I would definitely give you a plain waffle. Better?”

“For free?”

“Yah, for free. Too bad you didn't take a picture of me.”

“Actually, I took some pictures of you too. They just weren't the ones to win the contest.”

“Hmm? Really? Shye hee hee... I can see them?”

You always carried it with you like a shoulder bag. You take it and show the pictures to him. The best one was one you took from him while he was "playing" the broom. He smiles when he sees it. Then he has an idea.

He sits up, while you're still lying down, then turns to you and takes a picture of you. You ask what he's doing as he looks at the picture he just took.

“You have a lot of good pictures of me. It's only fair that I have at least one good picture of you in return. Send me this later will ya? Shye hee hee.”

“Do I still get the free waffle if I send you the pictures?”

“Hey, that was if the photo won something in the contest.” he reminds you. You pout for a second, but accept it. “*Sign* You really are such a goody-goody sometimes.” He leans over and kisses your cheek. “There. How's that for a prize? And for the photos.”

If you say it's not enough, he'll answer with a smirk: “Looks like I'm not the only greedy one here. But that's a higher price. You'll have to let me take more pictures of you in return.”

You agree and he lies down again beside you on deck to kiss your lips.

“Ah, it's so good to be able to enjoy these dazzling neon lights.” Rook inhales as if the scent of the sea is a breath of fresh air. “Merci, Trickster! Et merci for choosing me as your partenaire dans le crime.” he looks at you with his sly smile.

“Crime? What do you mean? Now it's a crime to want a little break to appreciate these lights?” You say, pretending badly that you feel offended. “You yourself said that they only turn them on for Port Fest. We must seize this moment.”

He laughs. “I certainly agree with you.”

You start walking towards the railing at the bow of the boat, leaving Rook behind you. You stop and look back when you hear the sound of a photo being taken. You see Rook holding his digital camera pointed at you and with a smile on his face.

“What are you doing?” you ask

“Exactly what it looks like.” he answers casually “I'm taking pictures of you.”

“Well, yes, I can see that, but what for?”

“Mainly for myself, but if you want me to send them to you it will be my pleasure.” You get flattered and he takes another picture of you. “Beauté~” he whispers to himself before turning back to speak to you. “Unfortunately, I didn't have many opportunities to take pictures of you during the festival. My attention was already quite divided between the food stand and photo ideas for the contest. Although I know that any photo with you as the subject would be beautiful.”

You never know what to say when he starts to praise you like that. He starts walking towards you.

“These lights, this place, this moment are beautiful. And ephemeral. So could I ask you for something très spécial, my dear Trickster?” While one hand holds the camera, the other takes your hand and he leans slightly in a bow to you. “Would you be so kind to model for me on this deck? I'm sure all the photos will be magnifique.”

You take your time to answer, but you end up agreeing. And when you do he kisses the back of your hand. “Merci beaucoup mon cher!”

He asks you to act casually, to lean against the railing as if enjoying the view of the sea, to sit on top of a barrel or even on the deck, to stretch your arms as if you want to reach the neon lights. And every time he comments on how beautiful the photo and you are.

Later, towards the end of the photo session, he takes the hat off his head and puts it on yours. “I had an idea.” And then you see him take off his coat, leaving him in just that tight shirt with the blue and white stripes. He puts his coat on your shoulders like a cape. And keeps taking pictures of you.

“I fear our time is running out.” he says sadly after taking several pictures of you in his hat and coat. “Merci encore, Trickster. Each photo is more beautiful than the last. You were so very kind to let me take pictures of you. I wonder...” he gets closer to you and places his index and thumb on your chin, with that smirk on his face. “what kind of thanks you would most like to get from me.”

If you let him, he will kiss your lips. You will feel the smile on his lips and the adoration he has for you. And you will hear one last sound of a photograph being taken by your side.

“Hey, um, I'm sorry I got you into this mess too.” Jack tells you, rubbing the back of his neck.

“It's okay.” you tell him “Well, I'm not a big fan of peeling potatoes, but at least  it allowed me to be here with you.” you smile at him, and he gets flattered. “This neon lights are really pretty. And you said this will be our last chance to check them out until next year’s festival, right?”

“Yeah, we should make the most of them. I'll just go get us some drinks. You must be thirsty too.” He leaves you on deck for a minute and when he comes back he hands you your favourite fresh juice.

You thank him and show him how very happy you are that he knows your favourite flavour of juice. He gets flattered again while saying it's nothing. You two go to the bow rail. You can see how the neon lights reflect in the sea water.

“I heard you won a spot in the photo contest. I'm no photography expert, but I thought the photo was pretty good. Congrats.” He smiles at you, that big smile like he's proud of you.

“Thank you. And you were amazing on the show.” you see him rub the back of his neck as he thanks you. “I also took some pictures of you, you know?”

“Y-you did?!”

You finish your drink and grab your camera to show Jack the pictures. He is so flattered he could blush. And then you show him one you took from him without his coat "playing" the dustbin. You took the photo from the top, and he was smiling so happily that you tell him it's your favourite picture. You leave him speechless of how flattered you make him. And then you look at the boat with those neon lights at night.

“Hey, can I take some more here?” you ask him. “The deck is so pretty with these lights.”

“You want more pictures of me?! Hmm... I... guess that's okay.” His tail is wagging like crazy.

After taking so many photos of the boys, you've already started to realize that the best photos, especially in the case of people like Jack, are the ones where they are more relaxed, not focusing on the camera. So you chat with him and making him more comfortable, only taking pictures here and there.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” He asks you, more comfortable around the camera. “Could we take a picture together? I would like to have something to remind me of this moment.” he says this slightly embarrassed.

You agree and even say it's a great idea. You would love to have a photo with him from that moment too. You decide to put the camera down to take a self-timer photo. But then you think that maybe it's a good idea to let the camera take several pictures, remembering that the best ones are the ones you forget about the camera. And you tell Jack that.

For the first photo you have one arm around each other. Then Jack remembers to take his hat off and put it on your head. He laughs at how cute you look in such a big hat. After that he ends up doing the same with the coat when he sees that you seem to be getting a little cold. It's also way too big on you which just makes you look even cuter in his eyes. His tail goes back to wagging wildly.

You can't take anymore how sweet he is being with you. And you make a gesture for him to bend down as if you were going to whisper something in his ear. But instead, you surprise him with a kiss on the cheek. And he feels entitled to do the same to you.

And if you keep teasing him like this, he'll pick you up so your faces are level and allow you to kiss his lips.

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

[brokenpieces-72]

Stray Fluff

This is part 2. Part 1 is here. If you have any ideas or want to be included in the Taglist, leave a comment or send me a request. In this fic you are a dog, 100% canine, not a human. Enjoy.

“Pffah!” Johnny spat as he fruitlessly held out his arms for cover, and turned his head away while you shook your fur once again. The soap went everywhere including Johnny’s face, getting a bit in his mouth. Kyle shielded himself as well, as you wagged your tail unaware of their displeasure.

“Maybe we should call you trouble.” Kyle suggested, looking right at you. You just panted happily. Kyle couldn't stay mad at that face.

“Don’t name it Gaz ya’ll just get attached.” Johnny said, grumpily.

“The dog isn’t going much of anywhere mate. They’re staying here until we get a transfer sorted for them.” Gaz reminded him.

“Alright get over here mutt.” Soap commands. You obey, but not how he wanted. You walked over to him for another round of shampoo, and jumped up to lick his face, getting him even more soaked and drenched than before. Kyle was sympathetic enough to pull you off of Johnny who was getting fed up with your antics.

Price was still on video call with Laswell trying to figure out what can be done about the poor dog. Meanwhile Laswell was still trying to figure out how to deal with a dog and getting it safely off the base.

“And it stole a ration?” She asked.

“A potato yes. Soap was very adamant.” Price said, with a hint of sarcasm behind his statement.

“Hmm…” Laswell said before starting to mutter over the video call.

“You’re breaking up watcher.” Price commented.

"The dog is from an animal testing facility. Beauty products most likely." Kate exclaimed.

"Dog doesn't show any signs of testing, at least none that I've noticed." Price pointed out.

“There’s a stamp on the collar with a few numbers and a small logo but I can't make out what the logo is. This is very strange, John."

“Tell that to my sergeants currently giving the mutt a flea bath." Price commented. There was a small chuckle from Laswell.

“You’ll be the first to know if anything else comes up. Call it a fixation, but I'm going to do more digging, for now the dog will have to stay with on base.” Laswell said.

"Ghost is already out getting some extra supplies." Price said, guessing this would happen.

"I'll let you know what I find. Watcher out." Laswell said before signing off. Price sat back in his seat sighing. The Dog would stay until they figured out where it came from or a shelter could take it.

Price stood up and headed outside. As soon as he opened the door though, you slipped in, covered in shampoo and water. Price got out of the just in time to keep Johnny and Kyle from running into him. You’re around the corner of the hall in mere seconds with the two sergeants hot on your tail. Price just stood there and shaking his head in disbelief. Simon was standing next to him in a couple of minutes seeing the captain’s wet leg from you rubbing against him, and the remaining trail of puddles. He looked at his captain.

“What do we do with the dog?” He asked. Price looked back at his lieutenant and down the hall again, with neither you nor the sergeants in sight.

Each of the 141 came up with their own ideas. Or sometimes you were the one who came up with the idea.

Kyle would use his off time to give you attention. Didn't take long for it to become a bit of a routine and one you picked up on, finding him somewhere on base just finishing up, poking your head in and wagging your tail. It became a highlight of his day, and yours, as you got plenty of scratches and even belly rubs. Kyle enjoyed it for the chance to be active in a more positive sense. Work could be tiring for him, and he wouldn’t always go outside and throw something for you, but he welcomed snuggles on his bunk. Sometimes you would help with his work, actually listening to his instructions when you're ordered to drop it.

At one point Kyle decided to teach you some basic commands and even had a K9 unit and trainer join to help you learn as well. Yeah uh... you kept getting him tangled in the leash, and more than once you fell off whatever makeshift ramps and platforms they made. You did learn how to sit, stay, and go with leash tugs and spoken word. The K9 trainer would look after you whenever Kyle and the rest of the 141 had to leave to go on missions. You would often spend your days waiting on Kyle's bed for him to return. Anytime you overheard a chopper or jeep you would spring off the bed, barking excitedly until you got outside, standing and waiting to see if they had returned safely.

For the most part, you followed Johnny around while he was working out or doing other stuff on base. He found you a bit of a nuisance. If he didn't give you attention even when you were being so well-behaved, you would nip at his hand or leg. This led to him giving you attention, but it was usually just to chase you off. At one point though while he was working out he started doing sit-ups. You went over to him and sat at his feet before putting your paws on his knees. Your happy face stopped him before he got his first sit making him chuckle. After you helped him with sit-ups you made his push-ups more of a challenge, laying on his back. Johnny was able to distract you with a ball, but you two become more comfortable with each other. Eventually, he’s taking you with him to go running, using a leash to keep you from running too far ahead. You’re still a kind-hearted menace though, taking any food he leaves in reach of your mouth.

Simon found you very helpful. You’re a dog, and he could talk to you when he needed it. On occasion, he finds you sleeping in his bed, sometimes on his chest. You are not unwelcomed. Often you are discovered after he wakes up, sometimes from nightmares. You wake with him, and with you on top of him, you ground him.

“Good dog.” He muttered one night in a cold sweat. You stared at him in the dark and then felt his rough calloused hands massaging your ears. He found you soothing, even when you’re just hiding under the table waiting for something to drop. Simon doesn’t bother sneaking food, he straight up slips it to under the table.

Price didn't know what to make of you for the first week or so. You’re not like most stray dogs that tend to be frightened of humans. You’re curious and you openly show that curiosity. Price is often writing reports and doing paperwork so you’ll try to distract him, by getting a ball or stick. You get a ball and start begging for him to play with you. He has to focus on his work and he expresses this to you multiple times. Then you would see if you could get him to see the toy. He would scold you, and wrestle with you to get off his lap or desk.

Price sighed as one such wrestle led to the ball falling and bouncing away for you to chase. Then he noticed the time. Thinking for a moment he did need to take a break.

“Outside?” He asked you. You looked at him with the ball in your mouth, tilting your head. He asked again. “Outside?”

You wagged your tail as he got up, stretching and feeling his back crack before he took you outside. He was able to track down a large pillow, which was left by his desk for you to relax on so you could nap while you waited for him to finish. After that, if he ever has to step out of his office for drills or anything you’re walking right next to him, toy in mouth. You sit anytime he addresses the soldiers, at attention with the toy still in your mouth. If you couldn't be found on Kyle's bunk when the 141 were away, you could be found waiting on the pillow.

One day Laswell and Nikolai come by. Laswell was there to talk to Price and go over some intel, Nikolai came along as her ride (and to meet you). Kyle had you on a leash and you sat patiently. Laswell was somewhat impressed, seeing as your first story involved you getting into trouble.

“Captain.” Laswell said, shaking the captain’s hand, and then Kyle’s. “Sergeant.”

You gave a soft and polite woof, shifting your two front paws. Laswell couldn’t help but offer a hand for you to sniff. You sniffed it and then offered your own paw to shake which she accepts. None of them had seen you do that before. Nikolai is chuckling.

“Good dog. Knows manners better than most.” Nikolai commented.

“Take it no one has any ideas where the dog came from?” Kyle asked. Laswell shook her head. They all walked bavk inside and you retrived a ball as soon as Kyle got you off the leash. Johnny was close by, along with Simon intent to listen to Laswell’s intel. You took your toy to Laswell and basically sat on her feet staring up with puppy dog eyes. Johnny is snickering while Nikolai is laughing. Laswell looked back down at you while you wait for her to take the toy.

“John could you call them off?” Laswell asked the captain. Then she saw the grin on his face.

“‘fraid there’s only one way for that Laswell.” Johnny exclaimed. Laswell gave him a look that had him avoiding eye contact. You continued wagging your tail waiting for her to accept your gift. Laswell gave in and took the toy. She held it up for you to see before tossing it. You sprung after it quickly and picked it up again, this time bringing it to Nikolai. Nik wasted no time, playing with you, and even doing fake throws. Every time you returned it to him, he gave you plenty of praise and pets. This goes on for a short bit before Laswell can convince the rest of the team to go into a room to start the briefing. You follow the team inside where you're kept occupied by Nikolai.

While Laswell went over the meeting Johnny noticed you out of the corner of your eye and bites his tongue. To his surprise, you sat politely and listened to Laswell as she went over the intel she had brought with her.

Then Laswell brought you up in her intel, making you tilt your head. “Your canine may not be a simple stray.”

Laswell tapped the tablet and the view of the map moved and highlighted a specific location. A factory of some kind. “As suspected they were being used for animal testing. What they were testing was a serum. One that has yet to work without killing the subject.”

“They want to use this on humans?” Simon questioned, thinking this was starting to sound like a plot to a cheesy action movie. If Laswell brought up “super soldiers” he would’ve walked out or called bluff.

“No.” Laswell said. “They’re using it on animals.”

@yourlovely-moon @kaoyamamegami @H0n3y_L3m0n @sans-chara @1mommyrose4ever29 @smitten-haematite-quartz @talia-the-gemini @yuki2129 @whitetiger846 @graystorm444

[gremlin-girly]

Flufftober Day 11

@flufftober

Prompt(s): Ingredients, potions, spells

Pairing: sick!Loki x gn!reader

Tags/warnings: Loki (he's a warning), descriptions of cold/flu symptoms, gn!reader, feverish confessions (but it's sweet I promise), mutual pining

Summary: Loki gets sick and reader takes care of him :)

Word count: 2.3k

A/N: I thought of this when I was sick myself haha. Most of these remedies are what I use when I'm ill and they work a treat. And for a special treat for you dear reader, here's the Roasted Garlic and Potato Recipe I use (minus the nutritional yeast - and I use single cream not vegan).

Also, don't know why I keep writing stuff that's mostly 2k? Maybe I'm a glutton for punishment because I realise towards the end that I'm not writing a novel? Who knows. Enjoy! - Love, Grem x

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It started with sniffles.

You’d raised your eyebrows at Loki when he sniffed softly, but frequently, the warning signs of the impending flu clear to only you. Somehow, the irony of a frost giant having a cold wasn’t lost on you either.

“Are you feeling alright?” You asked when Thor was out of earshot. If one thing would put Loki on edge it would be his adoring brother fretting over him.

Loki sniffed again and cleared his throat. “I’m fine.”

His usually smooth voice was gravelly and hoarse, another sign that he was most definitely not fine. You frown softly. You don’t want to push him; you’d gradually worked up a friendly bond with the God of Mischief, at least you thought you had, and you didn’t want to blow it all up. Still, your eyes rake over Loki’s face worriedly, noting the redness around his nose and the missing mischievious glimmer in Loki’s bleary eyes.

Loki narrows his eyes at you, sensing your worry and prickling with defiance. “What?”

“Nothing.” You squeak, snapping your head back to the papers you’d been reading. Maybe this was how ill he’d get he was a god after all. Yet you had a nagging feeling that it would get worse.

Shuffling your papers together, mind made up, you begin to rise to your feet. You can feel Loki’s gaze on you as you pack your bag and try to ignore it, trying to hurry as much as possible.

“I need to run some errands,” you tell him hoisting your bag onto your shoulder. You look over and give him a gentle smile. “You know where to find me if you need anything.”

Loki huffs in response, clearly believing that he wouldn’t need a mere mortal’s help for anything. You head to the door, waving at Loki before you step through the threshold. Once you’re out of sight, you walk at a breakneck pace to the nearest convince store to do some last minute shopping for the incoming storm you predict.

The following morning, Loki can’t breathe.

His sniffles became worse and  no amount of healing spells made a dent. The headache he thought was Thor, turned out to be a real headache and worst of all, he was hot all over. The burning sensation rolled over him in waves, leaving him sweaty and uncomfortable. He could barely sleep with the stuffy humidity of his body and he thought he may die. We’re frost giants meant to be so hot?

Loki could barely keep his eyes open. He hadn’t felt this ill since he was a child. His heart constricted as he remembered his mother, Freya, fussing over him and caring for him in a pathetic snotty state as a child. She made sure he was cared for, spoiled and well-fed. Tears stung at his eyes in the dark room and he cursed softly, the pain in his sinuses worsening as the threat of tears triggered a new onslaught of snot to build painfully in the bridge of his nose.

The door to his room creeper open, golden light spilling in making him squint angrily. Was it not enough that he was sick with a human affliction, but to be assaulted with bright lights too? But then your head peeked in, and Loki’s breathing hitched – causing him to cough violently into his covers.

“Loki? You okay?” you ask, knowing it’s a stupid question. “Can I come in?”

“I’m fine,” He croaks, turning onto his side. God’s, how embarassing. “Just a bit under the weather.”

You enter his room, tentatively stepping towards the bed and kneeling before him. Loki barely registers your presence, his green eyes looking up at you and struggling to stay open. Any other time he would have equipped about you finally knowing your place before a god, but he’s too tired, too sick, to care. His eyes flutter and he sighs with content when he feels a cool palm press on his sweaty forehead. He leans meekly into your palm and looks up into your worried fface.Your palm is soft and soothes his aching body better than any of the healing spells he’d tried.

And Its probably the fever, but you look ethereal. Loki smiles at you, a dazed smile, but a smile nonetheless. No sneer, no smirk, a genuine smile.   

“You’re burning up,” you say, voice laced with concern. You ignore they way your heart skips as he smiles at you, brushing it away as delirium. You go to move your hand, but Loki’s face follows, chasing the cool calm your palm offers. You sigh a little. Your gut feeling had been right; he is worse. You were glad to have gone to the store to get the ingredients for remedies you knew would help ease the symptoms and speed up recovery.   “Stay here, I won’t be long.”

Loki humphs, which turns into a wracking cough. You hastily remove yourself and head to the common area of the tower. You’d already prepared food the night before so setting up a large tray with an assortment foods was quick.  You pulled out your pre-made bowl of roasted garlic and potato soup and stuff it into the microwave whilst the kettle boils, slicing rounds of lemon, orange and ginger and adding them to a large mug  with honey.  You breathe in the aromatics smells of citrus and garlic melded together, wondering if Loki would heal quicker because he’s a god, or if he'd be defeated by the common cold.

When the microwave dings, interrupting your thoughts, you remove the bowl of soup giving it a quick stir before setting it on the tray with the  rest of the cold-beating snacks you’d bought the day before. You look down at the tray with a sheepish smile. Maybe you had gone overboard; cold and flu tablets, a box of tissues,  homemade soup, bread, honey-and-lemon drink.... and you had isotonic drinks to help with fluid retention.

Yeah.

You had gone overboard.

You carry the tray precariously back to Loki’s room. Pushing the door with your foot, you re-enter the dark room.

“I’m back.” You say into the darkness, waiting for your eyes to adjust. You place the tray beside his bed, and turn on his bedside lamp.

“Hng?”

“Here, let me help you sit up.” Loki meekly swats you away, but he’s too weak to prop himself up without assistance, and begrudgingly concedes to allow you to help him. Your arms wrap around is chest, slotting under his shoulder to help shimmy him upwards before fluffing a pillow behind his head. Loki is frowning slightly, and if you weren’t so concerned about his health, you’d notice he was blushing.

“I’ve brought you some food. You need to eat before you take any medicine.” You give him a soft smile. “And I brought tissues.”

“Hmph.” Loki huffs, glancing to the tray you’d set down. His chest tightens when he sees everything you’ve brought. You must have planned this. Maybe you cursed him somehow?

“Did you... put a spell on me?:

“What? No. Loki you know I can’t use magic.” You chuckle at the absurdity of his question and pick up the bowl of soup. On autopilot you scoop some onto the spoon and guide it to his lips. Loki leans forward slightly, eyeing you suspiciously, but opens his mouth to accept your offering. He can’t taste anything, but as soon as the creamy texture hits his tongue his stomach growls. He hadn’t realised how hungry he was.  He weakly reaches for the bowl and spoon, which you gladly hand to him, and forces himself to eat slowly. Loki hums with delight as he eats , the warm soup soothing his throat and filling his stomach. Whatever you had made was making him feel better already. He wished he could taste it and was overcome with that same fluttery feeling his his chest whenever you were around.

His cedar green eyes rise over the spoon to meet yours and in a quiet voice he mumbles, “Thank you.”

You give him another smile. “No problem. Happy to help.”

The feeling in Loki’s chest increased, tightening almost uncomfortably. Your presence had already helped with the fever, now the hunger. You were slowly but surely making him better just by being near him. Being your silly, idiotic, caring, kind human self.

“You don’t have to.” He thickly after another spoonful. His eyes are downcast, almost ashamed. He hadn’t made it easy to be befriended by you, but you had been patient with him and accepted him as part of the team without so much as a second thought. Over time, Loki had developed a liking to you and he hated that. Feelings for a human? No. Not Loki. He just favoured you above the rest. With your beautiful smile you always gave him and the way your eyes twinkled when he’d get one over on Tony or Thor, even if you were reprimanding him or shaking your head. And of course, the way you made an effort to speak with him everyday; even if it was a quick hello. Treating him with a kindness that no one else offered.

“I know. I want to.” You say firmly. “I can leave you be, obviously, but you just need to call me and I’ll get you what you need.”

You push some of his unruly hair out of his face whilst he eats and his eyes flutter closed briefly. Your heart warms at the sight. You were infatuated with the God who was a black cat personified. Handsome wasn’t even a befitting word for Loki but it was the best you could come up with at short notice. His eyes were so green you wondered if emeralds would be jealous of the hue and you always found yourself enraptured by them. Too bad you were just a human.

Loki considers your words carefully, a wave of heat creeping up his neck that had nothing to do with the fever. Selfishly, he didn’t want you to leave. In fact, he wanted you to stay so badly it made his stomach churn with excitement but he was a god  and the whole thing was supposed to be beneath him-

“Please stay.” Loki whispers, ignoring pestering thoughts. He’d worry about consequences later, as usual. He was too tired to argue. You only nod in response, but your body sings with happiness.

Once Loki has finished eating you clear away the bowl and hand him two flu tablets and the mug of citrusy goodness. Loki’s large hands envelop the mug entirely whilst he sips, humming again at the soothing feeling that you and your food bring him.

“What is this potion?” He asks, sinking further back into his pillows.

“it’s lemon and honey, with ginger and orange.” You lean back onto your palms, watching him like a hawk. “It’s hardly a potion.”

Loki humphs quietly, not quite believing you, but continues to drink it. It’s not long before he’s drifting to sleep, the fullness of eating and the comfort you bring quelling the sickness that wracks his body. You gently pry the half drunk mug from his hands. Loki can barely keep his head up, leaning onto your shoulder as his eyelids fighting to stay open but his sleepy sighs are winning the battle.

He hums quietly and murmurs something you can’t quite make out. When you ask him to repeat himself he obliged, but remains ever so haughty about the fact you didn’t hear his incoherent mumblings.

“I said,” He huffs. “You are my favourite.”

“Favourite?” You chuckle. “Is it hard to be your favourite?”

Loki frowns slightly and cuddles closer. You smell nice and you’re warm. Enrapturingly so.

“Yes – but you. You. You’re different.”

“Oh?” for a moment you feel smug, until he continues.

“Infuriating.”

“Oh.” You roll your eyes to yourself. That one was on you.

“Captivating.” Loki’ tone is wistful, teetering on feverishly dream-like, but you perk up nonetheless. “Beautiful.”

“Oh...”

You look down at his form lying against your shoulder. He looks so different now, vulnerable, a cocoon of his usual self and it makes your heart melt. You were sweet on him and the feverish confessions were making your heart do somersaults.

“Make me feel so... nice and fuzzy,” he huffs out gently, slumping more and more against you. “You’ve cursed me.”

You bite your lip, trying to stifle a flustered giggle. Your cheeks are bright and so hot that you worry you may catch Loki’s cold. You wish you could record this moment; knowing that Loki would deny, deny, deny ever saying these things when he was better.

“To feel... fuzzy?” you try not to snicker but it’s too cute.

“Yes.” Loki hisses, turning his face against your collar bone. His skin his warm and sweaty and worry prickles at you again.

“You’re clammy,” You comment, going to move to grab the head towel. However, Loki’s arm wraps around you, holding you loosely but stopping you from moving away. “Loki?”

“Stay.” His voice is so quiet you barely hear it. The soft plea making your resolve break instantly. “You make it better. You make me better. Please don’t leave me.”

“Of course I'll stay. For as long as you need me.” You say gently and you hunker down next to Loki, wrapping him in your arms. You move hair from his face and his green eyes flicker to you briefly with a small sniffle.

“Do you swear it?” He murmurs.

“I swear it.” You murmur back without hesitation. Content with your answer, Loki pulls you closer and cuddles into you. You murmur sweet nothings to him as he drifts to sleep in your arms.

You stay with Loki until his sickness passes. Unwavering in your promise to him and as he recovers, his feelings for you grow tenfold.

So when you inevitably get ill, Loki remains by your side, just as you had for him. Once you’re both recovered, you’re inseparable.

[wings-of-ink]

zahn spinnet about cook mc making a whole shepherds pie just for them

they really need to put some meat on those bones

Oh that would be so sweet. Also, super weird you mentioned shepherds pie specifically...that is exactly what I've made for dinner tonight! You watchin' me, Anon?

So, Zahn has an optional romantic scene in the chapter that I'm writing now. I'm not too far away from doing that scene currently, so I think I'll post a teaser from that. We'll work on getting Zahn fed well in the next couple chapters. ^_^

So, until then...

The smell around you is divine. You've patiently waited for your newest creation to finish baking over the fire. Zahn is to meet you at home soon, and little do they know about the feast you have prepared.

Carefully, you use your hand, wrapped in a towel, to turn the trammel hook so you can retrieve the kettle. Prying the hot lid off you are suddenly enveloped more in the wonderful smells. It looks perfect. The mash you've placed atop the meat, gravy and vegetables has a lovely and lightly-toasted crust. The thick filling underneath bubbling through, creating extra tasty pockets of goodness.

As you let the pot cool, the brisk chill of early winter speeding things along, you prepare a basket of bread and a bottle of cider. A meal fit for royalty. You set the table, including the kettle and a single large plate just for Zahn. This special meal is only for them. You've already decided to have a simple meal of your own and some bread and cider of course. You cannot wait to see Zahn's big blue eye light up at the feast.

What should you call it, though? You used some mutton supplemented with a bit of goat as your meat...and it is a bit like a pie, just without pastry. Perhaps 'shepherd's pie' - considering a shepherd would have such animals at their disposal...they could eat the part of the flock they do not like. You smirk to yourself.

A knock sounds at the door - one that sounds like some sort of bizarre code before it resolves into frantic little taps.

"Come in!" you call.

Zahn rushes in and quickly closes the door behind them. They're piled with cloaks already, and the cold has barely set in. "Oh, it's so warm in here!"

After shedding all cloaks but their special one, Zahn rushes to hug you. You snuggle them close, tucking their cold nose into the crook of your neck. Once you begin feeling the pecks of little kisses, you know that Zahn is just warm enough. If you don't, you'll both end up missing dinner - again.

"Come sit, dinner is ready." You grab Zahn's hand and tug them to the table.

Zahn gasps. "Oh wow! That looks delicious. I love potatoes!"

"You love all food, and it's not just potatoes. Sit, I'll serve you."

Zahn claps. "Oh I love it when you tell me that," they say, plopping down in their seat.

You scoop out a huge helping of your special pie and carefully set it on the plate, splaying sliced bread along the side before you pour a cup of cider for them.

Zahn's eyes are huge and their hand is covering their mouth. "Oh, I'm drooling...but what about you?"

"I made this all for you. I told you that I'm going to make sure you get all the food you could ever want from now on. You're never going hungry ever again." You smile.

"All for me?"

You nod. "I'll start with bread and cider, but I'll just have some-"

"Please eat it with me..." Zahn's pink lips are pulled in a frown and you realize those blue eyes you adore so much are watery. "I can't believe you'd do something like this for the likes of me..." The tears finally fall. "I want you more than any feast."

You reach across the table and hold Zahn's hand. "Okay...if that's what you want."

Zahn smiles and wipes their eyes. "Let's eat until we have to roll on the floor to get around!"

As you dig in, Zahn's pleased moans over their food make you smile. They finish one plate quickly and then get another helping. "This is the best thing I've ever eaten. What is it?"

"You said that the last time we made a big dinner, and I call it shepherd's pie."

Zahn looks down at their plate. "...You made this out of a shepherd?"

You stare back unsure if Zahn is joking or not.

"Were they old or something?" Zahn asks, taking a big bite of the meat.

You really hope Zahn was joking...

[wri0thesley]

Hello Nat! I was wondering how long really would it take a dear reader to figure out that the meat lucas is all cooking is human. It would be so unnerving to be told the food your eating is chicken or beef, yet no matter what it still tastes somewhat similar no matter how its prepared, oooooo or if lucas accidentally let the truth somewhat start to slip and then you put two and two together

cw: cannibalism, mentions of throwing up (not explicit), allusions to past death and violence and weapons.

"What d'you think it is?" He quirks an eyebrow at you, the faintest hint of a smile playing around his lips. You haven't asked before. Of course your first instinct wouldn't have been to assume you were being fed human meat! The man keeps chickens in his yard, for God's sake--

You're not allowed in the yard, but you suppose you've been kidding yourself that somewhere away from the coop and the mass of fluffy little creatures he calls his 'girls' in a sickeningly fond voice, he's probably keeping sheep or cows or pigs. He's never mentioned them, but--

(A part of you remembers, too, what you've heard said about pigs; that they'll eat human remains down to the bone. You haven't thought that you've been eating human meat, but Lucas's axe and the fact he's never mentioned any of the companions you'd originally come into the forest with . . .)

You swallow, looking down at the chunk of meat speared on the silver tines of the fork. It's well-cooked, at least; dark red, tender. It looks like pork, maybe, or beef. You anxiously twirl the fork, and Lucas chuckles indulgently.

"Don't play with your food, darlin'," he says to you, only half an undercurrent of a warning. "C'mon. Eat up. Can't have you gettin' sick and depleted on me now, can I? What kinda man would I be if I didn't take good care of ya', huh?"

You've vomited every night this week; every night Lucas has brought you a pretty willow-patterned plate with potatos and green beans and the meat glistening dark in its own juices. You'd read, once, that the human body will reject an attempt to eat meat taken from its brethren - and now your stomach roils uncomfortably.

"Ain't nothing to worry about," he tells you, his voice uncomfortably close to a coo, as he shifts his chair closer to yours at the kitchen table. "I cooked it well, and I've been eatin' it every day myself for years. C'mon now."

"But what is it?" You ask him, your voice trembling, your grip faltering. You lay the fork down and Lucas clicks his tongue in annoyance. "I . . . I don't know if I'm hungry tonight."

"Does it matter all that much to you?" Lucas asks, raising one eyebrow. You flinch when he reaches forward, and you know that he'll hate that (he hates when you make it too obvious you're frightened out of your skull by him), but he merely grips the utensil you just let go of. "Open up, sweetheart."

"N-no," you shake your head now. You think about the scent of the meat in the frying pan; the way he always brings in cuts of it himself to put in the fridge but you've never seen him actually carving the animal you've told yourself it must be from. "I'm not hungry--"

"You'll open your fuckin' mouth," Lucas says, voice clipped - and now you can tell he's close to snapping on you, all tight tension and coiled spring. "Or I'll prise it open myself."

He still hasn't answered the question. You want to cry - and, sure enough, you feel the tightness of your throat that's always a tell-tale sign you're about to start the waterworks.

"You wanna keep your teeth, sweetheart?" Lucas says, as tight at iron bars, and you hesitantly open your mouth. You feel like a child, as Lucas shifts closer to you and brings the bite of meat closer and closer. You focus on it; the red glisten, the strange almost barbeque scent that's coming off it - and then it's in your mouth, pressing against your tongue, and all you can think about is if it wasn't a person, surely he'd have just fucking told you--

"Chew." Lucas orders, and you do it automatically, the mastication making your stomach churn. Try to think about anything else. The potatoes, afterwards, maybe the herbs from his garden will take the taste away and wash away the knowledge that now feels as certain as a concrete slab that you're eating human flesh--

"Good," he coos at you. "C'mon now. Be good for me and swallow it all down, yeah? That's it." You swallow, and it feels triple the size of the morsel you know you ingested as it goes down your throat. Lucas sighs, pleased with you. "Not so hard, is it, huh?"

He reaches over and takes your knife; begins to cut what's left of the hunk of meat into small, bite-sized pieces. You realise in horror he's going to feed you the entire thing, bite by bite. He even seems to be enjoying it a little; the press of his thigh against yours under the table, the way he looks up at you with his gaze all fond and exasperated, as if to say; "oh, you poor little thing, you really do need me, don't you?"

Two bites. Three.

Open your mouth, chew, swallow, repeat. Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Don't think about it.

"There," Lucas says, in satisfaction, as the final piece of meat is popped into your mouth. His other hand comes up, lingers just for a moment before stroking his thumb across your cheek. "Y'can do the rest yourself, can't you?"

Anything to get away from this forced proximity; from the hideous domesticity that he's trapped you in. You nod, though the meat in your stomach feels heavy as rocks.

"I ain't in the habit of wasting perfectly good food," he tells you, with a smile that doesn't quite reach the sharp green flint of his eyes. You nod quickly, to show you understand. "Good. Now. Y'ain't gonna ask me that again, are you?"

You shake your head just as quickly. You're not going to ask; not going to pry, not going to risk finding yourself on a chopping block. You don't need to. His reaction has made it perfectly clear. Lucas smiles at you, satisfied.

"Our little secret," he says to you, and gives you a wink, before he lightly taps you on the nose. "C'mon, darlin'. Finish your dinner."

The potatoes and the green beans on your plate have been marinating in the juices of the meat as he spoke to you, as he hand-fed you bite by hideous bite.

Any hope you might have had that they'd help wash the taste from your mouth vanishes as you pick up your cutlery, still warm from Lucas's grip.

[lover-222]

Puppy Dog Eyes (TAA)

...

"babe you have to get up to get up, you got training don't you?" y/n said as she turned to face him.

"i don't feel good, i'll just call them and tell them i'm feeling sick i-" he cut himself off and sneezed two times.

trent stayed home from training today, this being due to being sick. the weather wasn't helping, it was gloomy and raining. he had came down with a cold and was not feeling his best.

she nodded and looked at the time it was 9am. y/n got use to waking up early because of trent since he would be up and getting his things ready for practice. he cuddled into her and laid his head on her chest. he was more clingy when he was was sick or feeling under the weather. she didn't mind it at all.

"i'll be back i'll make you some soup and we can cuddle all you want my love" she told him as she caressed his face.

he held on to her tighter and refused to let her go, "noo just a little bit longer please?"

how could she say no to him? she could never say no to trent. she looked at his strong arms that had held hostage, "okay just 5 more minutes" she said.

once the 5 minutes were up she gently unclasped his arms from her, trying her best to not wake him up. she succeeded, y/n went into their kitchen area and started to make him some chicken noodle soup. she cut up some vegetables like carrots, potatoes, and spinach.

she then proceeded to finish off the meal. once the soup was cooking, y/n took advantage and started to clean the kitchen, although that was until she saw trent peeking out in the corner.

"you left me alone, i was cuddling with a pillow" he said sadly.

he was wrapped around in fluffy blanket that he actually gave you for your birthday last year. he actually looked adorable.

"aw i'm so sorry baby, but look i made you food. it's almost ready. if you want you can lay down on the couch and i'll bring it to you when it's ready yeah?" she said as she hugged him.

he just nodded and plopped down on the big couch. he skipped through channels and ended up going on netflix and put on a movie.

y/n placed the food on the small table that was in front of him. she sat down next to him and gave him the bowl.

"cmon it's good for youuu" she told him.

"mmm to-tired- can't hold spoon" trent said.

she playfully rolled her eyes because she knew he could but he wanted to be babied. y/n chuckled and held up the spoon with some of the soup on it and fed him. he was too adorable it was not even funny.

"have i ever told you how cute you are" she expressed while feeding him.

"not enough as you should" he playfully said.

"you have the prettiest eyes, i love them" y/n smiled.

he blushed, "stoppp i'm vulnerable right now my body hurts".

"ooooo did i just make THE trent alexander arnold blush???" y/n said playfully with a shocked expression.

trent took the spoon from her and ate the rest of his food since he wanted her to also eat. the couple finished their food and cuddled up while watching a movie.

"i think my favorite spider-man is andrew garfield" y/n spoke as she drew shapes on his back with her pointer finger.

"what?? nah it's all about toby maguire he's the original spider-man" he said.

"yeah but the second spider-man is a skater and he's really good looking" she chuckled.

trent looked up at her while raising an eyebrow, "liarrrr you know i'm wayyyy better looking" he said confidently.

y/n laughed and made him lay down on her again, "you know you're right just keep watching the movie".

"i'm always right my love i'm always right" he repeated.

funny thing is that he was right, she would never love another man how she loved trent. everything about him was so deeply admired by her. his arms and how they would wrap around her so effortlessly. his soft skin that she would touch all over. most importantly his beautiful brown eyes, that was actually the first thing that captivated her when she met him.

to her that was her weakness, she would melt every time he would look at her. when they first started dating she would blush a lot just by him looking at her and keeping eye contact was a bit difficult. she loved the way they shined and they looked even more beautiful when the sun would beam on his complexion.

she would always tell him how he had puppy dog eyes. ever since she told him that, whenever he wanted something or was trying to convince her he pulled out that trick. he looked at her and made the most adorable puppy dog eyes ever. she couldn't resist.

"stop doing that!!" she sighed then smiled.

"why?? please please please please" trent said then did his puppy dog eyes.

she cupped his face with her soft hands, " you know i can't say no to you when you do that, it's not fair!!"

he laughed and hugged her, "but you love it!!!"

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── a/n: i hope y'all enjoyed this :) d

[themultifandomgal]

Shelby Sister- Grace

This was requested on Wattpad

Being a Shelby has its perks. People move out of the way in the streets, I get things for free. However, I don't get to date, I'm whispered about, but I couldn't care less. Tommy and I are the closest out of all our siblings, but I guess being twins will do that. We do everything together, always have. That was until 'she' came along. Grace. They had a one night stand and now they're married. There's something about her that I do not like. It's like she's getting in between me and my brother. Tonight Tommy is holding a banquet. I have such a bad feeling, maybe it's because Grace will be there.

I finish getting ready and Isaiah escorts me to the hall where said banquet is being held at

"Glass of champagne Miss Shelby"

"Thank you" I take a glass from the tray and walk towards my brother and his new wife

"Tommy" I greet kissing his cheek

"YN"

"Grace" I cross my arms as Tommy rolls his eyes

"Come on its been 2 years. YN, Grace is my wife"

"That doesn't mean I trust her. Tom are you forgetting that this woman betrayed your trust, broke your heart and then suddenly after a one night stand found out she was pregnant. Convenient don't you think?"

"YN that's enough"

"I said I was sorry for what I did"

"Whatever. I'm going to get drunk, dance with a few guys and then go to bed" Tommy clear his throat "on my own of course. But Tom one day I would like to get married, just so you know"

"And I will find you a decent man when your ready" I'm the one now that rolls their eyes. Before I can turn I hear a gun shot ring

"YN? YN please tell me your ok" Tommy is quick to my side

"Yeah I'm fine" I turn around and see blood coming from Grace

"Shit. Grace" Tom is quick to catch her before she hits the ground. He applies pressure on her wound, I place my fingers on her neck buts she's gone.

That was a year ago. Tommy misses Grace dearly, he has her hung up in his study. I'm the one who now looks after Charlie, their son

"Auntie YN?"

"Hmm?" I turn around to see my nephew holding his stuffed bear

"When will daddy play with me?"

"He's a busy man I'm afraid, but I can play if you want?"

"No. It's ok. I just wanted daddy" the little man walks off upset for the 5th time this week and it's on Tuesday. Getting fed up with his behaviour, I make my way to his office, not bothering in knock I just walk in

"What?" I place my hands on my hips and raise my eyebrow

"Don't 'what?' me"

"YN I'm busy I haven't got time for this"

"Your busy? when are you not busy? Tommy you have a son"

"I do know"

"Do you?" I throw my hands in the air "because it looks like I have a child and you don't"

"What are you on about YN? I told you I was busy"

"To busy to spend time with your son?"

"Unfortunately yes" he sighs

"Tom I am taking care of your child. I'm not his mum"

"Don't you think I know that!" he shouts banging his hands on his desk "his mum died in my arms, because of who I am. Someone. Shot her"

"Tommy I was there. I was the one who dragged you away. I might not have been her favourite person and vis versa, but I felt your pain. You lost your wife that day but Charlie lost his mum and dad. The thing is though he didn't have to lose his dad. So you can either hide away in here or come and have lunch with your son. Your choice" and with that I leave the his office.

I place some soup and bread in front of Charlie

"Is dad having soup with us?" before I can respond Tommy walks into the room

"He is, if that's ok with you?"

"Dad! Come sit here!" Charlie pats the place next to him. Tommy pulls out the chair and sits down

"Soup?"

"No..." I give him a look "sure"

"Me and auntie YN made it with potatoes and carrots and onion" Charlie then gasps "maybe you could make it with us next time"

"Maybe I can" I place the soup in front of Tommy and give him a smile

"I'd like that. I think auntie YN would like that as well. I think she misses you"

"I've miss you guys as well" Tommy ruffles Charlie's hair.

[rjmartin11]

Hide and Go Seek One Shot

Pairing: Elvis & female!reader

Summary: Elvis had been away from you for far too long, and you want to play with him in more ways than one.

Word Count: ???

Warnings: Material is not suitable for under 18 years of age. Viewer discretion is advised!

Author's Notes: Hello, world. RJ here. I'm just passing through with a one-shot that's been on the shelves of my mind for a while. I'm retired from writing, but I wanted y'all to have this. Something dirty. Enjoy.

・ʚ♡ɞ・・ʚ♡ɞ・・ʚ♡ɞ・・ʚ♡ɞ・

It's been a full thirty-five days since Elvis left on his cross-country tour, and you missed him deeply. Even though he calls every few days to let you know where he is and how the shows are going, you need him around. His physical presence keeps you humble.

Although you have your hands full with a one year old baby boy. You want his daddy around to play with both of you. You feel like Elvis would have missed his first steps if he didn't walk in through the door that very moment.

He called you last night stating that he'd be home today. You haven't truly slept since the call. It only mattered that baby boy had rest, so he could play with daddy. You made sure he was fed and bathed.

You started cooking immediately for your weary traveler and his band of soldiers. All of Elvis' favorite dishes were to be made with exceptions. Fried chicken, barbecue chicken on the grill, potato salad, mustard greens, mashed potatoes with Smoky Mountain gravy, black-eyed peas, macaroni and cheese, cream onion casserole, and cornbread. For dessert, banana pudding, sweet potato pie, and Ms. Mary's chocolate cake.

You scrambled all over the kitchen with Ms. Mary and Ms. Nancy came in to help with the load. You worked a full six hours in preparation for your love to come home to a great meal. You knew the meals on the road consisted of junk food, so this had to be special.

As you started to slow down a bit, Ms. Nancy asked you to go upstairs and rest. You didn't want to fall asleep on Elvis, so you did as asked and slept for a few hours.

"Mama???" You hear his little voice from down the hall and open your eyes. "Mama???"

You rub the sleep out of your eyes and head to his room. You creep slow around the corner as you hear him continue to call your name. You peek your head in the door, and he starts to giggle. Your son has his daddy's contagious gift of laughter.

"Is that my little Garon?" You ask.

"Mama!" He says with excitement in his voice.

"Hi, Mama's baby boy. Mama's handsome baby boy," you say, taking him out of his crib.

You get him ready for the day, and you both head downstairs. The ladies have taken care of dinner just as promised. You hand Garon off to his Great Aunt Delta and Great-Grandma Dodger so you can finish getting dressed for Elvis' arrival. You take a quick shower and get your hair and makeup ready for him. You want to look irresistible for your love.

As you put the final touches on mascara, you hear a big commotion downstairs.

"Daddy's home," you say to yourself, finishing up.

You run out of the room and to the staircase just in time to see Elvis look up at you. His smile lights up the room, and your glows.

"Hello, Mrs. Presley," he says, greeting with Garon in his arm.

"Hello, my husband," you reply, walking down the stairs.

He walks up to you with his free arm open to you. You embrace him gently as your son is in his other arm. He kisses your head and whispers he missed you. You tell him how much you miss him and how glad he's home.

Everybody crowded into the kitchen to get a plate. You made Elvis' and Garon's plates first, and then everyone piled in for their plate. Ms. Nancy made you a plate, so you sit and eat.

For the next thirty to forty-five minutes, the house was alive with laughter and conversation. Everyone talking about the tour and their adventures on the road.

"All in all," Elvis starts, "it was an amazing trip. This tour was great. Now, I'm just grateful to rest for the next three months."

"Rest? My husband wants to rest?" You ask.

"Yes," he answered. "Traveling around the country is fun, but I wanna rest."

"I guess you can wait on that surprise I have for you," you whisper in his ear.

"Surprise??? Baby, you didn't have to get me anything."

"I wanted to," you say, kissing his cheek. "Get rid of the boys and come find me upstairs."

You pick up Garon and walk toward the door. You bid everyone good night. Your sister drops by and takes Garon home with her, so you and Elvis can have Graceland all to yourselves.

You go upstairs and wait for him on the bed. You waited six months, so another fifteen to thirty minutes wouldn't hurt.

You peek out the window as everyone leaves out the front door, piling into their cars. Elvis tells everyone goodnight and thanks them for everything. He turns and looks up at the window. He sees you staring back at him and smiles the notorious smile of his. You bite your lip and close the curtain.

Seconds later, he's up in the room looking at you sitting on the bed.

"My pretty little Satnin. How I've missed you," he whispers as he crawls on top of you.

"I missed you, E," you whisper back.

He starts passionately kissing. You start slipping your fingers in his hair as he does so, kissing him back. You've longed for this moment for six, dreaded long months.

You roll yourself on top of him and push yourself off of him. You stand in front of him and begin to undress. Elvis watches in awe of you. As you slip out of your panties, cock begins to tent in his pants.

"You missed me, E?" You ask.

"Can't you tell?" He asks back.

"Then why are your clothes still on?"

Without another thought, Elvis starts to unbutton his shirt and undo his belt. Pulling his pants down off of his hips, disposing them to the floor. His cock sits up long and hard before you. All the things you want to do his penis. All the things you've longed to do to his penis.

You bow in front of Elvis. Not allowing him to wait another moment to start to suck him off at the head of his cock. His head falls back, and he moans your name. You only do this for a few seconds until you get off of your knees. You gently climb on top of him until you both are face to face, kissing one another. Elvis rubs your back. Followed by your ass. Then, he slides his fingers in between your legs to your vaginal lips, gently stroking your clitorus. You indulge in the feeling a moment.

Then Elvis pumps his cock a few times, attempting to penatrate you. You stop him and whisper,

"I wanna play a game."

"What?" Elvis asks confused.

You crawl off of him, standing before him and repeat,

"I. Wanna. Play. A. Game."

Elvis, reluctant to your quips, answers you as he gently strokes the throbbing in his dick.

"What kind of a game, Y/N?"

"Hide and Go Seek. In the house. Naked."

Elvis, wide eye, pops his head up to look at you.

"A... w-what? Hide and seek in the house naked?" He answers.

You nod your head enthusiastically. The smile never leaves your face. You squeeze your legs at the thought of him catching you. It makes you wet.

"Y/N, baby. Garon? What if he needs us?"

"He's with his aunt. He'll be with her for the rest of the night."

"Mary? Nancy?"

"I gave them the night off. They helped me cook your welcome home dinner. They earned it."

"Dodger? Aunt Delta?"

"E, everyone is gone. Graceland is all ours for the evening. Surprise."

Elvis smirks to you with that infamous smirk that makes your heart gallop, your knees quiver, and pussy drips. Elvis sits up on the bed, looking at you like he could eat you alive.

"You have twenty seconds to hide before I stuff my dick so far up your pussy they hear you scream on Beale Street," Elvis says.

"That's only if you can catch me," you laugh, running out the door and down the stairs.

"One!" Elvis shouts, standing from the bed.

"Two! Three!" He continues to shout.

Elvis gets quiet as he starts searching the house for you. He walks downstairs, allowing the soft carpet to massage his bare feet. He quietly looks in the living room, and he even takes the extra steps to see if you're hiding in the music room. He'd love to fuck you on top of the piano.

He walks into the dining area and checks under the table. He makes way into the kitchen, silently searching for you. He rubs the ache in his dick, begging for a release only you can prove.

"Y/N?" He calls out to you. "Oh, Y/N. Where are you?" He asks.

He walks towards the Jungle Room, but there's still no sign of you. It doesn't make him mad. It only makes him want you more. He so enjoys the chase.

"Oh, you are so good at this, Y/N," he says. "I'm going to find you, and I'm going to fuck you so hard that you'll be begging me to stop."

You start to giggle but quietly move downstairs. Elvis heard you and ran to the sound of your voice.

"Baby, no cheating now. If you left the house, that's cheating. You want the public to see you. That beautiful, naked body of yours."

*ring* goes the phone.

Elvis looks at the phone confused. Who could be calling you and him right in the middle of your game. Hesitant, Elvis picks up the phone and answers.

"Hello?"

"I didn't leave the house," you say over the phone.

"Y/N, you naughty girl. You deserve a spankin'."

"Don't threaten me with a good time."

"Once I get my hands on you..."

"Talk is cheap, Presley."

"Tell me where you are."

"Where's the fun in that?" You answered him. "You're so close, E."

"Give me a hint."

"Well, there are six phones in the house. One in your study. The kitchen. The bedroom. The living room. And the other two are... E?"

Elvis goes quiet. Dead quiet to the point that it scares you. Then you realize he knows where you are!!! He knows you're downstairs! You drop the phone and try to make a run for it, but he grabs you as you get to the doorway. You yell with excitement.

You back away from him. You made him wait to pleasure you too long. He's sex deprived, hungry, and needy for you. You can see the lust in his eyes. Where the color of his eyes was once a clear blue, you now see a stormy dark gray.

"Now, E..." You say trying to calm him down.

"Silence," Elvis says, backing you up to the sofa.

You run away from him further into the den of the room, but he's right behind you. He grabs you and lays you face down on the sofa. He slaps your ass a few times cause moans to escape from your lips.

"Bad girl," Elvis says, through clinched teeth.

*smack*

"Making me wait to fuck you."

*smack*

"Not allowing me to take what's rightfully mine."

*smack*

"Awe!" Is all you can muster up.

The action makes you wetter. You start to hump the couch as another smack lands across your backside. Elvis has your hands where you can please yourself, so you fuck the sofa.

He forces his hand upon your ass once more, then he raises you ass in the air where you can't grind the sofa.

"Elvis, please," you beg.

"Elvis, please!" He mocks you, placing another smack to your rear end.

Then, without warning, he stuffs himself inside your pussy from behind. You let out such a moan at the penatration and pleasure that fulls you up. Holding your sides, he pounds his rock-hard dick inside with fervor. You delight in the feeling of being one with him.

With your hands free, you waste no time placing your fingers on your clit to work yourself into a frenzy. He pumps into you for a few minutes until he pulls out of you, turning you around to fuck you from the front.

He hungrily kisses your lips and makes his way down your neck. He takes his time going down to your breast, giving them special treatment. You moan at the sensation of his lips on your skin. They're like two plush clouds massaging you.

Elvis bites your left nipple causing you to scream. He looks at you with that devilish grin and licks the ache away. He sits up for a moment, and you take this opportunity to kiss him. You push him on his back, mounting his cock. He helps you line yourself up with his cock, and pulls you down to relieve the ache of pleasure. You both moan at the first stroke of each other.

You begin to ride his penis like you're on saddle back. You start slow at a slow trot and pick up the pace into a full gallop. Your heart has been racing since the beginning of your little game. But it's nothing compared to the way it races with Elvis inside you. You love this man so much.

He pushes himself inside you just right where he hits your g spot, and your moans fill the room. You are so blissed out from ecstasy that you tumble on top of him. He holds you closer than a toddler holds his or her teddy bear.

You both lay there quietly, just enjoying each other's company.

"Baby," Elvis says, "That was the best game of hide and seek I've ever played. I never knew running around Graceland naked could be such fun."

"Oh, I did, E. I knew," you say, wrapping his arm around you.

"So, what's the next game, Y/N?" He asks, kissing your head.

"I'm sure you'll think of something."

Taglist: @missmaywemeetagain @beeandheroddobsessions @headfullofpresley @everythingpresley @epforeverohyes @vintagepresley @pianginferno @powerofelvis @ab4eva @foreverdolly @searchingforgravity @thatbanditqueen @daffieapple @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @epsgirl @richardslady121 @literally-just-elvis-fics @eptodaytommorowforever @vintageshanny @iloveelvis @dreamingofep @aliypop @littlehoneyposts @msamarican

[pomefioredove]

Tbh I was reading the matchup info and now I have an idea for a fic 😂😂😂

But Seriously I really love your writings. I've been having a shitty time and when I read your stuff it gets better and mellows me out ❤️

Personality wise: I can be pretty calm, but I also have my exciting/ manic moments. Like cleaning my room at 3am (cries in bd sleeping schedule). People say I'm nice, and have a good energy. But if someone pushes me (metaphorically) I will push back. I can be petty if I get fed up enough. I get depressed easily and sometimes have trouble expressing myself. Which is weird because I kind of am the therapist friend. I don't talk about my feelings or self often. Sometimes I scare my friends unintentionally, like dropping random tidbits of my life that might sound or be a little traumatic. (I.e. that reminds me of the time my mom told me she would beat my ass if I cleaned her room wring again.) I can be pretty lazy, I sleep A LOT. I am a feminist, who is pretty used to red flags in people.

Interests/ Hobbies: I love reading and trying new art stuff. I am an English major and like learning about the dirty and scary sides of History. My favorite books to read right now are classical literature and disturbing horror books. Art wise I've been trying to get into air dry sculptures. I love to crochet. And when I feel like it I can cook and bake. Sometimes I roller skate, like once in a blue moon. I have trouble with homework sometimes, I can get really distracted. When I'm really tired I won't eat. I have body issues too (thanks mom 🥲). I used to be a vegetarian for almost 10 years. I stopped a couple years ago.

Relationship wise: I like people who are competent. Like, someone who knows their way around the house or are willing to learn. I like feminists. I don't like people who yell at me. When I get into a relationship, love bombing and honeymoon phase stuff kinda turn me off ngl. (Like why r you so free on a regular Tuesday afternoon. I give you butterflies? Digest them, want some pesto bismol? Here.) Ngl, it's like why should I have to come back from a full day of work/school and clean up after you and/or make dinner.

Lifestyle wise: No lie I have depression and anxiety and it can get pretty bad. There are times where I can't take care of myself as well as I wish. I will cry, if someone makes fun of me for it. I try to keep my area clean, when I get back from work/school I clean up a little then crash. I try to deep clean on weekends if I'm not swamped from school.

Specifics: No first or second years pls

Ty 💖💖💖

I match you with 𝐕𝐢𝐥 𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐧𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐭

The First Impression:

One might assume that the first thing Vil notices in a person is their style, or their physical features, or even their body language.

Not really.

Vil absolutely judges people based on their competency, their skill, their dedication to themselves and their passions. And he can absolutely see that in you.

Why He Fell:

What initially attracts Vil is the challenge. He's always looking for new potential, and he can tell that you're both skilled and committed enough to meet his standards- but there's something holding you back. You're quite different from his past potatoes, and he's more than capable of taking a different approach to your case, one without the need for harshness.

Vil isn't one to pry, though he's able to piece together your situation from the random tidbits you drop on him, and soon, his pet project becomes more of a mission. Can't take care of yourself right now? That's fine, he'll do it for you. He'll find a way to create a perfectly manageable routine, fix your sleep schedule, help you with homework, and slowly ease you into a healthier lifestyle with him by your side.

Though he'd never admit it, Vil really likes the feeling of being needed, not just wanted. And, in time, he finds himself needing you and your company just as much.

The Relationship:

You cannot get more competent than Vil Schoenheit. Experience or not, he's a master at navigating relationships, and is more than willing to help you in that regard, as well. He's there at your best and worst, as you are for him- Vil considers the partnership very equal, and would never in a million years dream of upsetting that balance.

(Quite honestly, Vil doesn't want to be treated like an incompetent manchild who can't do anything for himself and he's glad you're on the same page)

He very much appreciates and admires your skillset, interest in learning new things, and your dedication to your passions (one isn't just vegetarian for ten years without some commitment, after all), and sees you as compatible in that regard.

It's a very mature and balanced relationship, one in which you don't even have to imagine him lovebombing or taking you for granted or acting childish. He certainly has his moments, but such is being human.

[confessionsofa-roleplayer]

Sick to death of some of these same-brand RPers who are constantly banging their pots and pans on the dash like "I'm autistic/neurodivergent so if I do anything wrong then please tell me, I cannot read your mind and I'm bad at social cues!", usually right after they've crossed a line (or 50) with someone, and then you proceed to tell them clear as day what to do and not do and they just continue to do the thing you said NOT to do. The one I love the most (sarcasm) is when you say "Hey don't message me for a few days I'm going through some shit / need some space" and they relentlessly spam your messages nonstop across 3 or 4 different platforms because you didn't reply on the 1st platform and get progressively more and more guilt-trippy about it. And then, big shocker, when you express the tiniest bit of dissatisfaction with having your clearly communicated boundaries completely ignored, they run to the dash to complain at everyone "Guys, please tell me if I'm doing something wrong I don't know if you don't tell me!" I've known quite a few autistic / neurodivergent people who DO respect boundaries better than this and try really really hard at it (you guys are the real MVPs) but god, at some point you need to shut up and stop pretending like autism and "no clear communication" is your problem and develop some BASIC self-control instead of constantly throwing the ball in someone else's court like its hot potato and then wondering why people get fed up. We can only "communicate" to you so many times before your behavior stops being an "accident" and its clear you just don't care about other peoples' boundaries.

[aprilclementine]

Thinking about Steve offering to host Friendsgiving at his parents house, and Eddie offering to help (Of Course, I know how to cook, Stevie! I was on my own for most of my childhood too, y'know!). Steve reluctantly letting Eddie come over while he preps (Really, he just couldn't say no to spending even more time with Eds). Eddie snickering when Steve opens the door in a pale yellow apron (Eddie, how many times do I have to tell you, It's my MOMS). Eddie ushering Steve out of the kitchen insisting he has it all under control (Let these hands work their magic, sweetheart, shoo!). Cue Steve pacing in his living room, as Eddie preps, coming out only thirty minutes later, hands in the air, and a wicked grin on his face (Dinner is served, my Lord). Steve's face scrunches as he walks into the dining room, to see what Eddie has conjured up. His jaw goes slack, as he sees the various bowls of chips, two liters of about every soda he can think of, hard candy scattered around the table (For a bit of garnish, nice touch, right Stevie?) and a single rotisserie chicken, still in its container in the middle of the table. (I'm imagining the excitement and randomness of the way Snoopy set up "Thanksgiving" dinner in A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving). Steve sighs, bringing his hand up to massage out the scrunch of his brows, running a quick hand through his hair. He will give Eddie credit, despite the "food" the plating is beautiful. Eddie had used his parents' best serving plates, and folded up the cloth napkins no one ever uses, into cute little toppers, even set out all the gold plated silverware. You don't like it Stevie, Eddie had asked. Steve let out a fond laugh, shaking his head. (Eds, where's the turkey, where's the mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, even the pumpkin pie?). Eddie had walked closer to the table, and began explaining why he grabbed the things he did, talking about a mile a minute (Mike and Lucas looooove Doritos, Max loves those strawberry candies grandmas always have, Dustin loves his Mtn. Dew, even included some jelly beans for El, oh oh, and Will loves to snack on the Ruffles whenever I host a long D&D campaign, and and). Steve had grabbed Eddies hands in his own, not worrying about hiding the fond smile for the boy, as his movements came to a halt (Eds, we aren't hosting a D&D night, these gremlins are going to be starving, they need some real food, and I think Lucas and Dustin alone could tear that poor Rotisserie chicken to shreds, before we even say grace). Eddie deflated, (I just wanted you to relax for once, and! In my defense, that rotisserie chicken is always just enough for me and Wayne, figured the gremlins are like half of me and Wayne, would've fed at least four of 'em). Steve let out a hearty laugh, as he pushed Eddie back into the kitchen through his swinging doors, Eddie gliding easily in his socks across the tile. Steve begins taking out his bigger pots and pans (Eds, don't worry, it was the thought that counts, plus I'm sure the kids would love those things as an appetizer, while we are finishing up here anyways). Eddie looked up quickly, grinning wide, pulling a strand of hair in front of his face, (You mean you're not banishing me from your precious kitchen!) Steve shook his head, throwing another apron at Eddie, (And put that hair up! The last thing I need is one of your curls in my homemade stuffing!)

[boygiwrites]

Harley D. Dixon 32

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📖Chapter List.

Herschel still looks like he's sleeping peacefully after a long day's work on the farm, with one of his arms flopped over the side of the bed, handcuffed to the frame. His fingers, curled loosely around nothing, refuse to twitch no matter how long I stare at them.

Maybe that's why it's so hard for me to imagine him as one of the walkers.

It's easy to forget that they used to be people.

"You best wake up soon," I tell the motionless old man, trying my best to sound like I mean business. It ain't lost on me that my Dad was in this same position last year, laid up in bed after he took that bullet to the guts and refused to die. It was Herschel that had saved him, only outta the kindness of his heart and nothing much else at all, 'cause he ain't got a bad bone in him, not even one. "We need you."

Crouched at his bedside, Maggie squeezes her eyes shut, a tear slipping down her cheek as she holds his hand.

When she opens them again, they're green and watery like fresh grass after a sun shower.

Even though Carl and I got an earful from our Dads about sneaking off, I'm glad we managed to get the supplies from the infirmary.

His leg — Or should I call it something else, now that half of it is gone? Is there a word for such an impossible thing? — is wrapped up in clean, white bandages, no longer pourin' blood. I know any one of us would happily give him one of ours, but we just can't.

"Thank you," Carol glances from me, to Carl, to Glenn. "By the way. I couldn't have done this without your help."

Glenn smiles a bit. "Should I say it was no problem?"

"Probably not," She chuckles softly, going back to tidying up the thin gauze around the wound.

Herschel was always so kind to me, even when I wasn't kind in return. There are just some people who are like that — Good. Like Dale — and can't ever be anything else. I used to think it was a weakness, because what good is an animal that doesn't know how to bite? How's it meant to survive? Nobody I ever knew was brave enough to be gentle, but Herschel was. He took us in when we needed help, fed us warm tea and potato soup when all we had to give in return was trouble. He cleaned the blood from my wounds, gave me a clean bed to sleep in.

No matter if somebody is as mean as a snake or as loyal as a dog — In my case, if they're both — we all bleed the same.

"Harley?"

Everybody turns at the sound of Beth's voice, the blonde girl peering around the doorframe.

"Yeah?"

"Could you come help me with somethin' real quick?" She asks, adding, "It won't take long."

"That reminds me, actually." Carol tells Glenn, "I need your help with something, too."

"I don't think I can leave Herschel again," He says.

"Let's talk about it outside."

"Um. Sure thing," I nod to Beth, standing from the metal seat and following her outta the cell, and into ours. "What is it?"

She kneels down on Carl's mattress where Mouse is napping, picking up a bundle of brown cloth and laying it across her lap. "He's gonna have a hard time walkin' around with one side of his pants draggin' on the ground. He could, you know, trip or somethin'."

She takes a tiny sewing needle and sticks it through the fabric.

Trip?

Her Daddy's on his deathbed and she's worried about him tripping?

"I just need you to keep the string from knottin' up," She explains as I sit in front of her. "So I can focus on the sewin' part."

Taking the string and picking the tangled pieces apart as she continues weaving the needle in and out, her thin fingers trembling, I decide to humour her, because it's the right thing to do. Some people cry when they're nervous, but I guess others sew up pantlegs.

"I asked Maggie to help me earlier," She muses, frustrated. "But she wouldn't do it."

I almost lose my grip on the string as she tugs harshly on it, catching it at the last moment.

"Oops."

"Apparently, she didn't want me to get my hopes up too high," She says. "You believe that? It's like s-she thinks he's gonna die."

I struggle to know whether or not I should tell her that's exactly what Maggie thinks, and that nobody can blame her for it. I thought my Dad was gonna die when we were on the farm, but it was never because I didn't have faith in him. I was just scared.

Feeling my stare on her, Beth looks up at me through her furrowed brows, pouting, "What?"

I shake my head. "Nothin'."

"Just say it, then." She slumps. "You think the same thing, don't you?"

Gesturing to her with the ball of string, I try to convince her, "Well, I'm helpin' ya, ain't I?"

She sighs as she looks back down at her needle. "Yeah, but I know you're just feelin' sorry for me. I felt sorry for you when your Dad was unconscious. You were like a sad little puppy dog waitin' for her owner at the door, but I couldn't do anything to help."

"I'on think he's gonna die," I insist, because it's true. "I think he's either gonna die or wake up, and that's totally different."

She pulls the needle through with a long, sweeping motion. "Sorry. I'm just... I appreciate you gettin' the medical supplies."

"O'course."

I ain't gonna lie and tell her I didn't second guess going with Carl, but what matters is that I only ever had Herschel in mind.

If you were to ask my Dad, though, he'd say that's exactly what the problem was.

She adds, "Just... Promise to be more careful, next time?"

"Who bribed ya to say that?"

"Nobody," She giggles, biting the string with her teeth and tying it off. "Nobody needs to be bribed to care about you, Harley."

"What'd they give ya?"

"Nothin'!"

"If it was cookies, I want one."

"Oh, shut it." She smooths out the pantleg before holding it up to look at. "There. These will do. Decent, right?"

I smile, "Yeah, you're really good at that."

"Thanks." Folding them neatly and grabbing the next pair of pants, she says, "My Mom taught me all about textiles when I w—"

"Oh, my God!"

Mouse's head whips up.

"Maggie?" I call out worriedly, throwing the string aside and running outta the cell. "What's wrong?"

She's backed up against the wall when I come to a stop outside Herschel's cell, staring wide-eyed at him, shuddering somethin' about, He ain't breathin', He stopped breathin', as Lori pushes past everyone and presses her ear to his chest.

"'Stopped breathin'?'" I exclaim but I don't know who to, horrified it means, dead.

"Oh, Lord," Beth croaks.

Lori lifts her head and without wasting any time, she starts pumping his chest, grunting with each brutal squashing of his sternum. I watch on, unsure what I can do, unsure if I'm gonna stop breathin', too. His heart's stopped, and I know that means dead.

Lori's hair hangs down, tickling the end of his nose like a feather.

"Come on," She's gritting through her teeth, "Come on."

I swear his nostrils twitch.

I'on even have to think about it. I pull my gun out, point it at his head, watching for any sign that he's waking up in the wrong way. It ain't like all the other heads I've had hovering on my sights. It ain't mishappen, rotted, peeled back, leaking. It's just our Herschel.

The handcuffs rattle.

I gasp.

All the little hairs on my arms stand up.

Lori squeals as his body lurches up like he's being sick and his arms reach out for her, Maggie pulling her into her side.

They hold each other, gawking at him.

Has he turned? Is he gone?

I'm about to move my finger onto the trigger when he lets out a thin sigh, slumps back down on his pillow, and starts to snore like a happy baby, none the wiser to any of the horror he just caused us. Well. I'm glad somebody's havin' a good time.

Lowering the gun, I look at poor Maggie, Beth, and Lori, suddenly quite ashamed that I had drawn.

When I look to my left, Carl's shakily lowering his gun, too.

"It's okay," Maggie soothes us after a breathless moment has passed. "It's— It's okay."

"I'm sorry," I say. Even if he had turned into a walker and I was forced to shoot him, it still would'a had her Dad's face on it.

"Don't be, honey. It's okay." She says. "He's okay."

Beth suddenly breaks free of them and marches outta the cell.

Not wanting her to be alone after what just happened, I holster my gun and follow after her, Mouse at my heel. I don't care that I'll probably be stuck with her for hours. Some people sew up pantlegs when they're nervous, but I guess others help them hold the string.

Beth and I have finished tailoring and folding away all of Herschel's pants by the time Rick, Dad, and T-Dog return to the cellblock, approaching Carl, who's standing in the doorway of Herschel's cell, telling them, "Herschel stopped breathing before. Mom saved him."

"It's true," Glenn nods as they crowd into the cell with us, Rick coming to his bedside, sadly gazing down at him.

"I almost shot him, Dad," I whisper, thinking of the night he was forced to raise his gun to Dale's head. "Thought he turned."

His expression solemn, he reaches down and wraps a hand around the nape of my neck, squeezing reassuringly.

"S'alright," He rasps quietly, leaving the rest unsaid.

I let the pressure calm me as I watch Herschel's sleeping face, his wrinkled mouth parting as if to speak a silent word.

Wait.

His mouth is parting.

Realizing the same thing, Maggie rushes to his side.

"Daddy?" She softly calls out to him, searching his closed eyes for something. "Daddy, we're here."

"We're here," Beth agrees.

Please, I think to myself, This has to be it, right?

I feel Dad move his hand onto my shoulder, stopping me from reaching for my holster. He rests his fingers on the grip of his gun. Rick gently puts his hand on Maggie's back, glancing back at him with a tense sort of look before focusing on Herschel again.

Then, without any grand affairs or a single word from anybody in the room, his eyelids slowly flutter open, and they're not milky, or bloodshot, or twitching, or anything. They're just a tender blue, focusing and unfocusing on the bottom of the bunk above him.

The first thing he turns his head to look at is Maggie's tearful, laughing face. Beth lets out a squeaky cry, and the corner of his mouth pulls into a weak smile as his hand twitches in the handcuffs, tryna reach out for them in the human way, gentle and loving.

He's okay. He really is.

Dad relaxes, removing his hand from his gun.

Taking the keys from his belt, Rick unlocks the handcuffs and they fall away, letting Herschel embrace Maggie's wet cheek.

"Hey, sleepyhead," Beth sniffles.

"You scared us," Maggie adds, putting her hand over his.

He looks over her shoulder at Rick, at me and Dad, at Carol and T-Dog, at Lori, Glenn, and Carl, and lastly, at smiling Mouse.

"I hope my bed hair isn't going to s-scare you all over again," He says hoarsely, making us all chuckle. "How long?"

"About half a day," She says. "We dressed your leg up real good. Got the bleedin' to stop. You're gonna be okay, Daddy."

"Of course I am," He smiles.

"Let me get you some water," Carol says as she turns outta the cell, leaving everyone to bask in the moment, sharing relieved glances.

We got no choice but to believe him when he sounds as certain as he does. He's a tough one, alright. Tougher than all of us combined.

When she returns, Maggie shuffles outta the way to give her room to crouch down, helping him take a long sip.

"Easy," She cautions, pulling away. "We want you rested up."

"Yes, I think that's a good idea," He agrees, peering down his belly at his half-leg, giving it a bit of a wiggle.

"Does it hurt?"

"Oh," He chuckles. "Only my pride, my dear. You did an excellent job."

"Well, I had an excellent teacher," She says proudly, brushing some of the hair back from his face.

"And, Rick," He reaches out for the man, who takes his bony hand in his strong ones. "I think I owe you just about everything."

He shakes his head. "No more than I owe you."

"I haven't quite taken an axe to your leg, yet, son," He jokes, releasing his hand to point at him, "S-so, not exactly."

Dipping his head, he laughs, "Fair enough, old man."

Taking Maggie's hand again, Herschel's eyes begin to droop sleepily before he falls back asleep, a faintly happy look on his face, like he's having a nice dream. Maggie kisses Beth's cheek and holds her Daddy's hand under her chin, placing another kiss there.

"Let's leave him to rest," Carol says, gently guiding everyone out. "He needs it if he's going to be up and walking."

Stepping into the cell hall, Rick sighs heavily, "That was a relief."

"He's a tough son of a bitch," Glenn agrees.

Rubbing her belly, Lori asks, "What happened with the prisoners?"

"We tried to take cell block C with them," He explains, his brow splattered with wet blood and gunk, but with no wound. "I mean, these are guys who thought we might have a phone for 'em to use, so you can imagine how it went. The rest, I'on think the kids should hear."

"So, where are they now?" Carol asks.

"Two of 'em are in cell block C," He says, leaving me to wonder where the other three are. "It's a mess, but they agreed to stay."

I ain't sure how I feel about havin' neighbours in here. The prison is definitely more than big enough to share with them, but some neighbours are just better off dead, even if they give us dry corn and canned beef. It's not what Dale would've said, I know, and I think that's the reason Rick let them live. For now, at least. It's not as if they've threatened us, unlike that group of bandits he murdered last year.

Yes, the prisoners' leader did have his gun aimed at Rick's head, but Rick had one aimed at his, too.

"Hopefully they stay out of our way," She shrugs, though she doesn't look very happy. "Nothing else we can do."

"Don't worry. We're keepin' an eye on 'em," T-Dog reassures her.

"Well, I'm gonna go clean myself up," Rick announces, his exhaustion suddenly obvious. "I need a good sleep."

"Ditto," Dad groans.

That night, I think we all rest more than a little easier knowing that Herschel will survive.

My knife sinks into the soft meat of the walker's knee, the bone popping open as I twist the blade like a key.

It gives out a gurgling cry, gripping the fence with its blackened fingers as it falls to its knees, tonguing at the wire.

SQUELCH.

Stabbing it through the eye, the rotting lady's jaw goes slack, right before she slumps over and another walker replaces her.

"Nicely done." Dad says. He's making good on his promise to let us help clear the courtyard. "How many's that now, girl?"

"Eight," I pant.

He's standing a few feet down the fence from me, holding his hand over his brow and sneering against the glare of the sun. Behind him, Carl deftly drives his knife into the knee of a walker and then its head, pulling it out with a spray of blood. 

In the background, Mouse is busy doing his own thing, sniffing weeds.

"Good. Make it ten." Dad approaches me and takes my knife from me, wiping it on his thigh. "And remember to keep this clean."

With the newly gunk-free blade, he swiftly kills the walker in front of me.

It drops to the ground.

"Like I said, it don't gotta be sparklin', but you don't want all that sticky shit dryin' on there and makin' it harder for you to pull out," He explains, handing it back to me. He watches me stab the knee of the next walker, breaking the bone. "That's it. Now the head."

Its face presses up against the fence, eye level with me, only managing half a growl before I stick the blade through its eye.

It's all the more satisfying when I imagine it's the walker that tackled me on the farm, or the one from the hospital, or the one from yesterday. It sure feels good being able to kill a thing that wants to kill me. With each kill, I'm gettin' better, faster, more accurate.

"And you, boy?" He calls over to Carl. "How many?"

As the walker in front of him collapses, the boy grins. "Ten. Guess I've mastered the class, huh, Daryl?"

"Ten?" I sass. "You lyin'."

"Make it twelve," Dad orders, wiping the smug look from his face. "Remember yer footin'. S'why you're stumblin' all over the place."

I can't help but snicker.

Dad unlocks the small gate as I cripple and take out one more walker, bringing me to ten kills, one for every one of my fingers.

Dad pulls his bandana over his head. One of the many walkers shuffles toward him, but before it can do any damage, he effortlessly lunges forward with the fabric and braces it between its teeth, dragging it into the courtyard and tying a knot behind its head.

As Mouse starts barking at it, I soothe, "Shh, boy. It's okay."

Dad kicks the gate closed, and with the walker angrily chewing on the bandana, he muscles it over to us.

"We're gonna practice without the fence."

I remember we did this a few months ago on the side of the highway when we were first learning how to properly kill walkers.

Until then, we only knew the basics — Aim for the head!

Now, he makes us practice every few days.

It's one of my favorite pastimes. Even better'un playin' soccer and ridin' our bikes!

"Y'all know the drill. It can't bite ya." He reassures us, the walker's thrashing no match for the strong grip he's got on it. "I'm gonna let it go and you're gonna take it down however you feel is best. But you wanna keep on its eight and four. Why ya gonna do that?"

"That's its blind spots," I recite. "And ya don't wanna get behind it, 'cause it might fall on ya."

"Easier to dodge," He agrees. "Harley, you're gonna go first. Carl, you get seconds. Hold the dog. Ready?"

Carl crouches, holding Mouse still. "Yep."

"Ready," I nod.

"I'm right here if things get messy." Dad shoves it forward. "Alright. Meathead, in the ring. Show 'im who's boss, girl."

The walker locks eyes with me.

Without anything to hold it back, it starts to clumsily stride toward me with purpose.

"You got this, Harley," Carl cheers, Mouse whining worriedly.

"I'mma kill it, Mousey," I reassure him. "It's okay."

Let's do it. Eight and four, eight and four. As soon as it's within arm's reach, I dodge it, ducking under its arm. Confused, it looks around, sniffing at the air to find out where I went because it's a fuckin' idiot. Rearing my knife back, I drive it into the back of its knee.

It stumbles drunkenly, landing on its stomach, but with my hands still wrapped around the knife, I fall with it.

Landing against its thigh, I grunt.

Mouse's whining gets louder.

"I'm here. Stay calm," Dad coaches me as Carl shushes the dog. "Get that knife out 'fore it gets back up."

Righting myself, I pull the blade out and crawl up to its head, stabbing the nape of its head.

Pink brains and blood leaks out.

It's dead!

As I stand back up, heart racing, Dad comes forward and starts untying his bandana from the walker's mouth.

"Good work," He says, shaking it out. "You know why you fell, right?"

"I ain't took the knife out quick enough. Pulled me down with it."

If I was up against any more walkers, they would'a piled on top of me while I's on the ground. Eaten alive, in Rick's words. Eugh.

Not a good pastime.

"Was only practice," He soothes, kissing my hair. "Next time, give it a bit of a wiggle and it'll free up quicker."

"Alright."

"You didn't warn us about us falling on them, Daryl," Carl jokes, releasing Mouse, who runs straight for me.

"Shut up, Carl," I smile, petting the dog's big snout. "It was only practice."

"Woohoo, Harley!"

We all look up at Glenn standing out in the field with Rick, grinning and holding a bunch of firewood.

"Good job!" Rick adds, waving.

Dad scoffs. "Didn't know we had an audience."

I cup my hands around my mouth. "Thanks!"

After that, Dad dresses up another walker for Carl to practice on. While he don't fall over like I did, he keeps nervously dancing around it like some sorta twinkle-toes ballerina, until my Dad's patience wears thin and he shouts at him to make a move, and he finally kills it.

SQUELCH.

"Alright," Dad says, "Back to work."

Fifteen, I count in my head, pulling my knife free, when the door behind us suddenly swings open.

What was that?

At first, I think it's more walkers spilling into the courtyard, but when I turn around, I see it's not walkers at all.

It's the prisoners.

The white guy with the ugly moustache and the black guy that wanted a phone to call his family.

That's them, emerging from the dark.

"Oh. H-Hey, guys," The shorter of the two greets us breathily, holding up his hands as the door shuts behind them. "Fancy se—"

"Back the Hell up!"

Dad's got his crossbow aimed at their heads before they can take a single step toward us, his finger curled around the trigger.

Mouse starts bark, bark, barking at them, but I lunge toward him, holding him back.

"Holy shit," The prisoner exclaims, looking like he's about to wet his jumpsuit, or cry, or both. "Man, w-we don't want no trouble."

If he ain't careful, he's gonna get an arrow to the head and a dog bite to the neck.

"What do you want?" Dad growls, blocking their view of me and Carl with his body. "Cell block weren't cozy enough for ya?"

"Please, mister. We know we had a deal," He begs. I ain't never heard nobody call my Dad, mister, before. He must really wanna get on our good side, but what he don't understand is that when it comes to strangers, we don't got no good side. "But you gotta understand! We can’t live in that place another minute, you follow me? All the bodies. People we knew. Blood. Brains everywhere. There’s ghosts!

Rick, Glenn, and T-Dog must have noticed all the commotion, rushing into the courtyard.

Frowning hard, Rick demands to know, "What's goin' on? Why're they out here?"

Lowering his crossbow, Dad sneers, "Fellers got cold feet, is what I'm hearin'."

"We just can't live like that," The taller one says. "We can't."

"Why don't'cha move the bodies out?"

As Glenn herds me and Carl behind him, T-Dog scoffs, "You ain't done that, yet? You should be burnin' them."

"We tried," The blonde blubbers.

"The fence is down on the far side of the prison." The other explains, making everybody share tense glances with each other. A downed fence ain't good at all, if we wanna fortify this place. "Every time we drag a body out, those things just pile up."

Well, that's what they're best at. Piling up. That, and bitin' into people like they's burgers.

It's a bible-level miracle these two ain't dead, yet.

"Look," The weaselly little man says, becoming even more antsy at our prolonged silence. "We had nothing to do with Tomas and Andrew. You tryna prove a point? Yeah? W— You proved it, bro! I swear, we’ll do whatever it takes to be part of your group!"

When he gestures to me and Mouse, Dad's hands twitch around his crossbow.

"You—? You got a dog? I mean, that's awesome," He puffs. "Clearly, you been doin' well for yourselves. What's his name?"

"Don't'chu fuckin' talk to my daughter, man," Dad scolds him.

"It's just, I love— We love dogs. I actually used to have a labrado—"

"Man, will you stop?" His friend tuts. "Have some balls."

Mouse gives a little huff.

He don't like 'em, neither.

"I'm just sayin'," He sighs, "I really, really, really don't wanna go back to that cell block again. Please don't make us."

"Our deal is non-negotiable," Rick replies coldly. "You either live in your cell block, or you leave. We have kids here."

"We ain't pedos, mister. Swear!"

"Jesus Christ," Glenn mutters under his breath, because this guy is embarrassing.

"We ain't here to test that theory out," Dad scowls.

Rick agrees, "You even think about steppin' into our cell block, and you can consider yourselves dead."

"You know, I told you this was a waste of time," The tall one scoffs, smart enough to ditch the begging route. "These guys ain’t no different than the pricks who shot up our boys. You know how many friends’ corpses we had to drag out this week? Just threw ‘em out-like. Those were good guys! Good guys who had our backs against the really bad dudes in this joint, like Tomas and Andrew!"

None of these guys were put in here for no reason.

Everybody used to say that only bad guys went to prison, but I never believed that. I saw the people I cared about be rounded into cop cars and driven away into the night more time than I cared to count, always watching the flashing lights disappear down the road while standing on the porch with Merle, shivering in the wind in my pyjamas. No, I knew it was only people the police ain't liked that went to prison.

Whether it was because they was murderers, or brawlers, or tax-dodgers; or if they had only given 'em a sour look.

My Dad, he was all'a those things, but it weren't no sour look that got him put in handcuffs in the end.

He ain't like Herschel and Dale. Ain't all good. He's nasty and he swears and he's killed people, but that's only part of him.

I feel a little bad for these two.

They're clueless, like babies. They don't even got a word for the walkers, yet. But I know that even though our group love my Dad for who he is, and they know he's been to prison, and that it don't make him all bad, they won't feel the same way for these two strangers.

The most important thing we have is each other.

I've seen first-hand what we do to anybody that threatens that.

"Now, we’ve all made mistakes to get in here, chief," The man continues uselessly. "And I’m not gonna pretend to be a saint, but believe me — We paid our due. Enough that we would rather hit the road, than to go back into that shithole for one more second."

He doesn't know he's just described to a T what's about to happen.

Rick levels them with an indifferent look. "Then you're on the road."

His face falls.

And it's probably not because he won't get to pet Mouse.

"We'll die out there."

Again, Rick shrugs.

Raising his crossbow once more, Dad herds them outta the courtyard and into the field.

Author's note.

I enjoyed writing this chapter! Probably because nothing bad happened. We have low standards here at Harley D. Dixon.

As always, I sincerely hope you enjoyed reading! 💙

@poetoflawed

[violetsees]

LITTLE GAME AU: A WHAT-IF STORY

Y'all remember my Little Game AU? Yeah. Me neither. Anyway, here's a Little Game story I did for an English assignment that I'm kinda proud of as it's the most words I've written.

(Song that started this stupid AU)

THE BLACK KEY:

WORD COUNT: 2,381

Here we go:

Janus's dark eyes bore into mine. Yes, I know Janus isn't his name. It's Rose, but it feels like Janus fits him more. He's two-faced; he isn't a pretty rose. He's a nightmare, a freak—a beast in the shadows, waiting and waiting for the right moment to strike, to force his way to me by his Master's side and steal the hope I desperately cling onto. I know his game. I know what he wants. But does his cold counterpart want the same? No. Or so it seems. Rose stares at me, one arm hidden behind his back. His stare makes me uneasy, so I try to ignore him and focus on Holder, who's serving me a glass of unknown purple liquid. I take a small sip from the glass, worried it's poisoned. My hold is delicate as I am weak from chasing after Warren Davis for the last few days. I'm met with the surprising taste of grapes. It's grape juice, something I haven't had since childhood. Supposedly, it's Warren's favorite. I'm not sure why Holder mentioned that about his Master to me. I didn't pry. I don't care enough about Warren to want to know what he likes and what he doesn't. Holder is better than Rose. Rose lies, and Holder tells the truth. Unfortunately, sometimes it changes. I'm not sure how to feel towards these Butler twins. I don't like them. They bring me pain and suffering. 

I didn't feel like attending the feast Warren Davis set up for me today. I just didn't feel like looking at my captor and seeing him play with the ornate key, my only way to escape from this horrid mansion. He's cocky about it. Whenever I do come out to eat, which is becoming rare, he laughs, cracks jokes, and pretends we are good friends. Why would he do such a thing as no one but me, him, and his butler spies attend? I know the smiles he gives me are fake because they never reach his eyes. He makes me uncomfortable. So, here I am, in my bedroom with Rose and Holder. Rose is standing near the door, keeping his white-gloved hand on the wooden door. Warren sent them to drop off my food, and they did, as the silver tray was on my lap, but they were still around. Maybe they do like me.

"You two can, uh, go now. No need to stand around and watch me eat," I say, my voice meek. I laugh nervously. "You're both, um, dismissed," I say, trying to copy Warren to get them to leave. The two only listen to Warren's commands. They keep lingering. I look around my room, its blood-red walls a sort of comfort for me. My white candle is the only light in this grand room; its fire is dim, dying. I need to find a new one, but I'm unsure where I'll find another. I'll ask Misty, the living doll. She might know. Or I'll ask Madam Alice. Warren favors her, so he may have told her secrets about the mansion I can use to my advantage. Shadows dance on the wallpaper. They grasp each other and make themselves dip. They tango, shadowy black dresses sway. I try to eat. It's some sort of meat with vegetables and mashed potatoes. Who makes the food again? Warren? That's a very good question. The fact he pretends to care about me is sickening. This thought alone almost made me not want to eat, but I know I’ll have to. If I don't eat now, I won't be able to for days. Hell, Warren may even strap me down and force me to eat. He'd done it before when I first arrived. A mistake, it was, thinking about that day. I wish I never came. I wish I never stepped foot into this wooden prison. Now, here I am, playing hide and seek with Warren for eternity and getting fed every few days. Holder backs off, walking to his twin brother. He whispers something in Rose's ear and leaves the room. Rose comes closer. "I have something to give you, Jared," Rose said. His hand goes to his back pocket. I avert my eyes, grabbing the glass of grape juice. I sip while he searches. I almost spit out my drink when Rose pulled out a black key. What? "I, much like Holder, want to escape this place. But I and Holder can not as Master needs us." He stares at me like he always does. "So, I beg of you, please live in the outside world for us." He hands me the key. Its cool metal on my bare hand sends shivers down my spine. I shoved the key into my pocket. I'm terrified I'll lose it.

"Wha… How?" I ask. 

My eyes shrink. I make my way towards him, hopping off the bed and dropping the tray onto the floor. It spills. I grab his shoulders. 

"Why would you do that? He can hurt you. Won't he know?" I plead. Rose and I never had a good relationship, but the idea of someone putting their life in danger scares me. I wanted freedom. But I didn't want it to be given to me like this. I was hoping for a change of heart from Warren, even if it was hopeless. I didn't want this. Please let this be a joke, even if it's cruel. Please let this be a joke. Please let this be a joke. Please let this be a joke. Please let this be a… Please… I don't want this.

"It's okay," He admitted in a monotone voice. It's like his life isn't important to him when it is. All lives matter. His response to the idea of possibly dying is too calm. He forces my hands off his shoulders, his wavy blonde hair swaying with the movement. "It's okay." He repeated.

"No, no! It's not okay!" I yelled, not loud enough for others outside the room to hear. 

"Escape tonight. I'll distract him." 

He walks out, ignoring my pleas. I grab his wrist, but he keeps going. I dig my heels into the carpet and pull back, wrapping both hands around his wrist to keep him from leaving. His other hand shoots up from his side and drags my hands off him. The sound of my door shutting marked the end of our conversation.

Eight hours ago, I had that conversation with Rose. I pace around my room, worried and scared. I stop when I see the food on the floor. I forgot about that. I keep pacing. I need to stop walking as my legs burn, the embers shooting pain when I move. I'm tired. So, so tired. Another day of seeking and chasing. But my fate hangs heavy in the air. My mind is racing, moving too fast, I can't keep up with it. Will it go wrong? What will happen? I can't get over why he would do that. I don't understand, no matter how much I think it over. It's weird. I turn my head to the balcony window, the night sky a reminder of what I'll be doing. The moon shines brightly, white light blinding me. It seems Crescent is in a good mood. I look away. I can't stand it. The idea of the Moon-god being happy when I'm not irritates me. A knock on the door makes me jump. Who at this hour needs me? 

I open the door to see Misty, with her long raven hair and round pink glasses. What does the maid need?

She stands tall compared to me. Her fair porcelain fingers tug on the brown, white, and gray feathers of the duster. She seems antsy. Why?

"It's time."

"What?"

"Goodbye, Jared."

"I'm sorry?"

"I'll miss you."

She walks away, leaving me with more questions than answers. It takes me a few seconds to process what she said. Warren is distracted. I need to go. Now. I look around the room. I don't have much to take since I only bought the clothes I wore when I arrived. Warren forced me to change into the suit I have now. He made me slick my hair back. I'll quickly say goodbye to Madam Alice. I dash out and shut the heavy, dark, wooden doors of my bedroom.  

My footsteps thump against the crimson carpet. I search for the hall with Alice's portrait. It takes me a few more seconds to find it, these mansion halls are like a labyrinth. They all look the same, with the same potted plants, wallpaper, tables, and paintings. The walls seem to close in. I'm scared. I'm nervous. I need to go. 

"Alice?"

 I call out to an empty hallway. I have a feeling her painting is around here. I walk a bit and stop in front of an ornate frame. It's gold glistening. It's hard to see her. I should have brought my candle. I forgot to bring it in the heat of the moment, even if it was dying. My hand goes up to touch the frame. 

"I'm not sure if you're there, Alice, but I just wanted to say goodbye, for real this time." 

The silence is deafening. I keep my eyes on the painting. Madam Alice is a moving painting, but she sometimes leaves her frame. Her reason for leaving varies, but she mostly leaves because "standing alone for hours and staring at an empty hallway is boring."

"Jared?" 

She finally spoke. Her head peeks from the side of her frame, curious. She looks at me through the black veil that covers her eyes. She adjusts her hat. "Why are you saying goodbye? And what do you mean 'for real this time'?"

I stand on my tippy toes and place my hand inside the frame, trying to find her hand. She helps, placing her gloved hand in mine, long fingers intertwined. 

"I'm sorry, Alice, but I need to make this fast. Rose gave me the key so I could finally leave. I can finally escape." I smile. I let go of her hand and ran. She called out my name, but the call of the outside was louder. 

I pass by a room, the blood-red wallpaper the only thing I recognize.  The beautiful sound of a violin matches my panting, creating a bizarre symphony of instruments and humanity. I hear a tense talk when I press my ear against the door after curiosity gets the better of me: Two voices—both masculine. One voice sounds alien-like, and the other is more flamboyant and higher. Rose and Warren's voices. Rose sounds worried, contrasting with his usual confident and deceitful tone.

"Something is wrong."

"Nothing is, Master." 

"The house is saying something."

"Let's go back to practicing, shall we?"

"I'm already good at it."

The violin stops.

"Yes, but you can get better."

Shuffling and rustling of fabric. Hard thuds of footsteps against the wooden floor. It creaks. Warren's footsteps match the beat of my heart. I feel something wet run down my cheek. I place my hand on my cheek and pull back. Clear liquid. Sweat. I'm nervous. I should stop, but I can't. Footsteps stop. Sound of wood meeting wood. Warren must have set the violin down somewhere. Most likely a table. 

"What does that mean?"

Silence. Unease. Rose clears his throat. 

"Well… you are already good at the violin, but you can get better, do you understand?"

"I think."

"So… let's pick it up and play again."

"Sure."

This conversation was weird. I was thinking about how peculiar this talk was when it hit me. This is Rose's distraction. So I ran. If Rose loses Warren's attention, I'll lose my progress and the key in my back pocket. But it turns out Rose lost his attention after I ran. Warren had gone after me without me knowing. The walls are closing in. Shadows dance. Chandeliers fire flicker. My legs are tired. So tired. I take out the key. The front door is so close, I can see it. I see the dark outside from the small glass window on the front door. 

"Don't go!"

I hear from behind me. Huh? It's Warren.

 "Please, I need you," He spreads his hand towards me. Tears pour from under his red glasses. This is so odd. Why is he acting like this? I can't help but feel bad. 

"Jared…"

I stare at his tear-stained face. I feel dread. My head hurts. I feel the pain from behind my eyes. I raise my hand to ease the pain, but I stop. My hands go to shove the key into the hole to get out. I fumble with the key. 

"Please…" 

He's getting closer, and my heart pounds in my chest. My hands are shaking. Unlock. Unlock. Unlock. Unlock. Unlock. Unlock! I'm panicking. He's even closer.

"Please stay with me," He whispers. His voice is so soft. What's wrong with him?

"I don't want to die," 

That makes me stop for a moment. I look at him. He looked like a small child, terrified. His eyes are tiny. He's trembling. His gloved hand goes towards me. I'm uncomfortable. I unlocked the door and slammed it shut. I put my weight against the door, panting and taking in the fresh air I desperately needed. 

I'm met with the sounds of chirping birds, a lovely harmony. My back is against the door. The door's intricate design is digging into the skin of my back, so I pull away. It's over. It's finally over. 

Please don't let this be a dream… 

Please tell me I won't wake up in that mansion… 

Please… 

Please…

Charise!

I have to see my beautiful wife. After years of being apart, I deserve to be with her. I raise the key to eye level. Ire ran through my veins, so I threw it into the murky pond. I threw my black blazer into the water. I ripped off the green bowtie from my neck and threw it onto the floor. I raised my hands to mess up my neat hair. I scream. All the years of suffering had finally caught up to me. Waterfalls meet my hands. Sorrow and pain and… relief. Finally, freedom. 

I'll see you soon, Charise. 

(Comments and reblogs are appreciated! Especially specific ones hee hee)

[internalself]

This blog exists for those who do not understand people with identity inconcruence (pwii, for shorthand) which may also use the label "transid" or "transx". At the very least, even if you disagree with our existences, know thy enemy. A lot of what you have been fed is biased and/or made up.

Above all else this blog stands for freedom of identity and expression, and bodily autonomy.

Pinned post! Please read under the cut before sending in any asks!

Preferred conduct / rules

Obviously, I cant make you follow them, but going against this will probably just result in your ask being disregarded.

Please engage with us in a civil manner. We will engage with you like this, and I won't answer or take seriously any ask with hostile tones and threats.

Please maintain an open mind. I want you to take the time to consider what others have to say. We will do the same for you.

If you disagree with a specific point we made, cite it and explain why. We won't keep responding if you refuse to actually engage with any of the things we've posted. No repeating points we've already discussed unless you're going to further on it. (Ex: "but they're food!" "Potatos are food, but not a fruit." "But they're food!")

You are absolutely allowed to ask us to go more into depth on something if you feel as though it was inadvertently discussed or you lack the background knowledge on it.(ex: you mentioned trees are alive, but aren't they plants? Please explain what you meant.)

We won't require sources on everything- this topic is often very subjective, and all about personal experiences and feelings. Asking for or demanding sources would be outrageous and we understand that. We ask you understand that too. This is discussion of people feelings, not on how to build a car.

Please do not ask questions about unrelated topics such as shipcourse or syscourse.

Understand that one person doesn't speak for all of us- that of course includes me! Some people may have ideas I don't agree with, many may disagree with mine- if you see someone say something and tag it transid- don't assume we agree with it bu default.

Refrain from insulting us or others on our blog

Refrain from assuming things about others that you do not know

Futher,

We will not ever advocate for / tell other people to harm themselves or others. We do not consider surgery to be self harm, so long as it is with a professional, in a controlled and trustworthy environment. That being said- this is not the place to ask about medical procedures- I am not a doctor. I'm not even close to being a doctor. Feeling like your body doesn't match your external self can be frustrating but the answer is not to wing it and try it yourself.

We will not, have not and never will advocate for or encourage sexual activities with children. This is a misconception often associated with especially labels such as transage. It's regurgitated queerphobia.

Just because something is a social construct, doesn't mean that construct doesn't exist or that the construct is not based off of something else which is real.

While we are pro transid, there are elements we do not agree on or will not talk about. I will define our definition of transid here.

Transid: trans-identity. Generally a person who faces incongruence and sometimes dysphoria (or euphoria) around aspects of their identity. Usually this means an internal version of the self or desire for the self that does not match the external self.

An example could be a person who internally feels as though their body should be a dog's. Externally, of course, they are human. This may cause them distress.

Glossary:

Pwii - people with identity inconcruence.

Transage - people with an inconcruent internal age.

O2Y / OTY - Older to Younger (transage)

Y2O / YTO - Younger to Older (transage)

Transabled / transability - people with inconcruent internal ability.

Transspecies - people with an inconcruent internal species, also used by therian community to describe arguably the same or similar experience of lack of human identity.

Trace - people with an inconcruent internal race

Trans race - word used by people who were adopted into families often outside of their perceived culture and/or race. Sometimes used to mean trace. (See above)

Transethnic - people with an inconcruent internal ethnicity

W2PoC / WtPoC - White to Person of Color (trace) *

PoC2W / PoCtW - Person of Color to White (trace) *

PoC2PoC / PoCtPoC - Person of Color to Person of Color (trace) *

W2W / WtW - White to White (trace) *

Pwiioc - people with identity inconcruence of color *

Time stuck - people who's internal sense of the current time is inconcruent. Theyre inherently pwii but may consider themselves/ that facet of themselves to be.

Salmacian - people who desire mixed or unusual genitals. Not inherently pwii but may consider themselves/ that facet of themselves to be.

* these words are used for contextual reasons mostly in discussions about personal experiences. They are not here to invalidate anyone. They are important when addressing people who may be asking questions about themselves, and help illustrate the fact not all trace people are white, many are not.

This post may be updated at any time.

(There are multiple mods, so any questions aimed personally will be answered by which ever one decides to answer it / is active. Mods don't sign off / have tags or announce arrival or leaving at this time just for the sake of not junking up the blog)