#I don't know where they get this impression from

[hermywolf]

these tags are so.. are usamericans under the impression that people in other countries, including france btw, are.. NOT being arrested and beat up by the police when they riot? and that very often racial or classist profilings aren't part of that? are you guys under the impression that repression, racism, and race-targetted repression specifically, are usamerican things??

students and protesters get arrested, beat up, and sometimes their rights are violated when they're arrested, often with physical and/or sexual violence too, everywhere in the world, including france. i've been to plenty of protests and i know many people it's happened to. what do we do when this happens? organize to get them legal support and representants, protest in their names, oftentimes in front of the places where they're being held, organizing meetups pre-protests or in between protests to make protesters aware of their rights and the system of help organized by others in case of legal issues... we ORGANIZE and we react. people protested and still protest during dictatorships-- military dictatorships too. as prev tags said-

in many countries, for example in latin america, there's not only the possibility of repression from your own government but from foreign governments' (often the usa's!) too.

the dangers of protesting are very, very much real everywhere in the world, including the usa. they're often much more dangerous for marginalized communities, especially poor people of color. nobody's denying that, and if they do, they're wrong. but the reason you don't protest is not that the usa government is some uniquely dangerous or violent one, because people across the world and history still protest and still riot under much more violent governments than yours. so it would be a good idea to ask yourselves why the usa protests so little-- especially when your country is one that affects so heavily other ones politically and so protesting becomes not only the right thing to do but also a responsability-- and consider reacting accordingly.

"Why don't Americans riot?" Which Americans cuz Black people did in 2020 (and many years prior lol) and white people responded with getting back-the blue-bumper stickers

[ckret2]

Chapter 84 of human Bill Cipher getting a day pass out of being the Mystery Shack's prisoner: so it turns out Bill and Pacifica have a lot in common! And it's not weird at all! It's—it's very normal. Their childhoods were so normal.

(Since this entire chapter is from the point of view of a character who doesn't know the person she's talking to is Bill, a PSA for those of y'all who missed it. Thanks.)

####

"Okay, that's as much as I can do to help your hair without deep conditioning it," Pacifica said. "Now let's talk about styling it."

They were back in Pacifica's office, with Goldie seated in his folding chair and Mabel sitting in Pacifica's desk chair (slowly spinning it back and forth) as Pacifica lectured them. Pacifica had given Goldie a spare t-shirt to dry his hair with (you could never have too much spare clothing on hand when you were dealing with farm animals), but he'd just loosely wrapped it around his hair and promptly ignored it.

Pacifica said, "You've got this issue where the weight of your curls pulls the top of your hair down and makes it flatten out near your scalp—but your hair's all the same length, so it really flares out near your shoulders. It's called triangle hair and it is not a cute look."

Goldie and Mabel bit their lips and exchanged a look, and Pacifica got the distinct impression that she'd accidentally reminded them about some inside joke she wasn't part of.

Trying to ignore the feeling that she was being left out of something, Pacifica cleared her throat and went on. "So, uh—you can fix it with like, layering your haircut and stuff? But. I don't actually... know how to do that." All her knowledge of curly hair and its care—much less fashionable haircuts—came from fashion and beauty magazines, which covered things like shampoo and flattering styles but assumed you'd leave the actual hair-cutting to the professionals. "So. I can get your curls presentable, and I guess we can figure out a way to pin it that looks nice? But that's the best I can do without an emergency salon trip."

"You sure we can't leave the triangle hair?" Goldie asked innocently. "I think it's cute. It really feels like me." Mabel clapped a hand over her mouth and snorted.

Pacifica raised her brows. "Do you want to feel like you, or do you want to get the guy?"

"Right, of course," Goldie said. "I almost forgot what's really important!"

Pacifica passed Goldie her phone. "Here—I wasn't sure what kind of look you were going for so I saved a few pictures of curly hair styles, let me know if you like any of these." She searched through the collection of makeup on her desk for the bobby pins and hair ties she'd picked up earlier. "The trend this year is for slicked-back styles, braids, and buns—but your curls are so pretty, I'd hate to hide them." 

Mabel leaned halfway across the desk to try to see the pictures too; Goldie's held out the phone to meet her halfway as as he scrolled—and scrolled, and scrolled, and scrolled. He said, "Good job narrowing down the list to a modest two hundred pictures."

Pacifica said, "Excuse me for wanting you to have options."

Mabel pointed. "Awww, look at that one with all the little butterfly hair clips!"

"It's like butterflies are eating her brain."

"And they look adorable doing it."

"Too juvenile for me. It looks like something Prisma the fairy would wear," Goldie said. "You should wear it."

Mabel's eyes lit up. "You've got to help me make fifty butterfly hair clips."

"You got it." He closed out of Pacifica's pictures, opened up the browser, and awkwardly typed in a search. "Hey, Alpaca, look at this one."

That was the second time he'd called her that. "Do you actually know my name?"

"Rapunzel." He held up a picture of some seventies movie star with thick, feathery hair that fluffed out around her face like the wings of a panicked swan trying to take off. "Think you can pull this one off?"

Pacifica grimaced. "You'd look like my mom." Except even worse and more old fashioned. (She kept that part to herself.)

Flatly, he said, "Oh no, how will I ever convince a male that I'm a prize worth winning if I literally look like a trophy wife."

That would be just about the only part of Goldie that looked like a trophy wife. (She kept that part to herself too.) "And we'd have to give you bangs."

As she suspected, Goldie grimaced and flipped to another image. At least he knew bang weren't for him. "How 'bout this one?"

It looked like a solid helmet of hair, with the ends uniformly curled outward like the embarrassing forced-whimsical hairstyle of the minions of an insane chocolatier. "Ew. That's about the only thing that could make you look even worse than you already do."

"Pacifica," Mabel said sharply. "Be nice!"

"Sorry!" She'd kept so many parts to herself that she didn't have any spare room to keep that part. "I can't do it, anyway. It would need a flat iron and a curling iron, and I don't have either."

"Can't we get some?" Goldie asked. "Any drug store should have 'em, it's a fifteen minute walk to—"

"I don't use them," Pacifica said sharply.

Goldie's stare was like a heat lamp—or maybe that was just self-consciousness heating up Pacifica's face as he scrutinized her. But after several long seconds, Goldie's gaze turned off her face. She quietly sighed in relief.

"Okay," he said. "Then this one." He showed her another picture. It had curly shoulder-length bangs, which wasn't really in style but fine, but behind them was a bouffant shaped like a deflating basketball with a wilting palm tree sprouting out of it.

Pacifica cringed. It was, unfortunately, doable. A note of pleading in her voice, she asked, "Are you really into this look? Really?"

("I think it's pretty," Mabel muttered.)

"Oh, no way!" Goldie said. "Look at that mess! That's way too much effort for a 'do that looks like she did it drunk in the dark in under two minutes."

(Mabel looked at Goldie like he'd personally betrayed her.)

"But," he went on, "it's what our guy is into, and that's what matters here. Right?"

Pacifica studied the picture dubiously. "You're sure?"

"He went through puberty in the 70s! When his libido opened its eyes for the first time, this is what it imprinted on."

Pacifica bit her lip. Well. At least Goldie didn't think it looked good, but. "Can I at least improve it a little?"

"Oh, please!"

She picked up the comb again and grabbed a couple of bobby pins. "No promises, but I'll do what I can."

Pacifica talked a big game, but in truth, she knew a lot more about the theory of hairstyles than she did about actually styling hair. You don't have to film a blockbuster to be a film critic. So at that point, all she could do was experiment with Goldie's hair as she attempted to approximate the picture he'd shown her. She circled around him as she worked—putting in pins, taking them out, occasionally asking him his opinion.

But although Goldie had previously been a non-stop chatterer, the moment she'd started working on his hair, he'd fallen silent.

He only glanced in the hand mirror she'd given him when she prompted him, and then only to give one-word answers—usually "fine." His shoulders were as tense and his mouth as tight as Pacifica's had been the first time she had to wash alpaca poop off the bottom of a boot. And Pacifica had nearly vommed, so, that was pretty serious.

Why? It couldn't be pain. Pacifica had gotten all the knots out of his hair earlier—and even when she wasn't using the comb, it was like she couldn't even move a lock of his hair without him wincing. She kept wanting to apologize even though she was just doing what he wanted her to.

There was something going on here. It wasn't just how uncomfortable he was with being touched. There was also the way he did an awful job of washing his hair even though he knew how to perfectly well. And how he'd rather let Mabel brush his hair into a frizzy mess than comb it out himself. And beyond all that, the first thing Pacifica had ever learned about him was that he'd gotten his hair melted off and needed emergency help to grow it back. "You... really don't like your hair, do you?"

"I like it fine. It's gorgeous." He was speaking through gritted teeth, and he had his legs crossed with his feet under his thighs, palms up in lap, eyes fixed on the blanket Mabel had made, as though having a staring contest with the triangle creep would help him endure the torture without flinching. "I just—don't like messing with it."

"Which is fine," Mabel cut in. "Because I like brushing it!" She quickly amended herself: "Combing it. We've got like a symbiotic relationship going on."

"Yeah! Star girl's my personal stylist! She does my hair and makeup. I wouldn't deprive her of that honor!"

Pacifica nodded slowly. Right—all that, and he was defensive about not taking care of it.

Not embarrassed because he didn't take care of it, it dawned on her; embarrassed because he couldn't take care of it. She had a sense for those sorts of things—a middle school queen bee had to develop that sense—because that was what you targeted if you really wanted to humiliate someone: something that they couldn't help. That was it, wasn't it? He'd said he was apathetic about his body; he didn't care that his hair was messy. Because if he did care that it was messy, he would have done something about it. Unless he couldn't. Like, a mental block.

As she tried for the eighth time to gather the bulk of his hair into an updo that looked sorta fun and casual without looking stupid, she turned over everything she knew about him—about his hair, his apathy, his shame... the things he'd said to her the moment they met, before they even got started.

It wasn't a logical deduction so much as it was an instinct, and just looking at Goldie it seemed impossible; but still she said, hesitantly, "Your mom made you do pageants as a kid, didn't she?"

Mabel sat up a little straighter, confused; but Goldie turned around to stare at her, dumbfounded. "How— What—makes you think that?"

Oh please. He wasn't fooling anyone, it was all over his face. "You're so weird about your hair. It's obviously trauma from your mom."

Beneath his sunburn, Goldie's burned cheeks somehow managed to flush even darker. He gaped at her, wide-eyed and terrified, like she was a psychic who had just told him how his own parents had died. He croaked, "What?"

Pacifica burst out laughing. "Oh my gosh, you should see your face! Listen, you're clearly familiar with pageant life. And I saw so many curly girls getting their hair mauled by their moms half an hour before going on stage. I don't blame you for being weird about touching it! I had it easy—" she flipped her naturally straight hair, "—but even at that, I can't stand using a flat iron to this day."

Goldie relaxed, apparently reassured that Pacifica hadn't read his mind. He settled back in his seat. "Oh, I dunno, I find the smell of burning hair comforting! It reminds me of home!"

"Ha! Okay, yeah, you do get used to it after a while." She started attempt number nine to gather up his curls. "I wouldn't have guessed when you came in. You don't look like a... I mean... you know. No offense."

"Well, duh, you can't tell now." He gestured at himself, "I lost my good looks. What I wouldn't give to have my old body back..." He sighed wistfully.

Pacifica held back a snort. Oh yeah. More than anything else he'd said so far, that convinced her he really was a former pageant kid. In her experience, every single pageant mom trying to relive her own beauty queen glory days through her daughter said things exactly like that.

Mabel said, "Aww..." She stretched a hand out toward Goldie, couldn't reach him across Pacifica's enormous desk, and with a grunt heaved herself up to lay across the top—knocking over a couple of the cosmetic supplies Pacifica had set up in the process—so she could pat his shoulder. "There, there."

"Thanks."

She slid back into her seat. "Did you really do pageants? You didn't tell me that." A note of betrayal crept into her voice.

"I didn't tell her either—" he jabbed a thumb at Pacifica, "—but here we are!" (Pacifica shrugged unapologetically.) "I've got a lotta backstory you're still catching up on."

"Well, yeah, but—you said you just did..." She grasped for the right words, and settled on, "build-y stuff with pageants."

"I didn't say that," he said breezily. Mabel scowled at him; but shot a look at Pacifica, and just sat back without saying anything, arms crossed, her feet audibly kicking at the inside of the desk. 

He didn't seem as stressed about his hair while he was talking, Pacifica noticed. (Maybe that was why hairdressers were so chatty? Or maybe just because it was kind of weird to stick your hands in someone's hair for an hour in total silence.) She asked, "Which pageant systems did you compete in?"

"None you'd have heard about," Goldie said. "They weren't on this continent and it was like a trillion years ago." Before Pacifica could pry about which continent, he added, "Hey, fun fact! Didja know that the first beauty contest in Oregon was established here in Gravity Falls?"

"Pff, duh, of course I know that," Pacifica said. "It was established by the town founder, my great-great grandpa."

"Close, but no," he said gleefully. "It was established by the real town founder."

Pacifica grimaced. "Him? The crazy undead guy without pants? Ugh, no wonder we're the only pageant with a mandatory bird calls category."

"The first three competitions were actually won by birds! They only added a fashion category to balance out the birds' unfair advantage at birdsong. Quentin resigned from the judges' panel in protest."

"He should've taken the dumb birdsong requirement with him," Pacifica muttered. "They make the kids pageant do it too. I had to get a private tutor to learn how to whistle."

"That sounds fun, though," Mabel said. "I can do bird song! Grunkle Ford taught me some. Listen to this!" She let out an admittedly impressive moo.

"Not a bad cowl call," Goldie said. "You woulda killed it at the accompanying bird costume requirement."

Mabel gasped. "I can make feather wings. Hey, do you think I could compete?"

"Not unless you move to Oregon."

"Aww."

"We can still make wings, though," Goldie said.

Pacifica had never had to deal with the dumb bird costume requirement, thank goodness. That only started in the teen brackets. Which made her wonder—"How old were you when you quit? Pretty young, right? Like, no offense, but if you need teenagers to do your makeup..." If Goldie was living as a guy now, it'd make sense if he didn't wear makeup day-to-day; but if he'd stuck with pageants past like age ten, he would have at least learned how to do his own makeup.

"Ha! You're right. I started when I was young enough that my mom could dust glitter on my butt without getting weird looks! I quit around... equivalent to third or fourth grade in the States? She wanted me to keep going—so I said, 'You want me to perform? Fine then—I'll put on the best performance you've ever seen.' And that's exactly what I did!" Thoughtfully, he added, "But for some reason I didn't win the talent portion. I guess the judges weren't impressed that I could play the piano and set it on fire at the same time."

Pacifica cracked up. "Okay wow—I retired during the talent portion too, but how you did it is way more exciting. The year I was aging out of the 9-11 bracket, I kinda had a meltdown on stage over losing to some girl with a hula hoop? Yeah, I did not win supreme that year."

"You shoulda won talent just for that scream! You hit some impressively high notes." At Pacifica's odd look, Goldie said, "Saw it online."

Figured. That was probably coming back to haunt her in ten years. "It's weird. There's like... two ways pageant girls go—er, girls or guys or... whatever."

"Whatever," Goldie agreed.

"Yeah. Either they make it part of their identity? And keep up the makeup and fashion and everything, sometimes stick with pageants as teens or start modeling professionally? Which is what I did. Or they totally burn out, don't want anythingto do with the beauty industry, and just, like, wear sweats forever."

With a faint air of wounded pride, Goldie said, "It's the bedsheet sarong, isn't it."

"No offense! I'm just saying."

"I'll have you know it's laundry day and Jesús stole my clean clothes instead of my dirty laundry." (Pacifica decided to forgive him for the weird fish smell.) "You're looking at me at a low point, kid. I was actually a pretty snappy dresser up until... lllast summer."

Hearing Goldie call her kid gave Pacifica a little jolt of surprise. For a moment, she'd forgotten she was talking to somebody with an age; she'd started to feel like she was being visited by the immortal Spirit of Washed-Up Former Pageant Children. As if he'd died and stopped aging the same time he retired. "What happened last summer?"

Goldie looked at Mabel. "Yeah, what did happen last summer?"

"Um." Mabel froze. "He... lost it all in a... um... overseas parrot circus venture! Yeah—all the trained parrots escaped before the opening night of the circus and he lost all his money."

Goldie let out a shrill cackle. "I like that, I'm keeping that."

Okay, got it, it wasn't any of Pacifica's business. "I think... this is the best I can do with your hair." She stepped back. "Unless you want to pick a style that doesn't suck."

He gave himself a cursory glance in the hand mirror, immediately lowered it, and said, "Sucky style's fine!"

"Don't say that, you look so beautiful," Mabel said. "You look like a babysitter!"

"Well, it doesn't get much better than that." He dropped the mirror on the desk. "What's next?"

####

Next—finally—was the part they'd actually come here for: the makeup.

"Okay, I tried to get around the eyepatch while I was doing your hair, but you've got to take it off for this part," Pacifica said.

He groaned, but muttered, "Fine, I've put up with this tyranny so far," removed it, and looked at her with his previously-covered eye squinted against the light—which was the point at which Pacifica realized that he had eyepatch tan lines... around his other eye. How???

There was no fixing that before tomorrow. She bit her lips, shut her eyes, pressed her hands together, and took in a deep breath. Okay. She could handle this.

"Why do you even wear this?" She tossed the eyepatch to Mabel—it was one of those cheap costume pirate-y looking patches. "Is this one of the Mystery Shack's gimmicky touristy things? Both your eyes work! And wearing an eyepatch when you obviously don't need it is just tacky."

"I've got a neurological condition! Seeing through two eyes messes up my depth perception," Goldie said. "I get migraines if I don't keep one covered! Which is admittedly the most fun thing you can do to your brain without involving narcotics, but it makes it hard to keep down lunch!"

"Oh," Pacifica mumbled. Maybe she should just get to work before she shoved her foot any deeper in her mouth.

She started by slapping aloe vera on as much sunburned skin as she could reach, handed over the jar with strict instructions to apply more in the morning, and gave him an emphatic lecture on sunburns and sunscreen and skin damage that petered out when he cheerfully started telling her about skin cancer statistics. She changed the topic when he started listing his favorite kinds of skin cancer.

She stripped off the nail polish that Goldie had apparently gotten during one of Mabel's sleepovers, and repainted it with, at Pacifica's insistence, something more "mature." (She vetoed Mabel's suggestion to paint little hearts. She vetoed Goldie's request for gold. She gave him the choice between white French tips, pale pink, or solid red. He chose red.)

She hadn't anticipated that her customer would be in such dire straits that she'd need to shave him, so she didn't have any supplies for that; but she also ordered him to get his legs as smooth as the surface of a balloon as soon as he got home—"And do you think there's any chance this guy you're after will see your pits?" "He already has!" "Hm. Okay. Yeah, uh, get those anyway."—and informed him that she would report him to the police for vandalism if he "shaved" using whatever depilatory cream he'd previously used on his hair.

As she finished plucking his brows, she said, "Okay, I think you're finally in decent enough condition for actual makeup." She stepped back, took in his face, and said, "Barely." She grimaced. "I wish I'd bought a concealer with better coverage. I didn't know the situation was so bad."

To his credit, Goldie had taken her criticism (and occasional looks of horror) like a champ. He simply drawled, amused, "The body rituals of the Nacirema are as elaborate as they are bizarre."

She picked up a couple of the foundations she'd bought and held them up next to the eye that had been protected by the eyepatch tan line, trying to determine which one was a closer match for whatever his skin tone was when he wasn't burned. "Who're the Nacirema? One of the tribes that used to live around here?"

"They're still in the area. Look 'em up."

Pacifica thought the darker foundation was closer; she tested it on his inner arm to be sure. "So, how much makeup do you already know how to apply? Any?"

"I can do mascara, eyeliner, and mascara."

"Riiight. Okay, both of you pay attention to what I'm doing." She evicted Mabel from her desk chair and dragged it around in front of Goldie's folding chair. "Because I will not be coming over to do this tomorrow, so the two of you will have to repeat this yourself. Here." She handed Goldie a mirror so he could watch her work.

Mabel hopped up to sit on the desk next to Goldie. "You have one hundred percent of my attention!" She immediately looked away from Pacifica at the makeup brushes laid out on the desk, picked up a fan brush curiously, and started dragging it up and down her arm. "Ooh. Tickly." 

"Emphasize my eyes," Goldie said. "They're my best feature. You can forget about everything else, but my eyes have to look good."

Pacifica looked at his eyes. Pacifica really looked at his eyes.

There was something wrong with his eyes.

She decided to stop looking at his eyes. "Okaaay, great great great, you've got suuuper long lashes, that's fantastic. We can totally draw attention there. You don't even need fake lashes. And you've got nice big prominent eyes. Kinda bulgy, but that should be easy to hide with eyeshadow. I'm thinking maybe a smokey eye?"

"What about metallics? Like gold?" Goldie asked innocently. "Kind of a retro 'secret agent villainess' look, don't you think! It'd bring out the yellow in my eyes!"

Pacifica said, "You do not want to bring out your jaundice."

"Don't tell me what I want."

"No gold eyeshadow," Pacifica said. "Period. If you want to experiment with color, we can try a smoky eye in burgundy. Burgundy is hot this year."

Goldie muttered something about welcoming a bottle of burgundy right now, then said, "Fine! Burgundy."

(As Pacifica looked through her makeup palettes for the burgundy, Bill leaned over to Mabel and whispered, "Do we have any leftover gold eyeshadow?" Mabel nodded and winked. Bill winked back.)

"What about the rest of your face?"

"Skip it."

"I'm not letting you go bare-faced aside from your eyes," Pacifica said. "But we can do a natural makeup look."

"That's so boring," Mabel said. She was dragging the fan brush over her lips now. "If it looks natural why's he wearing any makeup at all?"

Goldie said, "Because humans are insane about the most uninteresting things."

As Pacifica worked her way through the foundation, concealer—she decided his sunburned skin had enough of a sun-kissed glow that she could skip bronzer—and contouring, she said, "You are... really good at holding still when you try." He'd gone completely still, like a statue. A statue that was making direct eye contact with her soul. She felt a bead of sweat slide down her neck. She wasn't sure he was breathing.

"He's super good," Mabel agreed. "It's kinda creepy."

"Thanks!" And just like that, he was smiling and alive again. "I do a lot of meditating! Gimme a focal point to watch and I can go like two billion years!"

"You didn't learn from...?"

"Pageants? Ha! No way, I was the wiggliest little demon you've ever seen. It drove my mom nuts when she was trying to do my lashes. She used to say 'If you love me, hold still' to keep me in place—but you know how contrary kids are when they're mad! Eventually I got fed up and said, 'Well then, maybe I don't love you!' And she didn't speak to me for three days." Goldie laughed. "Ahh, I had the most dramatic mom."

"Wow, my mom would kill me if I ever tried something like that—especially if it was in public where people could see us," Pacifica said. "She hired makeup artists so I'd struggle against them instead of her. Your mom did your makeup? Did she ever hire anyone?"

"Nooo way. We ran our operation on a razor-thin budget to maximize the profits from my winnings. The name of the game was efficiency!"

"My mom's sure wasn't," Pacifica said. "(Shut your right eye, I've got to get your eyeshadow.) We went through like, fifty makeup artists or something. Sometimes more than one while prepping for the same pageant." She lowered her voice a tad, "A couple times when the makeup artist was a creep, I messed up my own makeup just so Mom would fire them."

"Ha! Suckers. Yeah, that's probably how it woulda gone if my mom had handed me off to a makeup artist. I was not afraid to sic her on adults! We didn't have any hired help when I was that age, but the principal was terrified of her. And if another kid at a competition was getting on my nerves, I'd go crying to her that they pushed me and oh, man, she'd come down on their parents like the asteroid on Chicxulub."

"Me too! There was this girl in third grade who was so... I don't know, just—" she pulled a face, "eugh, you know? I complained to mom about her and got her family blacklisted by the whole town. They had to move out of the state just to get a job."

Goldie laughed loudly. "Now that is impressive!"

Pacifica's gut shifted uncomfortably. Was it? "Other eye now." She didn't speak for a moment as she tried to get both eyes matching. "Actually... it was... kinda scary?"

She'd asked her mom if she could puh-lease get this girl out of Pacifica's class. She'd just expected the girl to be switched to another teacher.

Instead, over the next few weeks, she heard about the girl's mother losing her job, then her father. Her older brother got kicked out of the local Future Lumberjacks of America chapter. One day the girl came to school in tears after being cut from the softball team. A couple months later, the girl's friends—the two that hadn't drifted away from her as her family became pariahs—threw her a tearful goodbye party during lunch with a mall-bought cookie cake; and the next day, she was gone forever.

After that first time Pacifica had complained about her classmate, her mom had never once mentioned the girl or her family. She never asked if Pacifica had any more trouble with her. Not even when they left town. It was as though, after her mom ground them under her heel, they were beneath her notice. Just four crushed ants.

But Goldie was staring at her, frowning in confusion, like she didn't make any sense. "What—scary for the other kid?" he asked. "Sure. It's supposed to be, isn't it?"

Pacifica didn't reply for a second. I'm afraid of how good she was at doing exactly what I asked her to do without realizing I was asking for it—that sounded stupid. Finally, she said, "Don't wrinkle your face like that, I haven't set your foundation yet. It'll make it cake up."

"Your moms sound insane," Mabel said. While they'd been swapping stories about their childhoods, she'd been staring at them, chin in one hand, chewing on the fan brush's bristles. "Were you guys tortured growing up?"

"Pfff, what? No, of course not!" Pacifica said. "My parents would never. You've only seen my mom's worst side, she's not really that bad. I mean—not to me. She's horrible to poor people, but that's different."

Goldie said, "Yeah, my mom was my biggest defender! If anyone tried to hold me back, she'd rip them a new one."

"But—forcing you to do pageants until you have a breakdown?" Mabel said, glancing between Goldie and Pacifica, mouth twisting up like the words tasted sour. "Guilting you into wearing makeup and attacking other parents and stuff? That's nuts."

"It's not like that," Pacifica said automatically, then tried to figure out what it was like.

"Now we're calling a kid's temper tantrum a breakdown? You've got a future career in propaganda, star girl," Goldie said wryly. "It's a mom's job to bring out a kid's potential, right? Sure, it drove me nuts at the time—but kids don't want their potential brought out, kids are lazy!" He shrugged, "Yeah, my parents weren't perfect—they didn't really 'get' me, they held me back from reaching my full potential because they couldn't see what it was—but I'd never have gotten on the road to unlocking my potential myself if they hadn't put me on the right path as a kid."

Pacifica nodded. "Totally! That's just normal mom stuff! My parents are exactly the same—they don't get my alpaca business at all—but there's no way I'd be running a business at thirteen if my mom hadn't pushed me to be the best I can be. Or supporting my alpacas through modeling if I hadn't learned how to present myself in the pageant system. Even mini-golf was just a hobby until my parents got me a coach and started taking me to competitions."

"And I wouldn't be the huge success I am today without those early lessons in public speaking!"

Mabel shot Goldie a meaningful look. He pointed at her. "Don't say a word. I've had a bad year, you can't judge me by that. Anyone could've lost their parrots in a freak accident."

"And some kids had it way worse," Pacifica said. "Some parents would hit their kids or scream at them for messing up their routines or getting distracted? Those girls never lasted long, you can tell if a contestant's just going through the motions because she's scared. I was never treated like that. My pageant coach taught my parents to use a 'warning bell,' when they rang it that was my warning to stop goofing off and focus on practicing or listen to them or whatever. They'd pay me in chocolate if I got back in line."

"Ha!" Goldie smacked the desk, "Oh wow, that's hilarious! Pageant coach Pavlov. My parents would have loved that when I was in the toddler competitions."

"Right?!" Pacifica laughed. "Now I'm like, wow, I used to be bribable with a piece of chocolate? Kids are sooo easy to manipulate."

"But hey, it's a good life lesson: the occasional reward and the fear of punishment is a lot more effective at keeping people in line than actual punishments."

Pacifica nodded thoughtfully. "Wow. That's so insightful."

"See?" Goldie beamed at Mabel. "Pageants teach kids all kinds of useful things! Ambition, poise, charisma, self-confidence, social skills..."

She grimaced. "Yeah, but... all the restrictions and pressure and trauma and stuff? That really sounds bad."

"I think you're just bitter that you can't enter the birdsong contest."

She kicked his arm. "I'm serious!"

He pushed back her shoe and waved her off dismissively. "It only sounds bad to you because you were never in the pageant world! It's got its own rituals and expectations, of course it looks weird to outsiders."

"And everyone judges pageants so much more harshly than other competitive sports—which is what pageants basically are," Pacifica said. "Like, pageants and competitive mini-golf took just as much practice, just as much coaching, just as much time and money—but in real life, knowing how to make myself look presentable and talk to adults has helped me way more often than knowing how to knock a ball into a hole. Mini-golf only saved my life once."

"Charisma will get you everywhere," Goldie agreed. "It's the most effective form of mind-control you can do without psychically rewiring someone's neurons."

"Basically! But getting a medal at the Sportlympics has everyone talk about how skilled and hard-working and dedicated you are, and getting a tiara in a national pageant gets people who have never even watched a pageant calling you a bimbo. Like, what?"

"Blatant double standards!" To Mabel, Goldie said, "Both your parents work in Silicon Valley. Their priority is intelligence and grades instead of looks and charisma, so that's why you and your brother get pushed in school—but it's all the same! Parents push their kids to be successful whatever way they know how."

Mabel stared into space. "Huh." She fell silent, gnawing on the fan brush's handle—pondering whether her parents worrying about her so-so grades was comparable to the pageant moms desperate for their daughters' straight hair to be straighter and curly hair to be curlier.

Smugly, Goldie went on, "If anything, the pageant circuit was more useful than school. I—"

"(Stop moving around, I've got to do your other eye.)"

Goldie obediently leaned forward and shut his other eye. "I went from pageants straight into public speaking. I had an entire career before I was out of school. Everyone loved me! I was a natural in the spotlight!"

"Really?" Pacifica said dubiously. She could buy that he might have been a competitor as a kid, but honestly, he seemed pretty creepy to her. Enough confidence could carry you pretty far, but...

He rolled his open eye. "Don't take that tone with me. It was before you were born! And like I said—I've lost my looks. I used to be..."

He trailed off, staring down at his nail polished hands like he didn't recognize them.

He muttered, "I used to be so much better than this."

Mabel reached out and rubbed his upper arm comfortingly.

Sometimes Pacifica caught her mom staring in a mirror, studying her face with an expression somewhere between nervous and depressed, gently touching her fingertips to the thin lines beginning to appear around her eyes and mouth as though she were examining gruesome wounds. Her mother had always said that looks are everything; and even though she didn't talk about her feelings directly, from the way she sometimes snapped at Pacifica to keep up her skincare—moisturizer, sunscreen, hydration, don't frown too hard—Pacifica thought maybe she wasn't worried about Pacifica's face so much as her own.

Goldie only had the faintest traces of the start of wrinkles, unnoticeable if Pacifica hadn't just spent the past few minutes plastering foundation on his face. She wondered how old he was. She wondered whether he had the same fear her mother did: that his body was letting him down, slowly dying all around him.

You don't go through the child pageant world without learning two things: everyone wants you to look and act older than you are; and the older you get, the less anyone wants you.

"I've got to do your lips," Pacifica said, picking out a couple of options: a red so bright it was nearly orange (totally in this year), a nice glossy nude that ought to be a close match to Goldie's natural lip color. "Did you want to stick with the natural look, or...?"

He glanced up from his hands at the offered lipsticks. "What the heck," he sighed. "Let's make it red."

Pacifica nodded. "Pooch your lips out for me, like this." And that was the last they spoke for a while.

####

(Here's your regular TBOB report: no actual plot was changed due to TBOB. I added in a few lines referencing it: the imagery of Priscilla grinding normal people beneath her heel is meant to be reminiscent of Pacifica's giant nightmare on TINAWDC; the "meditating" for specifically two billion years is a direct reference to the barber pole, although I'd already headcanoned that Bill can meditate/dissociate for absolutely vast quantities of time; I already had dialogue where he goes on the importance of charisma and how much everyone adored him as a kid, but I tossed in another sentence or two about charisma just because of how strongly he emphasizes it in TBOB; and originally I had dialogue where Bill went on about what big supporters his parents were, even though he privately feels like they didn't get him—all I changed was deciding to make him admit to some of those feelings out loud, since it's something he says outright in TBOB. I've imagined that he tends to swing between "they were the best/they were the worst" based on how he's feeling at the time with no neutral ground in between—whiiich lines up pretty well with what TBOB gave us.

And unrelated but I spent way too long researching makeup & hair trends in the 70s and in 2013. I had no idea orange lipstick was hot for a while. My idea of doing makeup is painting my nails once every six years.

Hope y'all enjoyed, and I'm looking forward to hearing y'all's thoughts! I've been eager to dive into this aspect of Bill's backstory and Pacifica's POV for a while.)

[larluce]

Ok, to celebrate the Merlin is trend yet again. I'll share a Merthur prompt that occured to me yesterday.

I've read a couple of fics where Merlin is deaf, like he was born deaf or lost his hearing at a very young age, which leads to Arthur learning sign language to be able to comunicate with him. I love this concept, mostly cause I'm a big fan of sign language I think it's beautiful.

But what if Arthur was the deaf one and not Merlin?

Think about it. Royalty wasn't allowed to be nothing but perfect. Left handed princes were forced to learn to write with their right hand, because that was consider "defective". Now imagine having a dishability! It was disastrous!

I imagine Uther forcing Arthur to learn how to read lips and talk with a normal voice so nobody knows he's deaf. The King makes almost a requirement that people must be infront of the prince when they talk to him and never talk to him when his back is turned, saying this is to show their respect properly. Also Uther makes Arthur only speak with other people when strictly necessary. This, of course, makes Arthur feel miserable and lonely.

Years go by and Merlin arrives in Camelot. Their first meeting and later confrontation on the street happens mostly the same, just adding Merlin constantly turning his back on Arthur, despite Arthur telling him to speak to him to his face (this annoys Arthur particularly for obvious reasons).

Then Merlin saves his life, but this time Arthur isn't affected by lady Helen singing because he can't hear her. And he is way more observant thanks to his lack of hearing, so he clearly notices Merlin was in the other side of the room one second and next to him in the next when Merlin pulls him away of the direction of the knife.

So when Uther is about to reward Merlin, Arthur says just that.

Arthur: How is that you came here in time? You were on the other side of the room! Weren't you affected by the echantament?

Merlin: (nervous) I... Well...

Uther: (suspicious) Couldn't it be you are an ally of this witch boy?

Gaius: (to Merlin's rescue) Is not that, my lord. Merlin could safe the prince in time because he couldn't be affected by the singing at all. He's deaf.

This is a lie, Merlin is not deaf, but his mother is. Gaius is saying this just to save him and Merlin gets it inmediatly so he plays along.

Uther: (to Merlin) Is this true?

Merlin: (speaks in a "deaf voice" as he signs at the same time) Yes, your majesty.

Uther: I see...

Arthur: (looks what Merlin did with his hands with curiosity)

Uther: Well, as I was saying. Your act today merits something quite especial. From now on you'll be the Prince's manservant!

Later. When Arthur and Merlin are alone in Arthur's chambers.

Arthur: How did you do it?

Merlin: What?

Arthur: Get to me in time.

Merlin: Gaius explained. I'm deaf.

Arthur: Is not just that you didn't hear the singing. You were too far!

Merlin: I run fast.

Arthur: That's not true! I didn't see you running, you just appeared at my side.

Merlin: Well, how could you know? You were asleep, weren't you?

Arthur: (thinking) Fuck... (Says) You're right...It just... seemed like it because I fell asleep. (Sits on his desk and starts reading some scrolls) You are not needed now. Leave.

Merlin: (puts himself on Arthur's line of vision) I know... about you.

Arthur: (nervous) I don't know what you mean.

Merlin: You are deaf (makes the sign of "deaf")

Arthur: (laughs) I'm not.

Merlin: You weren't affected by the singing.

Arthur: That's not true. (Thinking) I was careful to pretend to fall asleep like the others.

Merlin: I also called you ungrateful royal ass when we were heading here and you had your back turned at me like ten times and you never once answered.

Arthur: ...

Merlin: I must say your speaking voice is quite impressive-

Arthur: (stands up abruptly and points at Merlin's throat with his sword)

Merlin: (lifts his hands) Wow! This is what I get for saving your life? A very ungrateful ass indeed.

Arthur: (afraid he's secret will come out) I will kill you right there.

Merlin: There's no need for this! I won't tell anyone!

Arthur: (more panic mode) Nobody can't know! If you dare to say something-

Merlin: (shouts) I HAVE MAGIC!

Arthur: ...

Arthur: (thinking maybe he didn't read Merlin's lips correctly) What?

Merlin: I have magic. That's why I wasn't affected by the singing and that's how I got to you in time. I also dropped the chandelier on her. I used magic. See? Now you know a secret of mine that could get me killed. So I'm not going to give you away

Arthur: (puts down his sword slowly) So... you are not really deaf? (Kind of dissapointed cause he though he finally find a person like him that could understand him)

Merlin: (surprised Arthur puts more attention to this fact than the fact that he is a sorcerer) No, but my mom is. That's partly how I figured you out. You remind me of her.

Arthur: (remembering the sign language) You did something with your hands before, while speaking.

Merlin: Oh, that's a language my mother tought me to be able to comunicate with her better 😊! We have a hand gesture for every letter, a, b, c, d, e (shows the sign as he mentions the letters) And also a sign for every word like table, run, angry, prince (does the last sign pointing at Arthur) It's easier for her like this. I know reading lips is exhausting. I translated her what other people were saying most of the time.

Arthur: (gets a bittersweet feeling, thinking on how this woman wasn't force to fit the standar and rather her son adapted himself to her needs) That's really nice. You are a good son. (smiles but it doesn't reach his eyes). I won't tell anybody about you either. You don't have to worry.

Merlin: (relieved, but also notices his sadness) I could teach you if you like. My mom's language.

Arthur: (shakes his head) I can't be seen learning a deaf language.

Merlin: They don't have to know is for you. As far as everyone knows I'm the one who is deaf, remember? You can tell them you're learning it for me so you can comunicate with your deaf servant better.

Arthur: And would they buy it?

Merlin: I mean you are not precisly known for being kind to your servants, but it's worth a try. What do you say?

Arthur: (smiles genuinely this time) I would like to.

So Merlin teaches Arthur the language and his life gets better from then on. Merlin is always with Arthur in every meeting or interaction with other nobels and translates him what he didn't catch. It becomes a common occurrence seeing the prince and his servant comunicating in this particular way in the halls. Then Morgana (one of the few that knew about Arthur's secret) and Gwen start learning it too, bringing even more attention from outside view.

Then Uther, angry cause he thinks this could lead to Arthur's secret been revealed, tries to send Merlin away. Arthur argues with him for that of course, sometimes signing furiosly as he speaks.

Uther: Stop making those hand movements for godsake! You look like a retarded!

Arthur: (doesn't speak and signs furiously instead) Oh, you don't like when I sign? Well look!

Uther: What was that? Speak.

Arthur: (signs) It doesn't feel good not understanding what someone says, does it?

Uther: I said speak!

Arthur: (shouts) I said it doesn't feel good when you don't understand what someone says, does it?! To have make an extrordinary effort to just get a word right everytime someone as much as opens their mouth!

Uther: ...

Uther: Arthur-

Arthur: I finally found a way to comprehend better the world around me thanks to Merlin. And instead of seing it as an opportunity, you want to take that away from me!

Uther: You were fine before.

Arthur: I wasn't!

Uther: Well, you won't die because you can't do some hand gestures. This is stopping. Now!

Arthur: (takes a deep breath) Alright, I won't do it ever again. But let Merlin stay. (Begs) Please.

Uther: The boy can stay.

Arthur: (with gritted teeth) Thank you, father. (Bows and leaves)

Morgana: (enters the room having heard the whole conversation from outside) You must know this will kill him.

Uther: He's just being dramatic. It'll pass.

Morgana: My lord, you never once wondered... why Arthur didn't move?

Uther: What?

Morgana: When the blade of that witch was flying at him.

Uther: He was enchanted.

Morgana: He wasn't. He can't hear, the voice of Lady Helen couldn't reach him. So why didn't he move when he was completely aware and he had more than enough time to evade it?

Uther: ...

Morgana: Think about it, my lord. (Leaves)

Sometime later. After seeing his son doing his duties depressed, contrasting with how joyful he had been the last months, Uther decides to call Merlin to his chambers.

Merlin: Did you call for me, Sire?

Uther: What are those hand gestures you do that my son seems so obsessed with?

Merlin: My mom calls it "sign language", Sire.

Uther: So it is an actual language.

Merlin: Yes, there is a "hand gesture" for every letter and word.

Uther: (pauses) Could you... Teach it to me?

Merlin: (smiles brightly) Of course, Sire.

So Uther lets Arthur keep signing. One day he surprises him signing back and Arthur almost cries right there.

As time passes. More people learn to sign, first the knights so they can interact in silence during a mission (an idea proposed by Arthur). Then, since the King , the Prince and the King's ward interact like this constantly, it gains popularity as a "language of royals" so nobel families start using it too. Merlin teaches to sign to some of Gaius' pacients who have deaf relatives which leads to the language to spread to the lower town.

And about a decade later sign language is basically the official second language in Camelot.

That's all I got for now. I don't know how merthur would get together in this AU or how events of the series would unfold with this change like Nimueh or Morgause intervation. If you had any ideas, share it in the comments or reblogs. I'll be reading you ;)

[sissylittlefeather]

So... I had this dream about Elvis.

It's a little blurry and my English isn't perfect, nos, but I can remember the important bits.

I (the reader, of you wanna write about it ;]) was working as Elvis's assistant and practically loved with him. There where some feelings between us and, eventually, we ended up in bed together. The things were getting heated up, he was rubbing himself through his pants and i was grinding against his thigh.. and just when things where going to get good...

I woke up.

Oh, sweet, sweet nonnie. Your fantastic dream sparked a whole thing for me. Please enjoy this fanfic that resulted from this ask:

Return to Sender

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, kissing, cussing, dry humping, thigh riding, p in v sex, unprotected sex, ejaculation

Word count: ~3.3k

Also decided to base it loosely on this gif:

You were so nervous in your interview that you actually knocked a cup of something off of his desk. As a result, you were pretty sure you did not get the job. But what you didn't know is that he found your stuttering and fidgeting endearing and when you bent over to clean up the cup you spilled, the view he got of your ass made his decision for him.

That's how you ended up as Elvis Presley's private secretary. It's 1959 and he gets so much fan mail these days that he can't manage it all himself. So, he hires you to help him out. He's pleased when you prove to be useful and supremely impressed when you show him that you can mimic his signature perfectly. Still, his interest in you is far from purely functional.

He's not sure how to go about making his first move, especially since you work for him and he'd hate to lose you. You're really quite effective, so he'll have to play this just right. He doesn't want to offend you and run you off for good.

Instead, he spends a lot of time watching you and smiling at you when you catch him looking. You can't figure out why he keeps looking at you. You're not dumb, not even naive really, but it still seems outside the realm of reality that he might be into you for more than your typing skills.

He tests the waters a little with some flirtation here and there, and you don't seem to turn him down, but you also don't seem to reciprocate. He confuses your nervousness with disinterest and tries to stay focused on the task at hand any time you're together. But as time passes, you get more and more comfortable with each other and eventually a kind of friendship forms between you. It's easy to bond as you laugh about some of the crazy things the girls write to him, but you really start to get close when he begins to talk to you. And not just about the letters. Without meaning to, he tells you about his loneliness, his fears, and how much he misses his mama. You're a good listener and he needs you more than he realizes.

Eventually, you get to the end of his time in the service and know he'll be headed back to the states soon. You're not exactly excited about seeing him go, but there's not much you can do to change it, so you take it in stride.

He's not so resigned, though.

If there's even the slightest chance that you might want him, he's not going to let the opportunity pass him by. The night before all of his big army-ending interviews, he asks you to come over. You assume he needs you to get through some letters or something before he leaves, but he has something else entirely different in mind.

“Hey, honey, thank you for coming over so late.” His voice is quiet, shy almost. The room is dimly lit and there's the faint smell of cigar smoke in the air. He sits in a large armchair, watching you as you stand in the middle of the room. You nod and tell him that you don't mind.

“You have some new letters that you need help with?” He shakes his head sheepishly, shifting uncomfortably in the chair.

“Not really. I just wanted to see ya before I leave.” You blink a few times, confused.

“I'll be there for the interviews tomorrow.” He nods. This is not a surprise, but he wants to talk to you without people around.

“Yeah, but…” He fumbles over the words, trying to say exactly what he feels. The hesitation is heavy in the air between you and it's almost as though the words get caught in his throat when he tries to speak.

“But what, Elvis?” You look down at him and he sighs deeply, drumming his fingers on his knee anxiously. Without warning, he stands up and walks to you, grazing his fingertips over your cheek gently. There's a moment of nothing but being between you and you see the conviction enter his eyes.

“Oh, fuck it.” And then his lips are on yours, soft and needy. At first, you're so shocked that you stand there with your eyes open and his mouth on yours. You can see his eyelashes where they settle on his cheeks and feel him breathing as his chest rises and falls so close to you. He pulls back and notices the look on your face. “No? Was that…?”

“Do it again.” A smile creeps across his face and he leans down and kisses you again. This time your eyes close and you melt into him. The taste of him on your lips is exquisite, something between mint and man, and it feels like you'll never get enough. He deepens the kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth, his hands drifting to your hips as he pulls you in close to him, your bodies flush against each other. You moan softly as his lips move down your jaw to your neck and his hands slips down to grab your ass through your dress.

“I've wanted this forever.” His voice rumbles against your throat. You feel his hardness where he presses it against you, the urgency in his hips becoming more obvious.

“Took you long enough.” A little giggle escapes your lips as his hands continue to roam your body, squeezing you where it pleases him. He takes your breasts in both hands and lets out a small whimper. The need for more of him burns inside of you, manifesting in the ache in your center. His cock is so hard it hurts as he rolls against you, tangling one hand in your hair to hold you still as he dips his tongue into your mouth again. You start to pull at his shirt as he walks you backwards through the house toward his bedroom, one arm wrapped around your waist to keep you as close to him as possible.

You fumble with buttons, fingers trembling in anticipation. All of a sudden, it seems like his shirt has a hundred buttons and you groan in frustration. He pulls back, chuckling and pulls it over his head, dropping it to the floor. In the hallway, he turns your back to him and puts your hands on the wall, dragging his down your back to your hips. The ache between your thighs is quickly becoming unbearable, your body burning up with the intensity of your need. His hands grip your hips as he ruts against you, his erection straining against the fabric of his pants. Then, you feel his lips on the back of your neck as he unzips your dress, pushing it forward off of you to let it pool at your feet. He turns you to face him, eagerly raking his eyes over you hungrily as his tongue darts out to wet his lips. He takes a moment to really appreciate your body in just your underwear and bra.

“What?” You ask playfully, noticing the spellbound look on his face. He shakes his head a little, basking in the scent of your perfume as it mixes with the heat of your body.

“You're even more beautiful than I could've imagined.” He runs his fingertips down the side of your stomach and grips your hip tightly. The last ounce of inhibition leaves you and you grab the back of his neck, pulling his lips back down to yours. Every ounce of him hums with insatiable desire as his soft mouth moves on yours passionately. He pushes your back to the wall and presses his body tightly against yours, his thigh on your center. Without thinking, you start to rub yourself on his thigh, your body begging for friction against your swollen clit. He groans and starts to roll his hips against you. “Goddamn, baby. Don't stop that.”

Your hands slide around to his back as you pick up speed, grinding your clothed pussy on his leg.

“Oh god, Elvis.” A deep moan floats up and out of you as your aching bud reacts to the delicious sensation of his pants.

“Fuck, baby. That's a good girl. Make yourself cum on me.” He grips your hips and helps you rut against him, chasing your orgasm. The wetness seeps through your panties, soaking the fabric under you, but he doesn't care. He wants you to cum, needs you to cum, his hips stuttering against you as you rub on him.

“I'm s-so close.” It's more of a whimper than a sentence, but he gets your meaning. His grasp on your hips is almost bruising as you grind on him faster and harder. The familiar bubbling heat gathers in your lower belly as the sweat drips between your breasts. He captures your lips in a desperate kiss and then mumbles against you.

“Come on, baby. You're right there. Let go.” And then, like your body knew to listen to him, you cum on command, shuddering and trembling as the orgasm rushes through you, sending bolts of pleasure to your extremities. He starts to slow the rolling of your hips as you go floppy against him. “Good girl. So pretty when you cum.”

“Think I might've ruined your pants.” You whisper and he chuckles.

“They'll wash. Can you walk?” You look at him, your eyes hazy with your post-orgasm daze.

“Huh?”

“I'm nowhere near finished with you.” He smirks.

“I'm not sure-” You don't even get the sentence out before he bends down, throwing you over his shoulder. A squeal escapes your lips as he carries you to the bedroom and drops you unceremoniously on the bed. He turns on a small light on the nightstand, casting a kind of orange glow around the room. You look at him standing there, the small patch of hair on his chest, his angelic face, and the small wet spot where his dick has leaked precum onto his pants and continues to stand at full attention. He looks at you spread out on the bed and decides at that moment that he'd give you anything you wanted, even his last name if you asked for it.

“I need you, baby.” He palms himself over his pants and you nod, reaching back to unhook your bra. You slip it down your arms and drop it on the floor, moving to push your panties down your legs. He grunts when your pussy becomes visible, moving his hand on his cock a little faster. When you spread your legs, he bites his bottom lip and moans.

“What are you waiting for?” You coo. His eyes are glued to your glistening pussy as he quickly unbuttons his pants and lets them drop. Your mouth waters a little as his cock bounces free, big and uncut and weeping precum. He climbs on top of you, arranging himself against your entrance and taking one of your legs onto his shoulder.

“You ready for me, honey?” He asks desperately, rubbing his tip through your wet folds. You nod and he groans, slowly pushing into you. The feeling of his dick stretching you out is overwhelmingly good. Finally, he groans, his whole cock buried deep inside you, balls pressed against your ass, as he resists the urge to pound you silly. Your hands clench around the silky sheets and you breathe, trying to adjust to the feeling of him. He looks at you with his eyebrows knit together in concern. “You okay?”

“God, yes.” He smiles down at you and pulls his hips back, sliding his now-wet cock out of you and then rolling them forward again, plunging himself into you. Your eyes roll back and you moan loudly as he starts to pick up a steady rhythm of slamming against you. He kisses your ankle gently and fucks into you over and over again. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room as the scent of your sex hangs in the air. Your breasts bounce with every thrust and he grunts, his release gathering in his balls. The headboard starts to bang against the wall and the little light on the nightstand rocks with the force of your lovemaking.

“Fuck, baby. You feel so good. Such a tight little pussy.” His hair is sweaty on his forehead and you revel in the smell of him as he wraps your leg around his hip and leans down to kiss you, his cock sliding in and out of you. In doing so, he shifts the angle a little and begins to rub against your g-spot. Now, you whimper and moan with every movement of his hips, clawing at his back as he pounds you. You devolve into just a body, soaking in each sensation: skin pressed together, sticky and wet, his tongue in your mouth, insistent and deep, and his cock filling your pussy up again and again. He does the same, sinking into the waves of pleasure, your tight heat wrapped around his dick, squeezing him just right. Everything is sensual as you mix together and quickly lose track of whose sweat is whose.

“Elvisssss…” You whine, another climax crashing into you and burning you up from the inside out. He moans with the feeling of your pussy tightening around him.

“Fuck, baby, I'm gonna cum. Fuck. Gonna… oh fuck!” He pulls out of you at the very last possible second, shooting cum all over the inside of your thighs. His cock throbs and pulses and he collapses on top of you, sticky ropes pumping out of him onto your legs. When he finally finishes, he groans loudly and picks up his head, kissing your lips softly. You giggle and push his hair back off his forehead. He chuckles. “I made a mess.”

“Yes, you did. But I helped.” He laughs and kisses you again.

“Yeah, I'm gonna blame this one on you.” You giggle as he rolls off of you and fetches a washcloth from the bathroom to clean you up. When he's done, he crawls back into bed and pulls you onto his chest. “Stay with me?”

You look up into his eyes and it's obvious he doesn't want to be alone tonight. Honestly, you wouldn't leave him even if you could.

“Of course.” He smiles and nuzzles into your hair. You settle in to sleep with him wrapped around you.

***

When you wake up the next morning, he's already dressed in his full uniform. He moves around the room quietly, but he notices when you stir and smiles softly.

“Hey, baby.” You lift your head up and yawn, stretching.

“You're leaving?” He nods and then sits down on the bed to put his shoes on.

“Yeah, I have those interviews. You comin’?” Again, it's clear that he wants you there, so you nod back.

“Oh yeah. I just have to run home and get dressed, but I'll be there.”

“Good.” He leans in and kisses your forehead before standing up. You're still naked from your activities last night and he looks down at you hungrily. He pulls the covers down a little so that he can see your body. “Goddamnit. I hate to leave ya.”

You're not sure if he's talking about this morning or forever. You reach out and take his hand, kissing it gently and then placing it on your breast.

“Fuck.” He climbs into bed in his uniform and pulls you onto him, kissing you deeply and running his hands all over your body.

“Thought you had to go?” You ask between kisses. He groans and buries his face in your neck. The sweet scent of your sweat and sex lingers on your skin and he breathes it in, trying to commit everything about you to memory. He mumbles into your hair.

“Yeah, I do. Just wish I could keep you naked in my bed forever.” For a few more seconds, you just hold each other, trying not to think about the future. Then, he pulls away from you and gets out of bed. “I'll see you at the interviews.”

He turns and leaves before he can get back into the bed and stays there until he dies. You sigh and get up, gathering your things and getting dressed. Something is missing, though. You cannot find your panties anywhere. Sighing again, you check your watch. You don't have time to keep looking. At least he'll have something to remember you by.

******

At the interviews, you stand behind him sipping your coffee and watching. The press are snapping photos like crazy and the flash bulbs are almost giving you a headache. You wonder how he stands it. The room is filled with noise and people, but you can't take your eyes off of him. He looks better than he ever has before, but maybe that's because you've seen him naked and know how beautiful he is without clothes. Your eyes drift down a little and you think about what's hiding under his pants, rubbing your thighs together. And that's when you see them: your panties, just barely peeking out of his pocket.

Your mouth pops open, but you shut it quickly. That little shit. He stole your panties! And he has them with him!

You grab a pen and a scrap of paper and scribble out a note. Motivated by his boldness, you walk up behind him and then lean forward, slipping the note into his jacket. He looks up and realizes it's you, his heart stopping in his chest. Still, he plays it off for the press and keeps going.

However, the second he's able, he pulls out the note and reads it eagerly.

You thief. I see what you stole and I want them back! Call me before you leave.

He grins widely, kisses the note, and folds it up, adding it to the pocket where your panties are. His intention was only to keep them, but now his blood is pumping with the possibility of seeing you again. A thought hits him and he sits with it for a bit. By the time he gets home, he's determined to make it a reality. He picks up the phone and dials your number.

“Hello?”

“I'm not givin’ em back.” Your face breaks into a smile.

“You better!” He chuckles.

“Alright, you can have ‘em. BUT-” He pauses for effect and you just about die with anticipation. You hear him take a deep, steadying breath before he continues. “You have to come get them in Memphis.”

Your mouth drops in shock. You're not sure what you were expecting, but it wasn't that.

“In Memphis?”

“Yes. Come home with me.” His heart is in his throat as he waits for your response. He twists the phone cord around his finger and bites his lip. If only he could see your face. The suspense is killing him.

“Okay.” What else could you say?

“Okay?” He asks excitedly, standing up with the phone.

“Yes.” Your heart is racing, but there's nothing that important keeping you here. Not if he's asking you.

He does a silent fist pump and thanks God that you said yes.

“I'll come get you on my way to the airport. Pack to stay for a while. Like, forever.”

“Elvis…”

“Listen, baby. It took me a long time to find you. I'm not lettin’ you get away anytime soon. You gonna argue?” You think for a second about what you're agreeing to and then decide to take a leap of faith.

“Not at all.”

“Good. And baby?”

“Yeah?” He hesitates for a second, his nerves getting the better of him. Then, he just says it, unable to keep the words from tumbling out.

“I love you.” Your heart stops.

“I love you too, Elvis.”

******

The End

Taglist:

@ccab @atleastpleasetelephone @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb @everythingelvispresley @returntopresley @searchingforgravity @msamarican @angschrof @lustnhim @polksaladava @librababe99 @hooked-on-elvis @theelvisprincess @makethemorning @peaceloveelvis @mrspresley69 @pxpresley @kxnnxy @angelriley222

[ds9promenade]

Transcript because everyone deserves to enjoy this

(some ums, cut-off phrases etc. are edited out)

Siddig:

Stories about Andy Robinson. Ahh, god! *crowd laughs* Everyone thought Andy Robinson — the Garak character — and Julian Bashir for years were possibly a homosexual couple. *crowd laughs* And he actively encouraged that! That was actually all right! That was all right. Except it didn't leave much room for Bashir to do any stuff, you know?

But I don't really have many stories about Andy —

Nana Visitor:

You know, you just made me think, "I've gotta bring this bit" —

Siddig:

You got a good story about Andy?

Visitor:

No, I got a clip, an outtake that they sent me from one of the last shows we filmed of me not being able to keep a straight face —

Siddig:

Ohhhh, Andy's speech!

Visitor:

And Andy saying some waaay over-the-top line, saying it in typical Andy fashion. And it was too much for me. We were in the Cardassian hell(?) chamber and you know all of that, and I laughed.

I laughed take after take after take and he kept saying "Come on! Pull it together! Pull it together!"

And it was something like "We'll cut off the worm's head!" and it was like, it was really like —

Siddig (being completely wrong lol):

Ohh yes, I remember this scene! It was the scene where he was explaining how to eat worm!

Visitor:

No no no

Siddig:

Ah *crowd laughs*

Visitor:

About a time in the Cardassian thing, and —

Crowd member:

"Cut off the snake's head and the body will die."

Visitor:

*gleeful* "Cut off the snake's head and the body will die." Thank you very much, that's exactly the saying. In typical Andy, you know, really big — and he was committed to that line, both feet in, and it was the funniest thing I'd ever heard in my life. *crowd laughs*

Siddig:

To add one thing: people had to be really careful working with Andy, you always had to keep him in a good mood. Not because he was naturally an angry man, never! You meet him generally and he's like the sweetest guy you could ever meet. He's like a teddy bear, you push it over.

But once he's in that stuff — he's in literally a wetsuit glued to his body...he gets hotter and hotter. Andy has no heat retention capability whatsoever. *crowd laughs* Two minutes in that suit, he's like, *impressively good Andy impression* Okay, I'm gonna blow......Let's get this over with... *jerking his head back and forth in rage* Cut! Cut! *enraged sounds* *crowd laughs*

Every day, he's like a little powder keg, you gotta be a little careful with Andy; you can ask him about that. I think Wednesday I'm doing something with Andy and I don't know if you're gonna be there but if you are, ask him that. *clenched teeth* "Andy's gonna blow...Andy's gonna blow everybody" — and he did, often.

Visitor:

Oh yeah.

Siddig:

*pretending to be Andy "blowing" again*

Visitor:

And when he blows, he blows big-time — but a lot of people did, in the makeup — it gets to you after a while. When I was a Cardassian for twenty hours, I was in this makeup, I started to say to the director — I do not do this, I am professional — I started to pull at it and say "That was it, that was your last take"

This is a clip from a YouTube upload by Mary Knasinski of Sid and Nana in Missouri in 2000. They are asked about working with Andy and Nana recounts an outtake of being unable to stop laughing to get a scene done with Andy that then irritates him because (as Sid says) for Garak he was “in a wetsuit glued to his body” and he can’t stand the heat, thus he wants to get his scenes done as soon as possible so he can get out of costume. Sid then goes on to give THE best impersonation of an angry and irritated Andy that only a best friend can do so wonderfully.

[lexirosewrites]

gwtting my slick sunday submission in early for once lmao (if you think this does not qualify for slick sunday, that's totally fine!)

A little angsty, but here we are - omega Steve from an underground fighting ring. Either consensual, or nonsensically. You'd think that the crowds would be more interested in seeing the big, bad, hulking alphas beating the spit out of each other, and they do, but it turns out the big bucks are in putting two omegas in the pit. See, here's the funny thing about nature: it's never the biggest, most in-your-face males who fight the hardest. It's the mothers. The ones with young to protect against the world. Alphas fight to impress. Omegas fight to kill.

Alpha Eddie, down on his luck, no one's buying and it's getting harder to make honest money, hears from a friend of a friend a way to make some better cash, if he can take a couple hits. Eddie coming down to the ring. Getting into it, feeling the vibes. He can do this - he's smaller and craftier, he may be able to take down some of these meatheads, get a couple hundred a night for his trouble.

And then he stays late enough to see the 'after-hours' showdowns.

What the shove into the metal chain link cage is an omega, with doe eyes, pretty brown hair, and a thick, leather collar around his neck. His jaw, shoulders, mouth and nose bridge, are blanketed in scars, where killing bites had tried and failed to get purchase. His ears are notched and torn, and he's looking at the huge bull of an alpha they throw in with him. Some hot-knot that Eddie had been talking to earlier, also new to the place.

Eddie learns very quickly what it sounds like when a trachea is almost crushed in a pair of jaws. The omega has to be pulled off.

"Don't know why the owners keep lettin' that little fucker back in again and again," the beta to Eddie's right mutters. "I think they just find it funny at this point."

Eddie only has eyes for the omega stumbling out of the pit and moving the counter to collect his due.

Eddie and I are both in love with this version of scary omega Steve😍

[prlssprfctn]

Being Robin is an art, in a way. It is hard, and it is always about keeping a balance — being graceful as a cat and yet, hold a power of a lion. Being flashy in all these colourful patterns and, at the same time, completely invisible for enemies.

When Bruce picks up Jason, he thinks he will need some extra training. He doesn't expect Jason, a street kid, to have the same mannerism Dick, the child of the circus, had. And he doesn't - not fully, at least - but the way Jason just... disappears in a way, making himself stealthy and invisible, is incredible. It is natural.

(It is... a talent?)

He is so great that sometimes Alfred and Bruce don't notice him until he wants them to notice him!

'You are good at this, chump,' Bruce compliments him once.

Jason tilts his head, seemingly confused.

'Huh?'

'Enemies never notice you, despite how bright your suit is,' Bruce points out proudly. 'Even I fail to find you in the room sometimes.'

Jason lets out a quiet "a-ah" in realisation and just shrugs.

He is always so humble, this kid.

Red Hood is not exactly humble. He knows his worth. He doesn't fail to remind others of his superior trainings or to mock the weakness of his enemies. But even he refuses to accept this exact compliment.

Why, though? He is tall, bulky — double-fridge, really — and his armour is bright red, and still... and still, people fail to notice his presence most of the time. Isn't it just great?

'Despite how huge you are, you are stealthy enough to match the style of my assassins,' Talia tells him; she is not exactly as beaming as Bruce was, but there is still a hint of respect in her voice. 'It is impressive. Though, I don't appreciate being caught off the guard.'

Jason huffs.

'Yeah, alright. Put a bell on my neck or something — it is not like I am trying to scare you.'

Talia tilts her head but doesn't comment further.

At that moment, Jason fears she knows. She knows exactly why he never accepts these kinds of compliments or where this skill comes from.

'You know, when I first got into Robin suit, Bruce said that he knew someone, who was as good at being invisible on the streets as me,' Stephanie tells him once, when they sit on the coach of the living room, waiting for others to return from the kitchen. 'Never figured out he was talking about you until I saw you scaring the shit out of others by your random appearances.'

Jason hums.

'Crime Alley kids' thing, am I right?' She elbows him, half-amused, half-bitter.

And Jason thinks, yeah. Exactly that.

Because it was never natural for him to take no place in the world — he just taught himself how to. How to make no sound, how not to irritate some men, who gradually got drunker during the day, while passing by the same streets, how to keep himself safe by being an empty space. People can't get angry if they don't see you. They can't kick you out, either.

(He perfected this skill so much that at some point he embraced this emptiness, right after his death. So, maybe it was his fault that Bruce scrapped away everything that was left of him, maybe-)

'Let them think that it is a talent,' he advises, instead.

Whatever makes you look valuable enough, his inner voice adds helpfully. Whatever makes you special to be kept around.

'Yeah. Sounds good to me.'

Jason hasn't lived on the streets for decades now, but he never grew up its habits. He doesn't think he ever will.

And it is... fine.

Because that is just who he is. Who he always was.

[hy6erion]

Hii! Could I pretty please request a jayce×reader smut. I was thinking about collage!jayce and reader having a game night with friends. In the heat of the moment, playing some game where you are dependent on other's players willingness (like how in catan you can trade with other players or in monopoly you can buy the get out of jail card from someone), reader was really close to winning and just needed jayce to sell her something or trade with her or whatever and said something along the line of "I'll suck you off just trade with me", half joking (everyone laughing, jayce gives in etc...). And after everyone's gone home he's just there like "so... that was a joke, right". Just pathetic desperate jayce because that who he is.

~🍒

𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 - 𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

✰⍣..𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐟-𝐣𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐞 𝐝𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐣𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐲 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫. 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤- 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐩 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐬, 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦, 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬.

⇢𝐧𝐨 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲/𝐧, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭, 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢, 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐣𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞!!, 𝐬𝐮𝐛! 𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐝𝐥𝐲 (´ ω `♡) 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐬 𝐢 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊. 𝐎𝐡𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐣𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞....

The apartment is packed, the living room floor covered in game boards, beer bottles, and half-eaten snacks.

The air is thick with the kind of competitive energy that only comes from college students taking a game night way too seriously. You're sprawled out on the couch, eyes locked on the board in front of you, planning your next move with the intensity of someone about to make history.

Jayce is across from you, lounging back against the couch, one arm draped over the cushions, the other lazily holding his cards. He's been giving you shit all night, blocking your trades, refusing to sell you what you need, smirking every time you groan in frustration. Smug, cocky, completely in his element.

You're one move away from winning.

One stupid trade away. And of course, the only person who has what you need is Jayce fucking Talis. You glance at his cards, then at his face, and sigh dramatically.

"Jayce, come on. Just trade with me."

He grins, tapping his fingers against his chin like he's deep in thought, though you both know he's just drawing this out to be annoying.

"Mmm, nah. I don't think I will."

You throw your hands up. "Jayce, be serious. I literally just need that one fucking card."

He shrugs, clearly enjoying watching you suffer. "And I literally just don't feel like trading."

Groans erupt around the room. Vi shakes her head. "Jayce, just give it to her. It's not that deep."

Jayce smirks. "Nope."

You narrow your eyes, leaning forward, playing up the frustration, letting your voice drop into something sweet, teasing. "Jayce," you say, slow, deliberate, "I will literally suck your dick if you just trade with me."

The room goes silent for half a second before erupting into laughter.

Mel chokes on her drink. Caitlyn smacks Vi on the arm, doubling over.

Ekko leans back, eyebrows raised, looking genuinely impressed.

Jayce, though-Jayce freezes. His mouth opens slightly, like his brain is trying to catch up with his body, like the words are sinking in too slow. His eyes flick to yours, and for a moment, you swear you see something shift.

Something desperate, something raw.

But then the laughter drags him back, and he forces out a chuckle, shaking his head like it's nothing.

"You're so full of shit," he mutters, handing over the card with a roll of his eyes. "Fine. Take it. Jesus."

You grab it, grinning, and slam it onto the board. "That's game!" Cheers and groans echo through the room as you throw your hands up in victory, barely catching the way Jayce watches you, barely noticing the way he doesn't laugh as easily as the others.

—

The night winds down after that, everyone packing up, finishing drinks, stretching as they gather their things.

One by one, they leave, Vi and Caitlyn arguing about some rule from earlier, Mel throwing you a knowing look before disappearing out the door.

Jayce is still sitting on the couch, legs spread wide, his hands flexing against his thighs like he's trying to get himself under control. He hasn't moved since the door shut behind your last friend. Just staring, lips parted, golden-brown eyes locked onto you like he's still processing what happened hours ago.

Like he's been waiting.

Like he's barely holding himself together.

You stretch, pretending not to notice the way his gaze drops to the sliver of skin revealed where your hoodie rides up. "Guess I should clean up."

Jayce swallows hard. His voice is rough, low, almost careful when he finally speaks. "So, uh... that was a joke, right?"

You turn, giving him an innocent look.

"What was?"

He drags a hand down his face, groaning. "You know what."

You blink, tilting your head, playing dumb. "You mean when I said l'd suck your dick if you traded with me?"

Jayce actually whimpers.

His head drops back against the couch, his fingers tightening on his thighs, and you swear you see him press his knees together like he's physically trying to stop himself from reacting. He looks wrecked, already ruined, like he's been holding onto the thought all fucking night. His cock twitches in his sweats, barely concealed, already half-hard just from hearing you say it again.

"Fuck," he mutters, eyes squeezed shut. "Don't say it like that."

You bite back a grin, stepping closer, watching the way his breath shudders when you move toward him. "Why not?"

Jayce opens his eyes, and he looks so desperate it almost makes you laugh.

His pupils are blown, his lips parted, his whole body tense like he's about to snap. "Because," he groans, shifting in his seat, looking down at where his cock is already straining against his sweats, "I've been hard since you said it, okay?"

You blink. "Wait."

Jayce groans again, covering his face with one hand. "Since the game."

You stare, heat curling in your stomach. "Jayce."

He lets his head drop back again, groaning into his palm. "Fuck. I knew it. You're gonna make fun of me."

You smirk, stepping between his knees, reaching out to tug his hand away from his face. "Oh, I'm absolutely going to make fun of you."

Jayce lets out the most pathetic little noise, somewhere between a whimper and a plea. His thighs spread wider, inviting, instinctive, like he wants you to take advantage of him. His breath is heavy, ragged, like just the thought of what's about to happen is ruining him. "I-fuck, I don't care. Just-" He swallows, golden-brown eyes flicking up to yours, dark and pleading. "Just, please. Please..."

You drag your fingers down his chest, watching the way his abs tense, feeling how warm his skin is through the fabric. "So desperate," you murmur, grinning.

Jayce nods immediately. "Yeah. Yeah, i'm desperate. So fucking desperate. You've been teasing me all night, and I-fuck-please, just-"

You don't even let him finish before you drop to your knees between his spread thighs. His whole body jerks, a shuddered gasp escaping his lips as his head falls back against the couch.

His hands tremble where they grip the cushions. "Fuck."

You trail your fingers over the outline of his cock, feeling how hard, how thick, how absolutely wrecked he already is. He twitches under your touch, his hips lifting slightly, chasing any friction. "You've been sitting here like this all night?" you hum, pressing your palm down just to hear him whine.

Jayce nods frantically, his breath coming in shallow gasps. "I couldn't stop thinking about it. Couldn't stop thinking about you on your knees, about that pretty mouth-oh, fuck-"

You squeeze lightly, watching him tremble. "Then you should've just asked, Jayce."

He groans, his hips bucking up into your touch, his hands fisting the couch like he's trying not to just grab your head and make you take him already. "Please," he begs, voice wrecked, desperate.

"Please, I can't-| need-"

You grin. "You need what?"

Jayce actually sobs. "Please suck my cock."

Who are you to deny him?

—

Jayce is in heaven.

Completely fucking gone, wrecked, brainless with pleasure, golden-brown eyes fluttering shut, his breath coming out in ragged, desperate gasps as you work him over. He's sprawled out on the couch, legs spread wide, hands gripping the cushions like he's barely holding himself together. His body is shaking-tensing and shuddering with every slow, deliberate slide of your lips over his cock.

You hum around him, letting your tongue drag along the underside, teasing, making him feel every inch of it. He chokes on a whimper, his hips jerking up instinctively before he forces himself back down, knowing better than to move without permission.

"F-fuck-" His voice wobbles, high and needy, already so desperate, already so far gone. His fingers twitch against the couch, itching to grab your hair, to pull, to push— but he doesn't. Because you didn't tell him he could.

You pull back slightly, letting his cock slip from your lips with an obscene wet sound, stroking him slow, teasing.

"You wanna touch me, Jayce?"

His head snaps up, nodding frantically, golden-brown eyes glassy, pleading. "Y-yeah-oh, f-fuck-please, please-"

You hum, dragging your fingers up his thigh, tracing patterns against his skin, watching as he shudders, barely able to handle even the softest touch. "Mmm. I don't know, baby. You're not really being patient, are you?"

Jayce whimpers.

Actually, fucking whimpers. His abs clench, his cock twitching against your palm, already leaking, already so fucking needy.

"I-I-fuck—" His breath shatters, his head tipping back against the couch, his lips parting in the prettiest moan as you squeeze around his length. "I'll be good-I'll be s-so good for you, I swear-"

You smirk, dragging your nails lightly over his stomach, watching him suck in a breath, his whole body going tense. "You sure about that?"

Jayce nods frantically, his hands still fisting the couch, his thighs trembling beneath your palms. "Y-yeah-yes, I swear, I swear-p-please-"

You lean in, licking a slow stripe along the head of his cock, teasing him with just the tip of your tongue. His whole body jerks, a wrecked sob breaking from his throat.

"F-fuck-oh, f-fuck-" His voice cracks, completely pathetic, completely desperate. His fingers twitch, but he doesn't move, doesn't touch, doesn't do anything he's not allowed to.

"Good boy," you murmur, wrapping your lips around him again, sinking down, taking him deep, swallowing around him as you feel his whole body seize up beneath you.

Jayce lets out the most broken moan.

His hands fly up— hovering-not grabbing, not pushing, just trembling in the air like he doesn't know what to do with himself. His brain is melting, crumbling, breaking apart at the edges.

"Oh, f-fuck, baby-" His voice is high and breathless, so fucking gone already. His hips twitch, his thighs shake, his golden-brown eyes flutter shut as he lets out the prettiest fucking gasp.

"You feel so good-ohhh-f-feel so perfect, s-so fucking perfect, love your mouth, baby, f-fuck, love you s-so much-"

You hum, taking him deeper, sucking hard, watching his abs flex, watching his head tip back, completely wrecked.

Jayce whines.

Loud, desperate, needy. His fingers twitch in the air before he finally lets them settle on your head, not pushing, just petting, just stroking, his voice breaking as he babbles more nonsense.

"You're s-so good-s-so good to me, baby, s-so fucking perfect, I-love you, love your mouth, I-love the way you— oh, f-fuck-"

His hips twitch forward before he jerks back, groaning, forcing himself still. "S-sorry, baby, s-sorry-f-fuck-w-won't move, I promise-"

You grin around him, dragging your nails down his thighs, watching him shudder, his cock pulsing against your tongue. "You're so obedient," you murmur, voice warm, teasing.

"Such a desperate little thing for me, huh?"

Jayce lets out the neediest fucking moan you've ever heard.

"Yes-ohhh, f-fuck-yes, f-fuck, I'm-" His voice shatters, his hands fisting in your hair, still not pulling, still just holding on for dear fucking life.

He's so fucking close. You can feel it in the way he tenses beneath you, in the way his breath comes out in uneven little gasps, in the way his hips jerk forward before he whimpers, forcing himself back down.

"B-baby, please-" His voice cracks, golden-brown eyes wide and pleading, so fucking gone for you.

"P-please, sweetheart, I-let me cum, please-"

And fuck—

You let him.

[marzipanandminutiae]

Eggers confirmed in interview that Ellen wasn't a child, she was teenager at the start of the film. You can probably say there's case of ephebophilia. But there is no CSA there. Also Eggers absolutely saw it as Dark romance and ships it himself. He wouldn't be doing it if there was CSA.

And that's fine, but not everyone accepts Word of God as canon

My thoughts on Eggers' interview statements are that he should have made his intentions clearer if that's what he was going for, because a huge portion of the audience came away with the impression that it was about someone's stalker/rapist coming back to jeopardize the life she'd made for herself out from under his thumb. And like...if he wanted people to not think that, he should have made directing choices that made the onscreen story match his vision better.

You're free to interpret it however you want. What I take issue with is people saying that there's One True Interpretation and no viable way to see it in any other light. There's one interpretation that the director intended, but the movie he actually made leaves holes to interpret it a different way. He shouldn't have made it that way if he had a very specific story to tell.

How can I see it as CSA? Simple. She said she was "a child" when it started and even if she was a young teenager, it being the early 1830s (assuming she's like 20-23 at time of canon, based on statistical age at first marriage for women back then) doesn't magically make 15-year-olds adults. 15 back then was about like 17 now- not a Tiny Baby, but decidedly not a Full Grown-Up either. "Child" CAN be a euphemistic term for a naive or inexperienced adult, but it's not always

And maybe if he wanted people to not interpret her as a literal child...he shouldn't have had her characterize herself that way in the dialogue, talking about when all of this started? "I was so young," "I didn't know better," "I was a fool," "I was naive," etc. SO MANY clearer wordings there. They already didn't get a child actress to play her in the opening scene; without that line, I'd assume it had been like. A few years before her marriage, when she was maybe 17-18, and just seen it as abuse rather than arguable CSA. It's a weird dialogue choice if he wanted to convey "the vampire sex started when she was young but not unacceptably young," like many other weird choices that I felt were counterproductive to his stated narrative aims.

Doesn't mean my interpretation is objectively correct either! But you don't see me going around saying that there's No Way Anyone Could See It As Consensual And That's Wrong And Bad.

I have both been there and done that before, coming from a fandom (Crimson Peak) where there's no way to interpret a central relationship as peer CSA/COCSA if you go by Word of God, but there's absolutely space for that based on what ended up in the actual movie. And I've had to make peace with it, even though I ship that couple to the moon and back.

You like these fake people kissing in this way, and other people don't. And that's fine! You don't need a big moral justification for it, or to have the Single Correct Interpretation!

[bayesic-bitch]

Broadly endorsed except I think we won't even have AGI (insanely contested term) on software tbh, not been that impressed by LLMs ability to maintain state. Feel like meaningful lifelong learning is essential to "intelligence."

That's reasonable, I think software is going to require a different approach than raw scaling -- at some point, you need to start incorporating feedback from actually running the code. In particular, I really think there are significant avenues for advancement by training in dependently typed languages. Before DeepSeek made the news with their general language model, they released a paper on learning proof generation in Lean. The benefit here is that since you have a dependently typed language, you can encode the desired behavior of the function in the type signature, and then any program that typechecks is formally guaranteed to be correct and bug-free. This means that 1. you never have to worry about hallucinations, because the code is double checked by a formal system, and 2. you get a reward function that's 100% accurate -- the model wrote a valid function if and only if it typechecks. This makes it really, really easy to both scale up RL and safely deploy it in practice. And looking at both the recent DeepSeek papers, it seems like this scales well and generalizes to other kinds of reasoning tasks that will likely include code generation in traditional languages.

Imo compliant grippers solve a lot of problems but they're obviously much harder to simulate. Also, RL just struggles with out of distribution stuff if you want any kind of reactivity. If you don't simulate it, you can't do it.

Yeah being unable to simulate them is a pain in the ass. My lab has switched to using a lot of suction grippers, but obviously those don't work for everything.

Broadly agree with Rodney Brooks scepticism here.

Rodney Brooks is a useful corrective to the frankly insane amount of hype in AI, but I think he's had a serious blind spot on underestimating the effects of scaling in the past. Ie, I think he was wrong about almost every point he brought up in his Better Lesson post. We did end up ditching all the architectures with hand-engineered translational invariance for bigger dumber models that scale better, and we did it barely a year after his post.

In this post, one particular example jumps out to me

Rodney. Dude. LLMs are also deep learning, this is at best a mild rebranding. We were nowhere near the limits of where we could get with just "more data + more layers + backprop". I know you know that Rodney, you can't possibly count these as a correct prediction. And no shame, I was completely wrong about this too, in 2018 I was expecting an AI winter within 5 years, but to count these as correct is just a wild level of contrarianism

We're gonna have AGI in 20 years. Maybe 10. I'm pilled. I think it's gonna be... well, I'm not an abject doomer but I think there might be some problems.

[blondeaxolotl-twstocs]

Sorry about the influx of questions (feel free to ignore any/all), I really like Murray and Sirena and the little doodles and stories about them.

- Do either know Azul?/What do they think of him?

- What do they think about the twins going to NRC?

- What would they think if either twin brought home a partner?

Hehe no worries!! Send as many asks as you wish I love answering them (even if it sometimes takes me a while)

- Do either know Azul?/What do they think of him? They do know Azul :). A little funfact about Sirena is that she and Azul's mother actually went to high school together!! And ended up reconnecting after they were both picking up their kids from school because Azul's mother recognized her. That's kind of how the tweels and Azul actually started hanging out together because their moms wanted to catch up and therefore dragged their kids along lmaoo. Onto what they both think of him, Sirena adores him and finds him sweet. Loves the fact Azul looks like a mini ver of her best friend, and she's impressed how smart he is. Murray on the other hand thought he looked like a sad wet dog- SMACK actually she thinks he's pretty cool.

- What do they think about the twins going to NRC? Proud and happy that their boys are going to a such wonderful school! Sirena was worried at first, thinking what if they don't get along with others or they end up starting fights. But after hearing that Azul is also going there, she calmed down knowing there's at least one sane person keeping track of the two (somewhat... shhh). And ofc Murray's thoughts about it was something like "uhh don't start fights, but if someone starts the fight FIRST then be the ones to end it, and make sure you end it" <- please do not take advice from this woman

- What would they think if either twin brought home a partner? A new member joins the family :)))! If their son loves their partner, without a doubt both Murray and Sirena would love them too and they'll immediately welcome them with open arms!! Though there's a 50/50 chance Murray might or might not pull out a huge album filled with baby pictures of the tweels. Why? Because Murray finds it funny to embarrass her kid in front of their partner harharhahrharhahrhar (it's only 50/50 and not 100 because Sirena might tell Murray not to pull out the baby album after just meeting the person)

Anyways, bonus lil comic of the first question of Sirena and Azul's mom reconnecting!!! (No this wasn't just a huge excuse for me to draw Azul's mom and baby Azul haha what do you mean)

The lil tweels and Azul hanging out together in the last frame while their moms do the thing where they accidentally meet in public and proceed to talk for what feels like hours (Murray is stuck between them as she's forced to socialise but also can't understand either of them because of how fast they're talking)

Jade was the first one to immediately take a liking to Azul because he's ourple💜✨ and Jade likes anything that's ourple💜✨ (that's also why his pupils are so dilated here), Floyd is just glad Murray isn't manhandling him anymore (he tried to bite her, again.)

[pankekvenom]

This is just a little drabble, some little headcanons how they would try to make you spend time with them

I don't know if I'm capable of elaborating on something bigger, sorry for the misspellings english is not my first language. I got some information about the characters based on what Google told me and some fandom Headcanons.

Platonic! Yandere! Batfam x Neglected! Reader

Characters: Damian Wayne, Dick Greyson and Jason Todd

(This drabble takes place after the kidnapping thing)

You would be doing your own thing in your New Room, of course, and you would hear a soft knock on the door. Without waiting for an answer, one of your siblings would enter, planning to do some activity with you.

Damian Wayne

-Damian would probably take you to do some activity where he can show you that he is more talented than your other siblings, something like sword art or painting, probably, I believe he is very good at painting as much as he is good at sword art, something about practicing concentration and patience, things you need to be good at both.

-The problem with spending time with Demian is that the activities he wants to do consist of you sitting and looking pretty. Of course, if you show that you're bored or losing interest, he'll suggest that you do the activity with him, he won't force you to do it, but he also won't let you just walk back to your room (in fear one of your other siblings would snatch you away, possessiveness what can I say).

-He would have you sit on a bench while he demonstrated how sword art works, and would try to do very exaggerated movements to try to impress you.

-did you see that? This takes years of experience to perfect.

He looked at you after doing some very difficult moves with his sword, Waiting for some sign of approval, you gave him a weak smile and nodded to show you were listening.

-He will also have you sit on a couch to be his model for a painting, in a position that is comfortable for you but looks good for the painting, and would keep asking if you are comfortable every 10 minutes, sometimes you would notice that he would stop painting and just watch you, looking like he is memorizing every curve of your face, he would snap out of it when you ask if everything is okay.

-Yeah, it's...I'm ok; I just need to get the details for the painting, you know.

He would give that same answer every time, with his ears a little red, for someone who needs to concentrate, with you around, Damian certainly couldn't.

Dick Greyson

- Dick would take you to see him doing some acrobatics and backflips (obviously), or to practice some kind of dance with you, a dance that could make you more comfortable with all the touching you are getting from your family in general, hugs, cuddles and even holding hands is still difficult for you so he wants to practice that more.

-To show you the acrobatics he would do smooth movements that seem to be done without the least bit of effort, but you would still notice that he would be trying to concentrate as much as possible so he doesn't miss any step.

-if you show that you are bored or not paying attention anymore he would pout and come to you and try to make you feel guilty for not paying attention while he tries so hard to put on a good show, and that you are not even giving him a chance to change (emotional manipulation would be strong with this one).

-Am I not good enough, baby bird? I know you'd rather spend your time with someone else, but you don't even want to give me a chance to prove that our time together can be fun.

he can very much be a hypocrite, but he would rather die than admit that.

- then he would take you to the dance hall to practice (the dance hall appeared after you returned to the mansion; you had never seen this room before, but you are sure that the room was used for something else).

-He would try to teach you some kind of slow dance at first, a dance that wouldn't make you lose your breath because you already seemed nervous from being so close to him, holding your hand gently but firmly so you wouldn't try to pull away (he would be beaming with happiness for such a small improvement).

-come on, baby bird, take a deep breath and let it out. Don't look at your feet. Try to look at me and concentrate on my movements, it's okay if you don't get it right on the first try.

he would say with a gentle voice, redirecting your face with his index finger, raising your chin so you were looking directly at his face.

-You were angry because his soft voice would make you feel a little bit at ease, but it would still be difficult to maintain eye contact with his dark blue ones that looked at you with such love.

-He would 100% take advantage of the situation, just being this close to you without you fussing or making a disgusted face is something to be celebrated, but he would try his best to control his facial expressions so he wouldn't scare you off.

Jason Todd

-Jason has a very normal choice of activity with you, he likes books, motorcycles, and weapons, which are totally different things from each other, so he sticks with the easiest one, books.

-he would love to show you his new bike modifications, but he knows you are not that into this kinda thing (well he thinks you don't like it, but how could he know what you like, right?).

-And weapons are not an option, never. (He doesn't like the idea, and he tells Damian to try not to scare you with his swords, Damian completely ignores him).

-He likes to read books to you in your room with your head resting on your pillow while he sits beside you, he reads each book differently, with more emotion or a firmer voice, trying not to make you bored.

-if he sees that you are losing interest or are starting to fall asleep, he would be the best one to deal with it, but in his own way; he wouldn't force you to stay awake, but he would take advantage of the situation to cuddle with you.

-closing the book and putting it on the bedside table, he would lay down with you pulling the covers up you both, trying to cuddle with you without disturbing your little nap.

-He would brag about it for the rest of the family, how he got to cuddle with you and you didn't even kick him out of the room. (You were sleeping, how could you kick him out?).

-You guys are never making it as far as me.

Your other siblings would just roll their eyes at him, but he couldn't care less. It's his victory today, and he is very proud, did he kinda take advantage of your tiredness? Maybe, but you didn't complain tho, neither did him.

That's It for today folks, good night.

Should I post other characters?

[heart-shaped-noose]

One of the most interesting things to me about Mephisto is how he dresses. Not because it’s silly or whatever, it’s due to how calculating it can seem to be. For instance look at how he dresses around humans. Dressing so eccentrically and flamboyantly is a way to differentiate himself from humans in both status and being. He’s rich enough to get away dressing however he wants (he seems to be a mysterious eccentric billionaire businessman semi-celebrity of sorts) while still differentiating himself as an otherworldly being to those who are aware of who he truly is. Essentially, the way he dresses is palatable enough to humans while still inherently differentiating himself from them all.

And this is interesting given how he dresses around his family. Because I double checked and I didn't see him dressing like a literal jester during the times he took Rin to the past. The most eccentric he dressed back then was in his Retro style and that still had a level of sophistication to it with its tailoring and fit. So he seems to prefer to wear weird clothes around humans while wearing normal clothes around his family?

Case in point being this outfit. I've always felt like this is one of his best looks maybe even on an objective level. It's definitely an outfit that this time period (probably Edwardian-ish if we take his word on this meeting being 100 years before current events) would have seen as the pinnacle of sophistication. Something that only the finest of gentlemen would wear. It's a great contrast to the outfits he wears in modern times since they don't fit conventional fashion standards of today. Like you don't see people running around willy-nilly while dressed up in a pastel goth Pennywise cosplay, and if you did, you'd see that they wouldn't be very respected or taken seriously by most. However, that suit is wonderfully tailored, very stylish, gives off an air of class and elegance, and he knows how to use the best accessories to bring out a regal vibe. It still looks good even by today's standards. But, the thing is, he wore it to the Baal family dinner party where he spoke to Lucifer about cloning.

He wears a similar outfit during this flashback, but there’s no Mephisto Pink TM handkerchief in his breast pocket. It’s probably not the same outfit given that this most likely took place during the regency era, Iblis’ dress is a giveaway there, but regardless it gives some more context to how he dresses around his family.

In Chapter 1 he admits to Rin that he's aware of how frivolous he comes off in his clown suit. Which is interesting because I didn't see him wearing that outfit or anything equally ridiculous around Lucifer. He had to have seen Lucifer often, probably even daily, since he was in charge of the Asylum and Section 13.

Mephisto also wore this snazzy cape and suit when properly meeting Satan for the first time, right before attempting to make negotiations. He knew he had multiple reasons to make a good first impression, and he knew how to class up his outfit while keeping his sense of style.

And that’s the thing with Mephisto. I'm sure all this costuming is a way for him to stand out and differentiate himself from others, as well as to distance himself from everyone in general. There's definitely advantages in knowing how to dress to make the impact you want. He definitely knows how to do so while sometimes striking a balance between sophistication and silliness, like with his retro mephisto outfit and the one he wore when meeting Satan. However, being so malleable in this way can lead to an uneven sense of self-identity. This makes it interesting to see him dressing more human and respectable around his family, while dressing incredibly eccentric and silly around humans in a way that's still palatable to them. All that roleplaying isn't just distancing himself from everyone, but maybe also himself in a sense.

While everyone is nuanced and can have different styles and aesthetics, it somewhat leaves me wondering which style is more inherent to his being. The sometimes regal, sophisticated and elegant outfits he wears when around his family, or the fancy and over the top whimsical clown suit he wears around humans today. While it could be a way for him to strike a balance between being a demon and imitating a human, generally speaking I'm inclined to think the latter is more him. I do believe he's an inherently silly guy who genuinely adores everything cute, the color pink, and tsundere anime girls. That said, I still think that darker style suits him well even if it may not be his preference. His natural form in Gehenna is dark and foreboding, after all. The way that the two of these contrasting styles always look so natural on him is one of the things that makes him so fun. It keeps others guessing about him.

[seasonal-writes]

Hey there! So, it’s been a while. I have done a lot of thinking, some writing, some attempts—but I have come to the conclusion that I do not think I will be writing out the continuation and end of When Fate Finds Golden Rings. It took me a while to get to this point, and I'm so sorry to anyone who was hoping or expecting me to eventually come back to posting it on ao3. You know, you just.. don’t write on a fic for over a year-ish and surprise! Maybe you really lost the energy and passion for this piece after all. Which is okay. 

BUT. Instead,

Welcome to: Ro gives away the plans for the ending, rambles about that process, and gives other weird notes about their first big boy AU. Because I saw a post about bullet point-ing fic and realized I am, in fact, allowed to do that. 

Strap in because this is going to be a Big Post. Sorry in advance. And if it wasn't very obvious, um. Spoilers for When Fate Finds Golden Rings below the cut. <3

It’ll probably be starting at chapter 14. 

So, I want to disclose, before we begin: the ending is not totally up to my current standards as a writer. And this isn’t going to be me bashing my own creative process or my burnout or anything like that. I just feel like noting that… had I thought about the ending in more detail instead of flying by the seat of my pants, I think that it would be more put-together and interesting. I think that applies to the entire story, honestly. So. Yeah. If the ending falls a little flat, that is why. I was too busy daydreaming over my epilogue—which I will be talking about as well!! It's honestly my favorite aspect that came from continually thinking about the fic rather than writing it. LMAO.

Interestingly enough, I originally wrote that there were going to be at most like, 7-8 chapters left. realistically, that would probably not have happened. Considering this outline was in SHAMBLES, I can safely say it would’ve been a whirlwind last few chapters. sincerely, future Ro after writing out the mess you’re about to see.

The place where Joel, Lizzie, and Etho live was going to be the place where the ending took place. All the chapters in this “arc” as I'd call them—even though that’s not really what they are—were going to be here and were originally intended to be a deeper dive into Tango’s background. Since the first half of the story is really steeped in Jimmy’s world, it had only felt right to give Tango his own section and exposition as a character.

This was going to become the part of the story where it’s like, Jimmy and tango are in a more stable place for a moment so it gives them more time to reflect. It also would’ve given them time to be away from each other, which I thought was important for two guys who had been subjected to good ol’ forced proximity and were finally given little outs to be apart; i.e. Etho taking tango away for a day, Jimmy spending time with Lizzie and/or Joel. That was a chapter idea I had: both basically kinda being like: yeah! no! I can be alone. I don't miss him at all. not even a little. it feels weird without him here though, right- and just dealing with that. Plus the fear of getting caught, the fear of the OTHER one getting caught and not knowing. yeah. <3

Something I had planned on happening between Tango and Jimmy was that Jimmy was basically going to very much avoid his own feelings all around. He’s so attached to this guy, very much falling for him, and convinced that he is in the way despite it all. He’s kinda… under the impression that maybe he’s in the wrong for not wanting to stay, because OBVIOUSLY Jimmy knows better than to stay in one place like this after the whole journey thus far, when Tango seems so happy. So Jimmy, flawed as this idea is, just assumes Tango will be better off if he stays close to his home and Jimmy doesn’t want to make Tango feel like he has to keep running. The best way i can describe this is like

Jimmy: Man. Tango seems really happy here. I don't think he needs me. I bet he wants to stay. No, I'm not gonna ask him, that’s crazy. What I WILL do, however, is leave without telling him. 

and then he did. :) 

That was basically going to lead into a chapter where Jimmy is ~kidnapped~ on his way out of town by ANOTHER set of characters I was excited about: the mercenaries, Ren, Martyn, and BigB! Golden Rings!Ren is fun to me because he keeps the Red King aesthetic. For some context of why they exist: the three stooges mercenaries heard through the grapevine that if the two princes were captured and returned alive, there would be a big reward. I never actually decided if they’d been tracking Jimmy and Tango for a while, or if it was a coincidence that the reward went out and they happened to stumble into town. but all that matters is that Ren ‘n Gang are in fact successful, and smuggle Jimmy off to a camp somewhere along the road headed back to the palace with full intentions of bringing him home, with or without tango. 

behind the scenes, tango is actively losing his mind. so, fun fact here: I never actually…wrote down how this next bit happens. please forgive me i haven’t touched this outline in like a year and a lot has happened since then- but OoOoh wow! Tango manages to find him!! at the camp!! at night. please note here that golden rings!tango has reflective animal eyes. like cats at night when light shines on them? that’s tango. 

I had this whole scene planned where I would riff off the Tango Rage and make him go nuts on these guys. The funny thing is that Tango can’t really fight, but I think he would do an effective job on scaring the shit out of them and chasing them out of camp. Like, spooky story level shit—crackling twigs, snapping branches, etc.. At the end, Tango manages to untie Jimmy and they make a quick getaway back to town. 

When I tell you this was gonna be one exciting chapter after exciting chapter, I mean it. The next big part, dear rancher enjoyers, was going to be the confession scene. 

Basically, imagine. Tango and Jimmy are walking home. tango is really quiet, won’t look at jimmy except to make sure he’s still right there. There is a storm brewing in the sky, and they’re trying to get back as soon as possible. but suddenly, tango freezes in place. Jimmy gets a few feet ahead, but stops and turns when he notices tango isn’t in pace with him. tango looks hurt. more hurt than jimmy’s ever seen him. which makes Jimmy feel awful. and it’s like:

T: If you wanted to leave, you should have told me.  J: …Tango. T: If you wanted to leave, you should have come and told me. We are friends— a team, you've said it yourself. I would’ve been ready to go.  J: I wasn’t…I was hoping you wouldn’t follow me.  T: Why wouldn’t I follow you? J: I just thought it’d be easier on both of us if I left you to your devices here. I’m sorry.  T: You’re sorry? You think that’s gonna just- just make this better for me? After you just up and left me there, worried that you’d been taken back to your family? T: And- And you almost were, too! You were this close, Jimmy! If you were that scared of staying then- J: You know, there was nothing forcing you to come get me, I could’ve just gone and you could’ve stayed and lived the life you wanted back in the palace! I thought that was the plan! Freedom for both of us! T: ….You really just don’t get it, huh? Are you that dense? J: What? What don’t I understand? T: I am in love with you, you idiot! J: …You.. you what? [dialogue taken from the scene i started writing but never finished<3]

And then more things happen and then they KISSSSSSSS !!! 

Realistically, I want to note that the transition between here and the ending was very finicky and not written down. so, instead, i will be giving you a general run down of what the ending was supposed to be. 

With tango and jimmy now having confessed and acting upon those feelings, they think they’re safe for the moment. However, soon after, etho finds them and basically alerts them of an uptick of Nether Guard, having heard that the mercenaries reported their sighting and now, rather rapidly because ~portal transport~, the kings were sending search parties out once more. etho suggests they get out of the city, and the two agree, prepping quickly to leave what became a very good few allies and safe place for the roads once more. 

The day they are supposed to flee, the overworld’s royal party arrives; Grian heading the way, seeming to be the one sent to find his little brother. 

This part got really fuzzy for me because I don't think I ever actually plotted out the transitionary period between "you two need to run" and "we're running, it's bad."

What I do know, though, is that the final scene would’ve been a confrontation with Grian, who attempts to convince them to come home. but when Jimmy explains, begs his brother to try and understand (i also think he uses his secret relationship with Scar as a bit of an example. leverage, even); Grian eventually wishes his brother goodbye, and turns a blind eye to let them run. 

Epilogue: Tango and Jimmy, fittingly, escape to the countryside. When they eventually outrun search parties and the call for their return dies down, they settle on a tiny cottage out on a tiny farm with wishes to expand it and make it their own. Jimmy tends to the animals. Occasionally, he sends a letter under a false name, and he gets one in response; a brother, far away, still keeping him in on happenings in the kingdom and in his life. Tango dives into his redstone, creating and building and making things he never would’ve had much time to while being a king. He thinks of a guard, long left behind, and wonders if he thinks of him too. 

The two never marry, as marriage doesn’t leave a very sweet taste in their mouths—but they do make vows, whispered promises to stay together forever. A prophecy haunts them; but they were never really the type to obey any plan laid out for them, anyway. 

Some years later, a quiet life has been established—but one day, someone arrives. Tango has gone out to gather supplies, so when there’s a knock, Jimmy answers the door. 

Before him, there is a tall figure with a familiar set of eyes. Impulse, knight and ex-personal guard of the Nether Court, stands before him. When Tango returns to find him, a beautiful reunion is had; one with tears and relief and all the love in the world so present in one moment. 

GUESS WHAT !!! TANGO/JIMMY/IMPULSE CANON IN GOLDEN RINGS EPILOGUE!! IMPULSE COMES BACK TO HIS BOY AFTER ESSENTIALLY GIVING UP HIS GUARD POSITION BECAUSE IT’S NOT THE SAME!! THEY CAN BE SO SILLY TOGETHER NOW!! AAAAAAAAA I’VE BEEN WAITING TO SHARE THIS GOD-

please god someone ask me about this dynamic i’m not okay

And, yeah! That was kind of it for the story. As I said, it falls flat to an extent. It’s not the ending that I would give it today. I still wanted to share it, even if it wasn’t the best or most detailed. I love this story, I love this universe and its characters and all the work I did on it. I still want to think about it, talk about it, etc. I’m not letting it go completely, just.. the fic won’t be finished. I am of the firm belief that I could’ve done a lot of things differently, that the story could be even better if I rewrote it entirely. But that’s not a project for right now. :) Because holy shit this fic is at 65k and that would be… hoooo.. a lot of work. Just like picking it back up and finishing it would also be quite a bit of work. It’s hard—I’ve had people tell me just to do it, just to finish the damn thing for the sake of finishing it and not quitting. So, this is my version of that, even if it isn’t the same. I don’t feel like I’m quitting, I'm only a little sad about how it's ending for now, but it feels right. I’m just like 99% sure I won’t enjoy writing the rest out. And, like I said at the start, that’s okay. Passion and motivation changes. People grow.

Anyway, that’s all! Thanks for listening to my silly little ramble about this AU that is old but still lovely. If you guys have questions or wanna chat about the AU at all, my ask box is always open even if I am terrible at answering them. If I find anything else or think up anything, maybe I’ll post about it! But, for now, I hope you all enjoyed my sillies. I love everyone who set foot in this space and read what is still my most favorite fanfiction I've ever written. :)

[29daffodils]

to plot or to not plot, that's the question

there's post under the tag that... really tickled my brain because i somewhat agree with it. but not entirely, considering i do still believe OP sounds... i dunno, something, while they are telling FK stans to “have some dignity”. so I'll just add to that, because i think fan interpretation and looking deep into a story is important, than say, just being fed all the info.

now let's start with saying i am a FKT stan and I'll be somewhat biased in my approach, but i will still try to keep this as neutral as possible.

that said, i do think jojo's writing needs improvement. a looooooot of improvement. the other day i was complaining to my friend @skyfish7 how jojo tends to use serious topics as plot devices and then does nothing with them. also the fact that he has a flair for drama and usually seems to include it in places to engage the viewers but he handles it poorly (boeing, I'm looking at you bitchass) or simply doesn't conclude them well (kant's phobia, bison's bdsm shtick, etc, i know we still have 2 eps left, don't kill me yet).

i do think OP was coming from a genuine place but also, i will take the time to defend jojo here too. because THK is not all trash. joong and dunk's characters are visibly seen to be falling in love, whereas first and khaotung's are more subtle.

i know what OP means by saying that it's still hard to believe that kant is in love with bison. because part of me feels that too. i believe a lot of it is because we do not see any detailed development where it's needed or it is skipped over in favour for more drama. like i said, jojo tends to gravitate towards big impactful scenes but he does not lay out the finer details. i am choosing to think that's just his writing style and not him just being a terrible writer. as my girl sky said, it leaves something to the viewer's imagination. and yes, she's right and i agree. spoon feeding every bit of a story is lame and boring, but sometime you do need to add little details where they are needed.

if you've already read my post about how THK seems to be losing steam, you might know what I'm talking about.

I'm very much convinced that this could have done well with a binge watch or if it were in movie format. but imo there's too many things going on with the focus distributed disproportionately among them, which in turn, i think, kinda makes the character development take backseat.

but let me add something about bikant because OP seems to be under the impression that they are simply trash.

jojo tends to make the falling in love subtle. at least for his FK characters. in bikant's case, they were both already smitten with each other from the first meeting. especially kant. he was head over heels for bison and it was very visible. it was deliberately shown. so when he does start the mission of getting dirt on him, the most visible emotion we see from kant is guilt. nothing else but guilt. and that is because it's already established he likes bison as a person. kant's character is written as someone who compartmentalizes things so even when he does find out bison's a hitman and there's proof (we see him staring horrified at the corkboard in their house) he quickly dismisses it. we repeatedly see style telling us that kant is smitten with bison. why? because kant doesn't have the mental capacity to think about romance right now, so it's style who tells the viewers his friend is wrapped around bison's little finger. the time when we finally actually see him do anything remotely truthful is ep#7 — the bowling alley and northern lights scene. kant has successfully gathered all the info he can and now he knows he might lose bison. so this one night he actually goes and lets himself love truthfully. he does all the things he would have done after that first meeting with bison. and then when bison gets shot, that's when he realises what he actually wants. the hospital scene is an important one because it cements the fact that kant cares, kant is in love, but his brain hasn't caught up to the feeling yet the idea is there, the proof is there, but he hasn't had the reprieve to sit and think and let that love marinate well. it's why even when kant says that he loves bison, it's difficult for us to believe. it's difficult for bison to believe. remember, we are viewing the beach scene from bison's pov and he ultimately asks, “you are not fooling me again, are you?” and that is the question from the viewers as well.

“you are not fooling us again, are you, kant?”

so all bison and we can do is take kant at face value and choose to believe him. that's all there is to it.

bison on the other hand? bro has been whipped since the first night. he is a hopeless romantic. he is an abused child hungering for love stuck in an adult's body. bison has been infatuated with kant from the get go, but he has also been suspicious and we have seen that suspicion slowly drop and build back up again time and time. but the moment bison actually spends all of ep#7 with kant and says, “i feel like my life is about to change”, that's him falling in love. that's him acknowledging that he is gone for good and he is finally choosing to believe kant despite the previous shady sus things he's done. bison had chosen to believe in him despite fadel warning him time and time again, and that's why the beach scene hits so hard. he is simply a fool in love. he is naive. he is the younger brother who doesn't know better. he just wanted to love, he loved and he got duped into being loved back (we all know that wasn't the case, but, bison POV like i said).

now, coming back to the point i was trying to make : do i think an extra tidbit of scene where kant's thought process was expanded on could have been better? yes.. maybe. but as a writer who likes to keep her readers interpreting and guessing, i choose to forgive jojo this time (as well). like i said, maybe this is just how he tends to write and honestly that's fine. every writer has a set of audience they are aiming for and i think there are plenty who enjoy his work (i do too, i just wish he'd tone down on the super big things suddenly being thrown in out of nowhere and then doing nothing with it).

and as far as sandray goes, boy do i have news for OP because ray is a classic example of a mentally ill abused child who is now an alcoholic and sand is a surrogate husband/caregiver growing up in poverty who puts himself last. that's their story. that's the story jojo wanted to tell, and i will rant about ray and sand and forgiveness (because OP thinks he is an asshole, so i want to make a point) but.... in a different post.

for now, this is it. i hope you forgive and understand kant. bro is trying and so are we.

[clarisse0o]

The Mayor - Chapter 30

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternate Universe: Mayor and Architect

Words: 1300

Masterlist

———————————————————————

The waiter arrived at our table and placed two slices of cake with cups of coffee in front of us. It was 5 PM, and I was sitting in a tearoom, facing Lucy. Three weeks had passed since my breakup with Alessia, and this was the first time I was seeing Lucy again. I had wanted to maintain some distance, as I was still shocked by my breakup, which had hurt me deeply. We had exchanged a few messages to check in on each other. She had asked if we could meet this week, and I had agreed, in a neutral place—the tearoom.

"We've been reduced to having tea together!" she said with a teasing smile.

"Tea is just fine, Lucy," I replied, returning her smile.

She looked as beautiful as ever, in a much more casual outfit than usual: jeans, a sweater—her Sunday look.

"What are you doing afterward?" she asked.

"I'm babysitting Jeanne tonight!"

She made a face that made me laugh.

"Well, duty calls—I'm a godmother!"

She looked at me with a raised eyebrow. Her blue eyes, which I had truly missed.

"Ona, I have a proposition for you. If you have no plans next weekend, come with me to Marseille! My party is organizing a conference this weekend, where elected officials are invited. As mayor of a large city, I have to be there Saturday afternoon. For the rest, I'll sneak away!" 

I had no plans for the next weekend, but I wasn’t sure if I would accept.

"Don't tell me I’m going to have to present my business, huh?" I replied with a mocking smile.

"No, young lady, I’m asking you to come along."

Deep down, I really wanted to go. I let her stew for a bit, hesitating. I could tell she was getting irritated by it, which secretly amused me.

"Okay, Ona, if you don’t want to come, then don’t—end of story!" Lucy concluded the conversation.

Before leaving the tearoom to pick up Jeanne at Alexia’s, I kissed Lucy on the cheek, thanking her for the coffee.

I added, "See you next weekend then!"

She looked at me, surprised.

"Well, yes, we’re going to Marseille, right?"

I hurried off, giving her a final wink.

On the way to the train station, I was a bit lost in my thoughts. I had agreed because I wanted to spend the weekend with her. I had missed her. But at the same time, I was scared. Scared of the unknown, because I didn’t know where things were going. I wanted to take my time after Alessia; the wound was still fresh. And I knew I was going nowhere with Lucy. But the desire was too strong. The train ride went by very quickly. We chatted with half the train, Lucy knowing almost everyone. I was always impressed by her notoriety, even outside the city. It had been the same on the train from Lyon. Her face had graced the local and even national newspapers several times. She was the mayor of the largest city in France, and her age at her first election—32—had impressed everyone. Moreover, she was one of the rising stars in her political party, and I had even read that she could have a more national career in the near future, within a government. I watched her closely during the journey, talking, chatting, smiling.

We arrived at a small hotel by the Old Port that she had booked herself. She didn’t want to stay in the large, charm-free hotel where all the elected officials were staying. I was surprised when she handed me the key to my room. She laughed openly when she saw my face.

"You didn’t think you’d be sleeping in my room, did you? I’m not an easy girl!"

I laughed in return.

I spent the day walking around, visiting Marseille. I ended it at Prado Beach. The sun was burning my back, my feet buried in the sand, and I listened to the sound of the waves in the background. A voice pulled me from my drowsiness.

"My God, Ona, you’re going to cook out here!"

I turned around, it was Lucy, who had swapped her chic outfit for a stunning coral dress.

"It’s after 6 PM, and it’s September!" I replied.

"And we’re in Marseille! Come on, turn around, I’m putting on some sunscreen," she said.

She told me about her day, her speech, the people present... but soon enough, I stopped listening. I was focused on her hands. The feel of her hands on my skin made my entire body shiver. She took care to massage me, playing with my nerves, sliding her hand lower towards my buttocks, and a little more towards my breast. I was in a highly excited state, holding back from moaning. I imagined her smiling behind my back, pleased with the effect she was having. 

She stopped. I felt her breath behind my ear.

"You look stunning in that swimsuit!"

I ended my suffering by standing up and diving into the cool Mediterranean water.

That evening, we ate at a small restaurant by the sea. I asked her about her future after the upcoming elections. I remembered asking her the same question that first time at the bar, in front of her house. She had been evasive then.

"I’m not really sure. I just know that I want to travel for the first two months. After that, it all depends..."

"I’ve read that you might have big roles in the future, like minister!" 

She smiled.

"Don’t always believe what the newspapers say. To be honest with you, it was offered to me once—secretary of state."

I widened my eyes in surprise.

"And you didn’t accept?"

"I was much happier in my city, directly impacting people’s lives, than in a secretary of state role where I’d be useless. It was the secretary of state for sports! Sports! Can you believe it? I only do it once a month!"

I burst out laughing. We finished the evening by strolling along the corniche until we reached a wooden pier. Despite the beginning of autumn, it was warm. The sky was clear, with a magnificent full moon. We sat there, on the pier, in silence, contemplating the view. I felt good, the wind on my back, the smell of the sea, the effect of the white wine in my body. I had an impulse. To swim. To take a midnight dip. I had been doing this since I was young, during my vacations in Corsica. I loved it. 

I looked around, no one was in sight. I started undressing, layer after layer, until I was in my underwear, under Lucy’s amazed gaze, which amused me greatly.

"Aren’t you going to stop, Ona? What are you doing?"

I was now laughing, standing naked before her.

"There’s no one around! I love midnight swims. Don’t tell me you don’t like it?" I said with a wink.

She looked around, stressed.

"Maybe as a child! You’re crazy!"

I turned towards her before diving into the water, calling out: "I didn’t know you were so uptight, Lucy!"

The contact of the water with my skin was delicious as I swam among the shadows of the clouds created by the moon. A few seconds later, she was behind me, naked as well.

"You’re really a little devil, Ona!" 

She began kissing me, wrapping her legs around my torso. My whole body electrified. We were standing in the water, the waves reaching our breasts. We kissed passionately, hungrily, reliving sensations we hadn’t had in weeks. We repeated the same gestures. Together we bit, licked each other’s necks. Together our hands wandered lower, from our breasts to our intimate areas. Together we penetrated each other in a shared rhythm. Together we reached climax, eyes locked, with the moon in the background. My breath was cut short, my legs trembling.

That night, I found myself in her room. When I woke up, she was already standing, watching me from the bathroom door.

"Up already?"

"Yes, I was keeping an eye on you."

I furrowed my brow.

"Keeping an eye on me?"

"Yes, to make sure you didn’t run off in a taxi like last time!"

She smiled.