#Larry sign language

[evilovesyou]

“Why is nobody talking about this?” — my girlfriend

(x)

[hoovesandfloorpaws]

Part 2

"I mean, now we’re back into this territory again...

Poor mic:

*crowd makes noises* Interviewer: “We have some frisky people!” Harry: “I like New York!” Louis: :> face Harry says something to him, kinda covers his mouth, and thu-duhmm there's the thumb on knee. Is this still sign language masterpost appropriate? Who knows. (video [from 2012])

Check the interview if you’d like, but there’s little to no context to grasp onto as they’re all involved in some kind of inside joke, but let’s just appreciate how Liam and Niall both notice the leggy thumby thingy that they’re doing again after: 

Louis likes making [the] thumbs up, now I gotta wonder if it’s a coincidence that keeps happening when talking about certain subjects.

It’s celebrity crushes time again. He just said that Susan Boyle is “my girl, so stay away”, oof, then Niall starts talking about Demi, Louis does the thumbs:

then it’s Harry and Louis just picking another actress again, and then, we’re robbed of this out-of-view moment:

Someone’s compilation [video] of the “sweetheart” sign as a placeholder until I take the time to find more:

And the only time they used it properly:

which here, seems to be used to tease Zayn’s arm around Liam? Maybe?

Little shits.

But other times:

it’s cute.

And what about a 2015 thumbs up? Yeah, let’s get into some 2015 thumbs up!

If we weren’t already in it, now we’re getting into some real reading into things waters. It’s probably nothing. If it is the sign, it’s so subtle we can’t say for sure, but wouldn’t that have been exactly the point? So let’s entertain the thought for a second:

Here during Steal My Girl (video), there’s quite some signing (to change the mic/sound) and thumb upping (like Louis’ hand on the mic in the gif as well, [...] if you wanted to be subtle about it, that's not how you would do it), but the part where he walks back a bit is the undeniable one. It’s just before Liam sings “kisses that cream” (Excuse me Liam, isn’t it supposed to be “kisses like cream”? Why can I not find a single video of this band that doesn’t include some possible innuendo?). But again, you’d have to revisit more footage to see if there’s a pattern or if it’s a “idk what to do with my hands” performance thing.

Meanwhile Niall and Liam are also “signing things”. Are they playing air baseball? Thought I’d include that, too.

Let’s finish off with some 2012 ones:

--

[adding this video, because it's a sweet mini compilation made in 2022:

Louis and Harry making up their own words in their own sign language is so them (●´ω｀●)]

It’s a sign language of the times

Or: absolute king shit.

EDIT JULY 9TH 2021: FRESHLY EDITED BECAUSE SOMEONE JUST DID A SIGN LANGUAGE VIDEO AND I’M NOT OK

This post serves as a collection of Louis, Harry, or both using sign language. Unfortunately I don’t know sign language myself, and I don’t know if they (attempted to) use ASL or BSL, but I’ll do my best. Reading comments of those who do it’s clear that some of these signs are not recognized, so either they modified/made up a version only they would understand or we’re just reading into things as we do. If you know sign language and happen to find this post please don’t hesitate to correct me! 

Let’s start off megastrong and show that both of them actually know sign language these days.

Here Louis says “let’s do a few photos” so logically that’s probably what he signs as well.

~I have no idea what Harry says here~

Keep reading

[jaywriteshome]

Happy last 28th of the year to these sweethearts and those who celebrate 💚💙

[all-lars-bars]

I have never seen anyone talk about how in Larry's trial, when Phoenix gives him the signal to either lie or tell the truth, Larry understands the gestures Phoenix is doing.

I feel like we should talk about this more. They really are best friends.

[awayfromhomerry]

some things never change

[bruhhxiao]

Does it hurt?

(Sfw)

Sal Fisher x gn!reader

! Warnings: older(adult) Sal fisher, self doubt, no Y/N used, English is not my first language!

Summary: You and Sal have been into each other for a while now but non of you two confessed your feelings. You two are laying on his bed after the party that Larry hosted in their now shared apartment.

(I toke this picture on Pinterest but I’m pretty sure it’s from> makichoali on Tumblr)

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You were laying on his bed after the party since no one seemed to pick up the phone and come get you Larry offered to stay over, but the most surprising thing is that Sal offered to shared the bed.

You knew some of his past, Larry has told you, it didn’t came by itself you asked him about Sal after the rumors you heard in school and you grew older without the need to hear it from him, you knew it hurt.

You sat on the edge of the bed when the door was suddenly opened by Sal, he was shirtless for a few seconds before he grabbed a clean t-shirt from his closet and wore it without paying attention to you, he passed some clothes to you as well.

“The bathroom is free” he said simply, you toke the clothes thanking him and head to the bathroom after.

When you returned there was no sign of him, just a pillow missing from the bed, you sat on the soft mattress just to find out he was laying on the floor on the left side of the bed. You leaned over to the end of the left side of the bed.

“Sal what are you doing?”

“You can take the bed, the couch it’s pretty messed up and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He said without even turning around.

“I’m not uncomfortable, please come lay on the bed. I’ll turn around if it bothers you”

“I’m not bothered by you”

He sits moving the blanket a little and he crosses his legs while his feet play under the fabric,

“When I was younger… they told you already, didn’t they?”

“Yes, yes Larry told me don’t get mad at him, i’m the one who asked”

He stood up and he brought his hands behind his head, you only realized when you heard the sound of the mask hooks opening. His face was covered by his long electric blue hair as he looked down, he wasn’t too skinny, he had some muscle on the biceps, probably from playing the electric guitar.

He managed to sit down without showing his face, he took some cream to heal the scars from the nightstand next to the bed, he didn't need it since the accident was quite a while ago, maybe he used it to hydrate his skin and make it less rough? or perhaps he hoped that by applying it over time they would become less noticeable.

The smell of medicine coming from the cream woke you up from your thoughts. He put the cream down where he got it from. You could see through his hair the area of ​​his cheek with some loose cream on it.

You caressed the ruined skin with your right hand, you felt him jolt under your touch, you did also. “Does it hurt?”

When you asked if your touch hurt him he denied but you didn’t expect him to turn around, he was incredibly handsome, his blue eye looked like the clear sky, the scar from his right eye to the chin looked like a lightning, the right side of the mouth torn wasn’t scary at all…

“You’re disgusted? You’re scared?”

He says as he notices you freezing as you examined his face, he turns his head looking down while trying to avoid your hand touching his face.

“I like you.” You said firmly but you could feel the hot tears making their way in your eyes.

He was the one froze after your confession. You saw how his shoulders tensed up and his fists clenching on his pajama pants. He shove his head.

“Do you? Or you just pity me?”

“I don’t, I truly like you” you said sounding like you were about to soffocate by the felling of your heart in your throat.

“You shouldn’t, what are you going to do when they start talking of you liking a monster like me? I’ve done a lot of bad things, your reputation will be ruined”

“You’re not a monster to me..”

You said cupping his right cheek making him turn back to you, you leaned closer to the point he would feel the warm sensation of your lips on his cheek. He dried your tears with his thumb, your hand travelled to his cheek to the nape of his neck pulling him into your embrace. You sat on your knees while your left hand strokes his hair.

“You feel just like her, when she hugged me..”

“But I don’t want to see you as my mother. I want to live it with you” he continued.

“I like you a lot. You never gave me a second look when we first met, you never tried to make up assumptions about my past, you never saw me like a monster. They way you call me or they way you wave at me after our hang out with the others.” He wrapped his arms around you, his face snuggling in your neck.

You push him slightly away.

“Sal it’s 3 a.m we should rest.”

You lay down so he does, next to you on his pillow he grabbed from the floor. You two were facing each other, he dried you tears once again. He rested his left hand on your waist as you caressed left side of his face.

“You know you’re very handsome..”

“to you..”

“to me. Maybe for someone else too but I’m lucky to tell you tonight”

“I heard from Ashely you asked Larry to give you some guitar lessons..”

“true”

“Can I teach you?” He moves closer to you, your foreheads almost touching.

“I would love that…”

Your imagination of Sal teaching you how to play a guitar was interrupted by Sal himself, his lips pressed against yours. His left hand leaves your waist and rests against your neck as he pulls you closer, the kiss was slow but passionate, his touch was firm but delicate. He could hear your heart beat so you did with his.

He pushed you so close to the point he got on top, his hands seeking yours. intertwine his fingers with yours. He broke the kiss a few seconds later. He presses his forehead against yours, you could feel his breath shaking.

“I don’t want to hurt you..”

“You didn’t hurt me, Sal”

He kisses the beige of your nose and he lays next to you, you turn on your left side so you could face him, your leg under his and his leg under yours. His arms wrap around you and you can feel is long fingers tightening the fabric of the t-shirt he gave you like he didn’t want you to go. His breath calming down slowly, you press your forehead against his like it’s a safe signal between you two.

The next morning you wake up past 10 am. You felt the fresh air against your stomach, since the t-shirt was slightly showing a bit of skin, and your legs as well; next time ask Sal for longer pants. Thinking of Sal you open your eyes only to be blinded by the light from the window he opened to change the airflow, you spot Sal sitting with his back against the headboard of the bed while he was playing with his gear boy. You notice he wasn’t wearing his prosthesis.

You push yourself up with your arm as your rubber your eyes with the right hand.

“morning” he says

His always always so calm, the same tone but heartwarming the same time. He places the gear boy on the night stand and balances himself on his elbow just like you.

“Are you down for the first guitar lesson? But I think breakfast first sounds good for you.”

You smile at him and he kisses your forehead after. He gets up and grabs a hoodie for you.

“To be honest, you’ll hate my cooking skills”

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Heloo since it’s October and my favorite streamer is currently playing Sally face, I asked myself “why don’t I write for my childhood crush?” Yes y’all he is still today, well not gonna lie I have a weakness for creepy characters :3.

Hope you enjoyed and remember English is not my first language so don’t make me cry okay 😜. Have a good day/night. And my requests are open but it might take a while since I write for them because I got a chaotic busy life, sending a lot of love byeeee<3

[hazzabeeforlou]

i had a question and i hope that it doesn’t sound rude. do you feel ashamed being in the fandom and being a shipper at 32? i ask because i am 27, and have been in the fandom since 2012, off and on. i haven’t rly been in it actively for the last two years or so, but when i want to come back, i feel embarrassed. i also don’t think i could handle the stress of it tbh! lol. i hope you are well <3

I was going to answer this yesterday but then remembered I had a 7 hour drive today and didn’t want to stay up later than I already was. Because I’m an adult, with (now one) previous multiple jobs, a pet, rent, vehicle, three post high school diplomas, and student loans, and there are many things in my life I get ashamed of, like when I answer “you too” when a cashier tells me thanks for shopping or when I let a whole bag of celery go bad in my fridge without ever cleaning or eating it. Shame? At my tax dollars funding death weapons and family members voting for strong men? Sure. Latent homophobic internalized shame from my upbringing? Yeah, sometimes.

But life is too fucking short to be embarrassed or hold shame about a FANDOM. Listen, I “ship” Johnlock, or Merthur, but Larry wasn’t a ship for me it was a discovery of queer joy. Like I’m so sorry but baby Larry was real. 100%, actually, seriously legit, like how else do you fucking explain any or all of that. We watched two boys fall in love with each other and okay we don’t know the devil or the details but we have how many albums and interviews, jokes made by media personalities etc, plus the fact that now, this many years later, their solo stuff is still haunted by a nauseating back and forth, these odd lyrical choices that are echoed in the other?

Yeah it’s not a ship. It’s a thing that happened, that we witnessed, and by virtue of it happening and us witnessing it something about gay love became dreamable, reachable, attainable, soft and puppy and exciting and wild. Their secret sign language and mimed blow jobs and jealous looks and touches when they thought there were no cameras, all those things made queerness not just something you saw on Glee. Not just something your parents talked about while wrinkling their nose up about ‘those people.’ It’s a generational thing, the world has moved on, we don’t NEED Larry anymore. And that’s okay. But we don’t need it because it happened. Not to be a brat but you exist in the context of all in which you live and what came before you.

And yeah, we wrote fics about highly characterized and publicized versions of Larry, often inserting our own traumas or fantasies, creating a kind of gay mythos around this witnessed event from the periphery, from the lens of the consumer, the only lens we have. But I’m not ashamed of that. You think stories are only ever written about people that don’t exist? At some point you have to acknowledge that in our world, celebrities are the deities of our popular imagination. I could write a thesis, but before I get into the weeds, suffice to say Harry and Louis have created a world of what can be, unburdened by what has been.

Yk? Anyways. Hope this made you feel better. And hope you come back to visit from time to time. I’ll be here.

[seat-safety-switch]

Once in awhile, you can get one over on The Man. Finally, after all these years of toiling under his rule, doing his dirty work, begging for his praise, he has well and truly fucked up. And, it turns out, your entire life has been building up to the moment that you can milk him for all he's worth.

Have you ever seen a Dodge Caliber? They're getting sort of uncommon now, but when they were new, they were pretty hateful cars. Cheap, buzzy, surprisingly uneconomical, steering that felt like telling a funeral home operator how to sign a birthday card over the phone by long distance. And they fell apart all the time. Most cars get repaired, but these things got gleefully shovelled into the junkyard at the first chance the owners got.

Not all of them, though. This is a story about one very special Dodge Caliber. You see, my aunt needed a car. And my aunt is very nervous about owning a car. The skills of shitbox repair never made it into her genes, you see, possibly because she is not related to me by blood. So, in order to get that car, she went to the Dodge dealership, and she asked them: can you do a lifetime warranty, unlimited mileage, no questions asked, cover everything? And they said: for you, ma'am, we absolutely can charge you an obscene, eye-watering amount of money.

Once I found out about this, I was mad. And then I figured it out. You see, what my aunt did have was being insanely cheap. That's why she was a part of my degenerate family. She still is, even though my Uncle Larry exploded that one night at Arecibo. Unlimited mileage. There has never been a sweeter phrase uttered in the English language.

Now, whenever anyone we know needs to go for a long trip, we tell them: take the Caliber. Rack those miles up. Punish those stupid motherfuckers for writing such a terrible, open-ended contract. My aunt runs a taxi service consisting entirely of this vehicle, a fleet of drivers constantly rotating in and out, the thing rolling virtually 24/7. I love driving this car, because every single mile that ticks up on the odometer is more salty tears from the low-wattage pig who thought he was a big-time wheeler and dealer down at Old Time Country Dodge.

To their credit, they figured out the enormous error that they had made fairly quickly. When Aunt Hilda rolled in the thing, smoking and wheezing, for its sixth transmission replacement at eight-hundred-and-fifty-thousand kilometers, they offered to buy it from her and give her a brand new luxury SUV, just for being such a great customer. She laughed, and told them to get started overhauling the Caliber, and don't forget to take a look at the squeaking sound it started making in the back.

When things got real bad during the recession, they tried to go bankrupt, thinking that might get them out from having to maintain this economy car until the sun burns out. Ha! Death won't save you, my friend. My attorney Max picked that one up pro bono, despite hating warranty law, just for the pleasure of watching their attorney read the purchase contract. Her eyes got so big that they stuck that way. The paramedics had to use the jaws of life on her eyelids so she could blink again.

If you see me in the Caliber, make sure to honk. I probably won't stop to say hi, because we gotta keep this odometer rollin'. Rest assured, however, that I will honk back, maybe ten or fifteen times. Really get my money's worth out of that horn.

[stereorebel]

sal and larry TOTALLY learnt sign language so they could communicate in class because sal can't mouth words

[atleastpleasetelephone]

Gentle On My Mind - Chapter 11

Initially set in 1967 when Elvis is filming Clambake. Feeling miserable and trapped after the Colonel banishes Larry and the spiritual texts, Elvis invites Gloria to keep him company through the last five days of filming. Gloria is an aspiring movie editor and more importantly she's a lot of fun. Will she be what Elvis needs to get him out of the depressive funk he's in?

Catch up with the other parts here.

Many thanks to @sissylittlefeather being my beta reader on this one.

A/N: We are still in 1972 and there are still a lot of dark themes in this part, please do check the triggers.

Pairing: Elvis x OC - Gloria, a budding film editor.

Word count: 5.2K

TWs: Infidelity, angst, unpleasant language around weight etc, name-calling (not Elvis), domestic violence (not Elvis), crying, angry!Elvis, violence, guns, smut, kind of gun kink?

Gloria doesn’t feel like she can talk to her friends or her sister about divorcing Roger. She doesn’t even know how she’ll talk to Roger about it, but this weekend has convinced her something has to change. She can’t live in fear anymore. She plays with the bracelet around her wrist, fingers closing around the charm that Elvis had given her when she left. It’s a diamond-encrusted letter E. It’s subtle, but she knows she’s still pushing her luck wearing it home and thinking her husband won’t notice. Perhaps part of her wants him to notice. She takes a sip of her complimentary glass of wine and thinks about seeing her kids again. This is the longest she’s been away from them, and she feels the sting of their absence. Roger had better not make this custody agreement difficult…

***

Roger is not having a good day. He’s just found out that the maid is pregnant, and she doesn’t seem that keen on getting rid of it, despite his repeated offers to pay. He’s storming around the house, frustrated and angry. He sees one of Gloria’s many cookery books stuffed on a shelf in between a load of novels and frowns, wondering what it’s doing there. Grabbing it, he pulls it out, and something about the way it had been shoved into a space slightly too small for it makes the pages splay open and several items fall out and onto the floor. He picks them up and looks at them, one by one. It takes him a while to realise that one of them is a polaroid of a man’s penis, the photo had obviously been taken in a dark room and he turned it around a few times before he recognised it. He throws it to the floor in disgust. The second polaroid is a lot easier to understand - a photo of one of the most famous men in the world: Elvis Presley. He stares at it in disbelief, and then drops it on the floor again, looking at the two postcards left in his hand. They’re not signed, but it’s obvious who they’re from. 

Roger lets them fall from his hands too, and then he stares at the collection of things on the floor and contemplates what they mean. His wife is coming back from a weekend in Vegas, a weekend where she said she was going to see Elvis perform. And she owns these. He shakes his head, slowly gathering the photos and postcards up again. Surely Elvis Presley can have whoever he wants. What would he be wanting with Gloria? Fat, ruined Gloria. She probably just went there to throw herself at him, that’s how desperate she is nowadays. Now her husband doesn’t want her anymore. 

***

It’s dark when Gloria arrives back home, and Roger has tucked the kids up in bed and both of them are sleeping soundly when she walks through the front door. He’s waiting for her though, and makes a show of ripping the items he found into little pieces in front of her. She tries to tell him Elvis means nothing to her, but he can tell from the look on her face that’s not true. He screams at her, calling her a slut and demanding to know what she’s been doing all weekend. When she replies “Elvis,” in a way that reminds her of old Gloria, of foul-mouthed, confident, pantiless Gloria, he punches her. She falls to the floor, crying, desperately begging him not to wake the kids up with his yelling. 

“I’m going out,” he rages, heading for the door. 

She stays where she is until she hears the sound of his car pulling away, and then starts to get up slowly, fingertips running over her rapidly swelling cheek. She can hear Corey calling for her, so she makes her way up the stairs and into his room. He’s lying awake, staring at the ceiling. 

“Mama!”

“Hello darling,” she coos, leaning over to hug him. “Did um… daddy wake you up?” She’s not sure how else to put it, really. 

Corey frowns at her as she releases him from the tight embrace, his hand reaching for her face. 

“Mama… sore?” 

Her face is swelling in front of her eyes, so she’s not surprised he can see it and know something’s wrong. 

“Yeah. It is a bit sore. I um… walked into a door.” She’s not even really sure why she’s lying, she’s not sure Corey would understand if she told him it was Roger, but she’s also not sure Corey doesn’t know on some level anyway. The argument had been pretty loud. 

Her son makes a sad sound, almost like a whining dog, and she nods in agreement. She feels quite a lot like a beaten dog at this moment in time. 

“It’s okay darling,” she tells him, kissing his cheek. “Mama is okay. You just go right back to sleep.”

She picks up his toy dinosaur from where it had fallen onto the floor, and tucks it back into the bed with him. He continues to frown at her, so she takes a book from the shelf and starts to read. After a couple of pages his eyes, heavy with tiredness, close. And then a couple more and his breathing changes, and she knows he’s asleep again. She closes the book and replaces it as quietly as she can, creeping out of the room. Poking her head into Jackie’s room, she’s relieved to see the little girl sleeping peacefully. But then, she could probably sleep through a hurricane. Gloria walks back downstairs slowly and wonders what to do. Roger has gone, but he’ll be back at some point. 

She knows the sensible thing to do is call her sister, and get her husband to come round and wait for Roger. But somehow she doesn’t want to do that. She’s too embarrassed, ashamed of the situation she’s got herself into, and so instead she finds herself dialling the number Elvis had given her when he left, almost against her will. 

“Hello?” It’s loud in the background, but Elvis’ voice is unmistakable. 

She takes a breath. “Elvis. It’s Gloria.”

“Glory.” He stands up from where he’d been sitting on the sofa in the suite, untangling himself from the women on either side of him. He’d invited half of the chorus line from the Folie Bergeres round in an attempt to stop himself thinking about the woman on the other end of the phone. 

“Roger hit me,” she blurts out. 

“He WHAT?” Elvis thunders, and she can hear him then shouting to Charlie to empty the suite. People are all making noise as they walk around and call to one another, and she hears several female voices asking Elvis if he wants them to stay. She hadn’t really meant to cause such a ruckus. 

“He found out about us…” she starts to sniff, feeling tears pricking her eyes again. “And he didn’t take it well.”

“Where is he now? Are you safe?”

“I don’t know. He left.”

“I’m coming to look after ya.”

“What?” This wasn’t what she was hoping for at all. Or was it?

“I’ll charter a plane. I’ll be there in a couple of hours. Wait for me.”

Gloria hears the phone click, and not for the first time after a conversation with Elvis, stares at the receiver in disbelief. She doesn’t think him coming to her home is a good idea, but at the same time she desperately wants him here. She’s afraid of what will happen when Roger comes back, but she won’t be afraid if Elvis is with her. 

***

Elvis’ fury doesn’t abate even with an hour and a half on the plane and almost an hour’s drive. His eyes are wide and he’s breathing hard through his nose when he rings the doorbell. He knew there was something wrong with her, something wrong with Roger. And the travel time has just been time for him to think, time for him to realise that Glory has been unhappy for her entire marriage, and Roger has probably been beating her for most of it too. He wonders why he’s never seen any marks on her, but then again the bastard was probably clever about when and where he did it. 

Gloria freezes at the sound of the doorbell, and then remembers that Roger has a key. So the only person it could really be at this time of the night is Elvis. He wraps her in a tight hug as soon as she opens the door, and then fusses over her face. 

“My God. He did this to you?”

She nods, dumbly. 

“Bastard. I’ll kill him. If he sets foot in this house I’ll kill him.” 

Gloria trembles at his words, shaking even more when he deliberately stands with his hands on his hips, showing off his shoulder holsters. She screws her hands into fists and tries to get some of her courage back. She can’t let this happen in her house. 

“Elvis, my kids,” she puts her hands on his chest and looks up into his face. “They’re upstairs. You can’t fucking kill my husband with my kids upstairs.” She looks around, and then frowns. “You didn’t bring anyone with you?”

He shakes his head, not looking at her, thinking about how much he wants to kill Roger right now. “They didn’t want me to come here, so I left without telling them.”

Gloria’s eyes widen as she takes in the implications of this. His men don’t know where he is, and he’s taken… she looks him up and down and tries to count… at least four guns with him. Then she remembers, in Vegas, seeing him take off a Derringer that he strapped to his ankle for every performance. So likely five guns, then. And she knows he has a temper, and if anything he’s got less able to control it since she’s known him. She thinks back to him punching Red in the face just for saying she was easy. None of this is good. 

Her thoughts are interrupted by the sound of screeching brakes outside. Then there’s a sort of scrabbling at the door, before Roger finally appears in the room, staring at her as he staggers forwards. He’s obviously been drinking this whole time, and he’s not looking good. Gloria grabs Elvis’ arm, instinctively. 

“Oh,” Roger begins, almost completely floored by the fact that Elvis Presley appears to be standing in his house right now, next to his wife. “It’s you.”

“You damn cowardly sonofabitch.” Elvis’ voice is low and menacing and Gloria grips his arm more tightly, simultaneously afraid of him and desperate for him to protect her. 

“What… are you doing in my house?” Roger slurs. 

“Giving you a fair fight,” Elvis replies, through gritted teeth. “Though I know ya won’t take it, since you’re a cowardly son-of-a-bitch.” He spaces the words out, saying them deliberately slowly in an attempt to goad. 

Roger frowns, then tries to draw himself up to his full height. He staggers again. “This,” he announces, waving his hand around the living room. “Is none of your business.” He wobbles a little again, then rights himself. “Get out of my house.”

“I will fucking kill you.” 

There’s a moment where the two men are just standing and staring at one another, Elvis looking with unbridled hate and disgust and Roger with drunken confusion, and then the taller man steps forward and grabs Gloria’s husband by the throat, pulling him forwards and then suddenly reversing direction, slamming him head first into the wall. 

“Elvis! No!” Gloria can’t help herself, she tries not to scream because she knows she’ll wake Corey, but she can’t watch the man she loves beating her husband to a pulp. 

Elvis ignores her, walking over to where Roger is now a small heap on the floor, pulling him up by his collar just to punch him in the face repeatedly. 

“Fucking coward,” he spits, staring down into Roger's bloodshot eyes.

“Elvis!” She grabs his arm and pulls with all of her strength, finally managing to get his attention and get him to stop for a minute. 

“Honey, you need to stay away from me,” he tells her, eyes blazing, breath coming in harsh pants. 

“No. Elvis you need to stop. Please. He’s done some fucking terrible things to me, but Roger’s a good dad. My kids need him. Come on. Please.” 

There’s a glimmer of understanding in Elvis’ eyes, and Gloria takes advantage of it, tugging on his arm again. He finally lets the other man go, allowing her to position herself between them. 

He shakes his hand, flexing the fingers and wincing a little at the pain.

“Let’s just call his brother,” she suggests, suddenly somehow calm amongst all of this insanity. 

“Fine,” He huffs. 

She takes him with her to the phone, not trusting him to resist shooting Roger otherwise, and after a short and tense conversation Roger’s brother agrees to come and fetch him. It’s an awkward wait and an even more awkward conversation when the other man arrives, but eventually it’s over and somehow no-one is dead. As the door clunks shut, Gloria pads over to the kitchen and pours herself a hearty measure of bourbon. 

“You want?” She asks. 

Elvis nods, so she pours him a glass too and brings it over to him. They sit down on the couch together, both taking a large mouthful of liquor. Gloria puts her glass down and leans her head on his shoulder, her hand on his belly. She spends a moment actually taking him in, seeing what he’s wearing for the first time and realising for the first time too just how turned on she is. It’s like he’s her knight in shining armour, come to rescue her from the wicked man she’s been trapped in this house with for so long. She looks up at his face, and she can tell he’s still thinking about killing Roger, probably regretting the fact that she stopped him. He takes off his shades and looks back at her. 

“You okay, honey?”

His hand cups her cheek, and now the look is pure concern rather than ill-disguised rage. 

“Yes. I’m okay now,” she whispers, pressing her lips to his. “Now you’ve got rid of him for me. For us.” She can’t help thinking about her kids, upstairs, hopefully still sleeping through all of this. She knows Elvis will have to leave before they wake up, but she doesn’t want him gone just yet. 

He pulls her into another, more passionate kiss, his tongue exploring her mouth as he feels her get into his lap. He’d be lying if he said that the whole thing with Roger hadn’t done it for him a little bit. Rescuing a damsel in distress, and on his own, too. No back up from the guys, who hadn’t wanted him to even leave Vegas. And now the grateful damsel is on his lap, grinding against him, kissing him desperately. 

“Fuck, honey. Is this what you want?” He asks, breathlessly as she moves to undo his pants. 

She nods quickly, freeing his dick and starting to stroke it. “Please. I want you so bad.”

He groans. The difference between now and yesterday is like day and night. As she rubs herself against him he thinks again that Roger must’ve done something to make her so unlike the Glory he met. Something to make her afraid of sex. 

She sinks down onto him slowly and deliberately. It’s easier than last night, thanks in part to the position and in part to the fact that she’s so wildly turned on. She starts to bounce on him, hands on his shoulders for balance as his fingers dig into her hips. 

“Glory,” he moans, as she slides up and down, then sits and just rolls her hips. 

She pushes the jacket off his shoulders, exposing the holstered guns under his arms. She can feel his hip holsters against her knees too. 

He shifts a little. “Here, lemme take these off…” his hand goes to the shoulder holster and she grabs it. 

“No. Leave them on.”

He looks at her, questioningly as she starts to move faster. “You’d have killed him, wouldn’t you?” She breathes. 

He nods, watching her, feeling her, wondering what’s going on in her head. 

“You’d have killed him for me. Fuck.”

He finally gets it, his hands moving to hold her in place as he starts to fuck her from underneath. 

“Yes, Glory. I’d have fucking killed him for you, if you’d have let me.”

She whines, her hand going between her legs to rub her clit as he pounds her. 

“I love you,” she moans, her orgasm bubbling up inside her as she says it. 

“I love you too, Glory.” He gets it out just before her walls squeeze around him and he becomes completely incapable of further thought or speech. They both groan into one another’s shoulders, trying to muffle the noise of their orgasms. 

She leans against him, heavily, his softening dick still nestled inside her. The adrenalin drains out of her body and she finds herself sleepy in his arms. They sit like that for a while, then she realises she must’ve dropped off and come to again. She climbs off him, groggily, and sits beside him on the couch. 

“You better go,” she whispers. 

He looks over at her, sadly. “Before the kids wake up?” He really wants to see them. 

She nods. “Before they wake up.” Looking over at the clock. “It won’t be long now, and I should get in bed or they’ll wonder what’s been going on.”

He strokes her face. “They’re going to wonder what’s been going on anyway, Glory.”

“Mmm.”

She takes her hand in his and looks at the bruised knuckles for a while. It reminds her again of that time with Red. She presses kisses to them, like she did before. 

“I can’t even say hi?”

She shakes her head a little to bring herself back from her daydream. “No. But… if you’re really quiet you can look in on them with me.”

He follows her up the stairs eagerly, then stands with his arms around her waist, looking over her shoulder into first Corey’s room and then Jackie’s. They both have their little nightlights on, so he can see them a little, and he hums with pleasure. 

“Glory they’re both so beautiful,” he tells her, once they’re back downstairs again. 

She beams with pride, she can’t help it. Elvis liking her kids is something she didn’t even know she needed. Even if he is judging them at their most peaceful. 

“Thank you. I wish you could stay and meet them properly, but it’ll be too confusing for them.”

Elvis nods, sadly. “Soon though, Glory. Soon. Once the divorce is done.”

Gloria smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She doesn’t think he notices, or at least she hopes he doesn’t. She can’t imagine a situation where she could take her kids across state lines, away from their father. She can’t imagine a situation where her and Elvis could ever work. But she nods anyway. 

“Once the divorce is done.”

***

Taglist:

@vintagepresley @arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley @eapep @everythingelvispresley @i-r-i-n-a-a @sissylittlefeather @arrolyn1114 @jhoneybees @cattcb @polksaladava @lookingforrainbows @jkdaddy01 @ccab @epthedream69 @lustnhim @elvisslut @pomtherine @that-hotdog @ladelinee @angschrof @fairybloodsucker @deltafalax @makethemorning @elviswhore69 @ilovequeen978 @wildhorseinkansas @pocketfulofpresley @dkayfixates @iloveelvisss @argangelbornxoxo @presleyhearted @lvrdollep

[evilovesyou]

What a time to be a larrie 😌

[vintagerpg]

This is XS2: Thunderdelve Mountain (1985). There is no XS1, just XSOLO. TSR was dumb sometimes (lots of times). The cover painting is signed Jack Fred, which was the in-house equivalent of a director taking an Alan Smithee credit because they disavowed the end product. Inside it is credited to Larry Elmore. Which, I guess I can see why he signed it Jack Fred. Interiors are by Mario Macari, who I know nothing about. The work seems very in line with the sort of art you’d get in an illustrated young reader’s book of the period, to the point that I wonder if XS2 was initially conceived as a Super Endless Quest.

Anyway, this isn’t constructed anything like XSOLO. Rather, you have a series of quests that proceed in a linear fashion. There’s a lot of map-making. There’s a rune language to translate. Oh, you play a dwarf, that’s pretty novel. And there is a random treasure mechanic which is neat.

It’s perfectly fine. And sometimes that’s just what you need. At least I don’t need a magic marker or a sheet of red cellophane to play the damn thing.

[cocoa-rococo]

Koopaling Headcanons: Ludwig

Larry | Morton | Wendy | Iggy | Roy | Lemmy | Ludwig

The composer of chaos and everyone's favorite general, Ludwig! What a guy.

Naturally left-handed, but trained himself to be ambidextrous

He's disturbingly good at discerning people's motives, personalities, and past. He claims it's simple logic, but no one really knows how he does it.

Whenever Bowser’s in a pissy mood or feels agitated, Ludwig sometimes gets called in to play something soft and relaxing to calm him down.

There's rumors floating around the army that he was originally a Paratroop General who sold his wings in exchange for arcane powers in a magical bargain with Kamek. He's yet to confirm or deny this. (It’s not true, but he likes to keep his recruits on their toes).

Partially deaf in his left ear, and uses a hearing aid to assist him. Fluent in sign language, as well.

Has a baritone voice, very rich and darkly colored. He can hit high notes with relative ease, but can't hold them as long as he can with his lower notes.

His singing is enchanted. It's something he was born with, and he's gotten very good at controlling it. He does forget sometimes, and before he knows it, his humming down the street has attracted a plethora of birds.

Also fairly decent at mimicking bird calls. Iggy is dying to learn his secret.

Likes reading mystery novels and detective stories, but spaces them out so he doesn’t read the chapters all at once. He also uses Morton as a soundboard for theories in each chapter, and relishes the feeling of being smart if he solves it before the end.

One of the most magically powerful out of his siblings. He’s fairly decent at a little bit of everything, but his siblings are stronger with their specialization. His best field is in Evocation.

While piano is his preferred instrument, he plays several: violin, cello, pump organ, pipe organ, guitar, flute, clarinet, harp, harpsichord, and ocarina.

He’s an ugly crier and hates it, which is why he tries not to do it often.

Fond of gardenias and wisteria flowers.

One of his favorite down-time, out-and-about activities is going antiquing. He’s found a nice gramophone, a few records, and some furniture pieces for his room by doing so.

Likes having a physical, paper to-do list. It makes him feel productive and organized as he checks things off.

He and Wendy have ‘Bitch Lunch' together, where they basically talk shit about their coworkers, spill tea about their friends, and gossip the whole time.

You can actually tell how long he's been composing by how dark his hands are with ink smudges. You can also tell how bad of a mood he’s in.

Loves the smell of coffee and vanilla, but leans more towards being a tea person. He's got an excellent palate for both, however.

Larry is persistently trying to introduce him to the keytar. Ludwig is persistently refusing to go near it.

Very much a morning person. He wakes up earlier than most of his siblings and likes having his hot drink and reading alone to enjoy the quiet hours before the rest of his family wakes up.

The ultimate master of time management. He gets kinda tetchy when others don’t respect deadlines or appointments dates, and heaven help you if you intrude on his scheduled self-care hours.

He snorts when he laughs really hard, and is terribly embarrassed by it, so he tries to reign it in when he can. Anyone who can do it who isn't a sibling is a special person, indeed.

He likes tall places, especially the views. Great for a bit of peace from his siblings and inspiration for his music.

When his siblings are annoying him, he likes bombarding them with music puns. He is well aware he's being an ass and does not care.

Leaned more towards science as a kid, but discovered the piano when he was twelve, and creating music felt right in a way that making little inventions never did. He never looked back, and he’s a lot happier for it, too.

Keeps a little pocket notebook on him for writing things down, and he's pretty dutiful about marking things in. It's a common gift his sibling get him on the holidays.

He doesn't have as much of a sweet tooth, but toffee — especially with almonds or coffee in it — is his weakness. His siblings have learned he can be bribed to look the other way if they have enough.

Also a fan of very dark chocolate, and his favorite pastry is a freshly-warm coffee cake.

He's pretty alright at art, especially with acrylic paint and sketchier mediums like charcoal and conté, he just doesn't like how dirty his hands get afterwards. He's got a side business doing murals.

Favorite fruits are cherries and plums, but he also won’t turn down anything with blackberry in it.

Likes watching regency romance dramas in his alone time, but loves dragging the shit out of reality TV shows with Wendy.

He also loves watching those foreign films with subtitles, very artful with a lot of emotion in them, especially if he's feeling spiteful and his little siblings are annoying, because "No, Luds, I don't want to read a film after two hours of paperwork!"

Has a small collection of model ships in bottles. He keeps them on a high, high shelf in his room, given his work environment. Ship kits are another common gift to him.

Looks at memes like an old man; both hands, squinting eyes, mouth slightly open. The others think this is hilarious.

[1dfanfictionbookcovers]

Fan Fic Recommendations: a collection of masterposts

Since I often reblog fics rec posts I thought it might be useful to have a masterpost that collected the various recommendations. Thank you to all of you for recommending and sharing with us!

Here every rec post

Collections:

2024 fic rec by @galacticlarry

50 most read Larry fics (2014) by @nostainofaredwine-blog

Classic fics by -pocketsunshineharry-

Comfort Fic by @enchantedlandcoffee

Favourite fics by @jadepetals

Favourite fics by @paradisetemporarilymisplaced

Favourite fics by me (until 2024)

Fics you may have missed (October 2021) by @ficsyoumayhavemissed

Fics you may have missed (August 2022) by @ficsyoumayhavemissed

Hidden gems under 200 kudos by @allwaswell16

Short fics I loved (by me)

Underrated Larry fics by @twopoppies

Lenght:

30k-50k words by @hl-obsessed

50k-100k long fics by @itszouis

Long Word Count pt. 1 | pt. 2 by @hlficlibrary

Authors:

Author rec by @hlficlibrary

Author rec: bananaheathen by @hlficlibrary

Author rec: wildestdreams  by @hlficlibrary

New Authors 2024 by @1dcommunityficrecs

Writer appreciation by @allwaswell16

Fics x Months:

January 2022 by @1dmonthlyficroundup

January 2025 by @allwaswell16

February 2022 fic rec by @hlficlibrary

October 2024 fic rec by @allwaswell16

November 2020 fic rec by @queenbeeharry

November 2024 fic rec by @merryloumas

November 2024 fic rec by @parmahamlarrie

December 2023 by @allwaswell16

(Alternative) Universe:

Amnesia by @@justalarryblog

Bed Sharing by @hlficlibrary

Canon (exes to lovers) by @allwaswell16

Caught kissing by @allwaswell16

Coffee shop by @hlficlibrary

College/Uni by @larryfanfiction

Dark Fantasy by @oldbay-on-apples

Dystopian by @oldbay-on-apples

Fairy fics by @hlficlibrary

Fantasy by @erohda

Fantasy by @hlficlibrary

Georgian by @thelarriefics

Greek Mythology by @allwaswell16

Greek Mythology by @dreaminrainbows

Larry Abroad (Challenge 2019) by @soulmatesabroad

Magical by @justalarryblog

Mental Illness by @allwaswell16

Mermaid fics by @justalarryblog

Past Abuse by @allwaswell16

Pirates by @allwaswell16

Regency/Historical by @justalarryblog

Royalty by @larryficworks

Sign language by @allwaswell16

Soulmates by @alarriefantasy

Soulmates by @thelarriefics

Soulmates by @1dcommunityficrecs

Spill Your Guts Aus by @hlficlibrary

Travel au by @1dcommunityficrecs

Genre:

Fluff by @alwaysxlarrie

Grief by @theficpusher

Pube appreciation by @allwaswell16

Smutty (porn with plot) by @alarriefantasy

Relationship:

Exes to lovers by @allwaswell16

Exes to lovers (canon) by @allwaswell16

Fake/pretend relationship (christmas edition) by @allwaswell16

Famous/not famous by @allwaswell16

Flirting and sexual tension by @hlficlibrary

Friends to lovers by @allwaswell16

Friends to lovers by @parmahamlarrie

Strangers to lovers by @thelarriefics

"I hate everyone but you" plot fics by @allwaswell16

Seasons/Holidays:

Winter by @larryfanfiction

Christmas fics by @allwaswell16

Christmas fake/pretend relationship by @allwaswell16

Holiday fics by @hlficlibrary

New Year's Eve fics by @hlficlibrary

[thlayli-ra]

Stray (part 4)

Characters - CM Punk, Drew McIntyre, Larry, Samoa Joe

Pairing - CM Punk/Drew McIntyre, CM Punk/Samoa Joe (past)

AU - Stray AU

Rating - Mature

Warnings - Strong language, mentions of human trafficking, imprisonment and prostitution

Words - ~3,000 words (this is a longer one, yay!)

Summary - Punk asks a 'friend' for help

The door rang at six the next morning and Punk answered it immediately, already fully dressed.

'What did you do now?' the large set man on the doorstep grumbled.

'What makes you think I did anything?' Punk asked with his hand on his chest, taking offence to the accusation.

'When you call me at 5am telling me to bring spare clothes and my tool kit, I take that as a strong sign that you've done something,' Joe replied gruffly, stepping in past Punk and up the front steps. 'So just get it over with and tell me what the hell hap-'

He stopped mid-word when he reached the top of the stairs and found the stranger sitting innocently on Punk's sofa, naked except for a poorly fitting pair of boxer briefs and a dog collar around his neck. The newcomer gaped at the sight, then quickly dumped everything onto the floor.

'Excuse me,' Joe politely said to the stranger then roughly dragged Punk to the back steps at the far end of the living area.

'Ah, you grabbed me by the fucking neck,' Punk whined as Joe slammed the door behind them to give them some privacy.

'What the hell is that?' he demanded to know.

'I believe it's what they call an adult human male,' Punk shot back sarcastically.

'Don't get smart with me, Phillip Jack!'

'Oh, we're doing the Phillip Jack thing already, are we?'

'Just tell me who the fuck he is?'

Punk shrugged his shoulders. 'Dunno.'

'Well, what's his name?'

'Dunno.'

'Then where'd he come from?'

'I found him round the back of Mrs Goldstein's house. Good thing too, if she'd found him first she'd probably have had her third stroke and-'

'Wait! Wait! WAIT!' Joe scrubbed his eyes with his fingertips. 'What do you mean you found him?'

'Last night during the storm,' Punk retorted as if that made complete sense. 'Kid was all alone and banged up so I took him back here and cleaned him up.' Joe was trying to process just what the hell was happening but Punk didn't seem to notice. 'Hey, you know sign language, right?'

'I know exactly four languages, one of which is sign language, yes,' Joe replied, not following any of this in the slightest.

'Great! Come with me!' Gripping Joe by his broad shoulders, Punk shuffled him back into the living area and over to the lounge where the stranger was sitting calmly, stroking Larry who was sleeping next to him on the couch. 'Hey, so, this here is Joe, he's sorta, kinda, well, he's my-

'Friend,' Joe cut in abruptly.

'Yeah...' Punk muttered bitterly. 'Friend.'

The stranger stared blankly at them both.

'Well?' Punk looked expectantly at Joe. 'Go on.'

Heaving a huff of frustration, Joe signed 'hi, my name is Joe. What's your name?' when Punk cuffed him on the arm.

'He can hear you alright, I just need you to translate what he's saying.'

By this time, seeing someone else using hand motions had excited the stranger and he began throwing gestures right back at the large-set man who blinked with a furrowed brow. 'That's... not ASL,' he said, at last. 'Wait, where's your globe?'

'Pfft, I don't have a fucking globe,' Punk snorted.

'Oh really? Not even that one I bought you three Christmases ago?'

Punk quickly backtracked. 'Ohhh, that globe! Yeah I still got that globe.' He rushed over to a closet at the far end of the room and took a long time digging around before he finally produced it, still in its box and sealed.

'You keep it in the back of your closet?' Joe asked coldly, accepting the box from Punk.

'Just for safe-keeping, while I'm getting my office repainted.'

'Riiiiiiight.' Ripping the box open, Joe fetched out the plastic globe and placed it on the coffee table in front of the stranger. 'Can you show us where you're from?'

On instinct, Joe had turned the globe so that North America was facing the stranger but once he placed his large fingers on the sphere, he began turning it, passing over the Atlantic Ocean until he settled it at Europe. A wobbly smile broke his lips when he pressed his fingertip to a spot and both Punk and Joe leaned in for a closer look.

'You're from England?' Punk brows shot up.

The stranger gave a vicious snarl.

'From Scotland,' Joe corrected. The cat paw bobbed wildly. 'Hold on a minute...' Joe fished out his phone and began tapping away on the screen while Punk stared down at the tiny nation pressed beneath the stranger's large digit.

'We've been to Scotland before, haven't we?'

'Yeah, few times. Back when we were starting out, we had some bouts in Glasgow.'

'That's right! You from Glasgow?' The stranger shook his fist. He then began pointing his fingers upwards. 'You're from... Up? Uptown? O-over...? Over-town?'

'Skye?' Joe put in his guess but everything received a shake of the head. The stranger then splayed his fingers, hovering them around him. 'Air?' Cat paw! Cat paw! 'Oh, Ayr! You're from Ayr?'

'How do you know all this shit?' Punk asked, his nose scrunched.

'Unlike you, I like to try and learn about the places we visit.' Joe returned to his phone, ignoring the eye roll from the tattooed man. 'Ah, now it makes sense. He's using British Sign Language.'

'Is it that different?'

Joe sighed with exasperation. 'Yeah, it is.' He turned his attention back to the stranger. 'I've pulled up the BSL alphabet. Can you spell your name out for me? Slowly?'

'You could just have gotten him to write it out,' Punk pointed out with a scoff.

'He's been with you since yesterday and you didn't think to do that.' Punk snapped his mouth shut. 'Go on.' The stranger began moving his hands. First he pointed his left index finger up and placed his right index and thumb against it, opened up like a semi-circle, clearly making the shape of a familiar letter. 'D,' Joe confirmed. Then he crooked his left index finger. 'R'. Next he placed his right index finger on the tip of his left index finger. 'E.' And finally he knitted the tops of his fingers together, palms facing. 'W,' Joe said and put the all the letters together. 'Drew? Your name is Drew?'

The dark head and cat paw bobbed excitedly. Blue eyes pricked with tears from finally hearing his own name being spoken back to him. He wasn't the only one who found himself emotionally affected by the reveal. In the corner, Punk had gone deathly quiet, his lips hanging open slightly as his mind raced.

Drew... his name is Drew...

'So, how did you get over here, Drew?' Joe asked. The Scotsman replied by swooping his fist through the air, his thump and pinkie extended. 'You flew here?' Cat paw, but then the fingers grasped the collar at his neck.

'They flew you here,' Punk answered, understanding the hidden meaning. 'They guys who held you prisoner?'

Cat paw, followed by more finger spelling. Joe read them out as they were motioned 'L. I. E. Lie, they lied to you?' Cat paw, followed by a sawing and hammer motion. 'They said it was for work?' Cat paw, then another grasp at his collar. 'But they imprisoned you instead.'

'They forced him to fight,' Punk cut in, already knowing this part of Drew's horrific recent past. 'Probably around the illegal circuits, remember them? We looked into a few before we realised how fucking dangerous they were?'

But Joe was rubbing his fingers back and forth over his lips, deep in thought. 'Drew...' the blue eyes stared back at him. 'They made you do more than fight, right?' The Scot hesitated, glancing cautiously at Punk. 'That collar around your neck. Did they make you do anything... sexual?'

Punk hitched a breath, feeling his skin turn as cold as ice. The sensation overwhelmed him when he watched Drew's beautiful eyes darken and his head sink in shame. Punk couldn't contain the snarl in his throat as he scrubbed his palm over his face. His fists were shaking and he needed an outlet for it. Now!

He slammed his fist back against the wall. Hard. Feeling the skin break as it hit unrelenting brick. Joe looked up at him, his brows lowered. Go on, say it! Like a 'cornered feral cat'. Just fucking say it!

But it was Drew who piped up, flattening his left palm and swiping his right pointed finger beneath it. Joe's attention moved back to the large hands, trying to decipher them. Drew helped him by reaching down to shake the shattered chain at his feet. It was the first time the larger man had seen it and his face gave away the shock. 'But you escaped,' he explained, bringing Punk's focus back to the room.

Drew smiled broadly, then placed his thumb against his chest, swooping it around in a figure of eight. It took Joe a while to work out the sign but when he did, a grin broke out on his usually sullen face. 'Yes, yes I see,' he replied warmly and mimicked the same gesture on his chest.

Punk watched them both with bewilderment, wondering what joke he was missing out on, when Joe beamed up at him. 'You get it, right Punker?' he asked, doing the motion again. Punk shook his head. 'That means you!'

'Me?' Punk blinked, and looked over to Drew for confirmation. The blue eyes twinkled back at him, full lips spread wide revealing two deep dimples in his bearded cheeks. He did the motion again, swirling his thumb over his chest and Punk finally understood. He was following the path of the waves and serpent on his chest tattoo, just like he had last night in the wet room.

All of a sudden, Punk lost the ability to draw in breath. Overcome with emotion, he bit down hard on his cheek to stifle any sobs. 'Y-yeah,' he stuttered, shakily bobbing his head. 'Then I found you.'

With several mysteries solved, Joe moved on to the tasks Punk had sent him for. First on the checklist was removing the metal cuff and chain from around Drew's ankle. While Joe opened his tool box, Punk went into the kitchen to prepare some breakfast for them all. Larry lay flat on the couch, glaring at Joe as he placed a rod into the locking mechanism of the cuff and gave a threatening growl when Joe pulled back the mallet to strike.

'Yes, yes, I know Larry,' Joe said to the little dog. 'I promise I will be careful.' Another snarl. 'I promise! Urgh, you just had to adopt the dog that's a small furry version of you, didn't you?' he shot at Punk.

'Guess we're just the type that's nobody else wants,' Punk fired back from the kitchen.

He knew it was a cruel barb and from the corner of his eye, he saw Joe lower his arm and close his eyes, taking in a long, deep breath through his nose, the way he always did when he was trying to compose himself. Eventually he shrugged off Punk's vicious comment and moved on.

The cuff broke apart on the second strike and Drew's leg was finally free. He asked Punk to fetch the first aid kit ('under the sink, top shelf. You really should know this by now! What if you burn yourself or cut yourself with a knife in the kitchen!') then cleaned and wrapped the wounds on Drew's ankle. Once the Scot had been treated, Joe helped him into some old clothes of his. He may not have the height that Drew did, but he was large and broad so the clothes fitted much better than Punk's did.

By the time, they all sat down at the table to eat, Drew was transformed. Wearing a navy T-shirt and black shorts with his long hair pulled back in an old hair-tie that Punk had found in a drawer, he looked more... normal. Like any other guy. Well, except for the collar around his neck. Punk placed his food down in front of him and had a double-take, examining him from head to foot. He couldn't deny that he looked good. Really good!

He served Joe next then, after topping up Larry's bowl, he joined them at the table with his own stack of pancakes. Grabbing up the syrup first, he proceeded to empty almost the entire bottle onto his stack as Drew and Joe looked on in disgust.

'You never change,' Joe muttered. They soon tucked in and Joe's eyes lit up with the first taste of the warm pancakes. 'Wow, these are delicious! You've really improved your technique.'

Punk chewed his bottom lip awkwardly. 'I didn't make 'em,' he confessed. 'They're yours. I found them in the freezer box.'

'Wait, so they've been in there all this time?'

Punk never once took his eyes off the pancakes on his plate as he stuffed another bite into his mouth. 'Just... forgot they were there.'

The atmosphere dampened and they ate the rest of their breakfast in silence.

A short while later, Punk escorted Joe to the door. 'Thanks again for helping out,' he said, stuffing his hands into the back pockets of his jeans.

'No problem, I just...' Joe gently shoved Punk out onto his front step and closed the door behind him with a quick glance upstairs to make sure nobody was within earshot. 'Punker,' he said, sternly and the cage-fighter knew there was a lecture coming, 'listen to me. Drew is a big guy. He's taller than both of us and he's clearly really strong.'

'I know what you're getting at,' Punk sighed, 'and I've been thinking it too.'

'Good,' Joe cut in with relief. 'Cause anybody who trafficked a guy like Drew here and kept him prisoner all these years has to be dangerous.'

'You don't have to worry about me,' Punk smiled weakly out the side of his mouth.

'You know you have a habit of getting yourself into stupid shit you're not cut out for.'

Punk bristled at that and folded his arms across his chest. 'What you saying here exactly?'

'This isn't your problem to solve. Drew was trafficked here illegally by criminals - you have to call the cops.'

'Why?' Punk argued, getting defensive. 'So they can just toss him in a holding centre somewhere. He's already been imprisoned against his will for years, I can't do that to him again.'

'You don't know that!' Joe protested. 'You're not a social worker-'

'No shit,' Punk snapped back, 'because I'm actually helping the guy.'

'You can't let what happened to you cloud your judgement here,' Joe tried to reason with the cage-fighter who was getting more irate and closed off by the second. 'I get that what Chez and her family did for you was incredibly kind and selfless but there's no expectation on you to pay that forward.'

'And what if I want to!' Punk opened his arms wide. 'What if I just wanna do the right thing here?'

'This isn't some fifteen year old kid we're talking about,' Joe kept his voice calm and composed, the way he always did when they argued. Punk hated when he did that! 'The guy looks to be in his mid to late thirties. He's not even from here, he has a whole life and family back home, maybe even a wife and kids.'

'He doesn't have to stay if he doesn't want to,' Punk debated, 'but until he's ready, gets back on his feet, who gives a shit?'

'And what if those guys come looking for him?'

Punk paused, pursing his lips. 'We'll be alright. I'll keep him safe.'

Joe scrubbed his hand across his brow, no doubt feeling a stress headache taking hold. 'It's not him, I'm worried about. I'm worried about you.'

'I told you already, you don't need to-'

'But I do! I can't help it. Every damn minute of every damn day I worry about you and it drives me fucking crazy! I can't keep doing this.'

'Then why did you answer my call at 5am this morning? Why did you even come here?'

Joe heaved a long, weary sigh. 'I don't know,' he admitted. 'I really want this to work out between us, this whole 'friendship' thing, I really do, but you've got to put in the effort too. You've gotta at least try to move on.'

'You're the one who left me!' Punk was raising his voice and he couldn't help it. All the pain and hurt from the past few months was spilling out of him like water gushing through a fractured dam. 'You don't get to tell me when I'm ready to move on. Anyway, how the hell am I meant to move on when I keep finding your shit all over my house!'

He clamped his mouth shut, realising his faux-pas too late. Joe stared back at him, furious agony marring his features.

'Exactly. Your house! Your career. Your hopes, your dreams. Your life. You, you, you! That's all it's ever been about. You're so fucking selfish!'

'Yeah, well why'd you stick around so long if I was such a shitty boyfriend and an even shittier fiancé?'

Joe shrugged his shoulders in defeat. 'Good question,' he said, bitterly as he turned away. 'Least you've matured enough to admit that at last.'

Punk could have called his name, could have told him to stay and they could talk things out properly but he knew it wouldn't work. The one talent that he had was making things worse. So he let Joe walk away. Again.

Stepping back inside, he forced all the pain down deep inside him again, pushing it into the dark recesses and sealing it tight.

Right now, he had more important things to worry about than whining about how his life was falling apart at the seams. He had a blue-eyed Scot called Drew who needed him.

Who needed him to be strong.

To be continued...

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[anonymous-chicken-was-taken]

What the Ace Attorney Villains Could Get Charged With (to the best of my research) (in America laws)

Game One

!Disclaimer! I know nothing about law take this with a grain of salt I was just bored.

Frank Sahwit

Burglary - This one is obvious. He was a thief. He stole stuff. How many charges exactly depends on how many he admits to or can be traced back to him.

Breaking and entering - At least one charge from Cindy's case, potentially more depending on any other burglary charges.

Assault and battery - Hitting Cindy with the Thinker. The assault may or may not be aggravated depending on whether it was technically intended to be used in a way that would readily and likely cause death.

Second-degree murder - This one could potentially be brought down to voluntary manslaughter. It depends whether he intended to kill Cindy when he hit her, and if he was in enough emotional distress that hitting her would be semi-justifiable.

Incrimination - In pinning the blame on Larry, he did this.

Fraud - Even if pretending to be a newspaper salesman to steal from people didn't constitute fraud, Payne stated this as his job. This means he lied about his job to the court by saying he was a newspaper salesman. Which is fraud.

Perjury

Redd White

Incrimination - This is when he tried to frame Maya, and when he shifted the blame on Phoenix. This may lead to two charges.

Obstruction of justice - In incriminating Maya, he tampered with the crime scene. Plus, blackmailing a judge is probably illegal and probably falls under this.

Corruption - He was a corporate official, which makes some of this other stuff constitute corruption, mostly the blackmail.

Blackmail - Speaking of, he could be faced with countless charges of this, depending how much could be tied back to him.

Assault and battery - Punching someone in the face multiple times is illegal, kids. So is hitting someone on the head. If Frank gets aggravated for the thinker, so does he. Phoenix's assault probably wasn't aggravated, though, as I doubt his rings/fists would be ruled a deadly weapon considering the intent.

Intimidation - His threat for an "accident" to happen to Phoenix is more than enough to be considered a threat of violence.

First-degree murder - His murder of Mia was completely premeditated. There's little he can do about this.

Criminal threat - Threatening to injure or kill someone is bad. And using flowery language like "accident" doesn't negate it.

Wiretapping - While he didn't actually put the wiretap there, it can be inferred he ordered it. This makes it conspiracy, so there is some shared guilt.

Conspiracy - The wiretapping was a joint effort between him and April. He may try to claim otherwise, but its degree of success is debatable.

Workplace abuse - It's a real good sign when your secretary fears you murdering her like you did to that defense attorney a couple days ago, Redd, I'm sure you could never get in legal trouble for that.

Perjury

Dee Vasquez

Racketeering - Oftentimes, people in organized crime are automatically found guilty of this. This being charging someone for a service they haven't requested (think mafia "protection").

Blackmail - This one is also pretty obvious. Jack Hammer.

Obstruction of justice - This is her tampering with the crime scene when she moved the body. Also potentially when she tried to kill a lawyer involved with the case.

Attempted murder - By proxy, two charges, when she ordered her goons to kill Phoenix and Maya.

Voluntary manslaughter - Hammer was trying to kill her, she's got that justified self-defense plea. Not that it matters much, because...

Countless other mafia-related charges - We don't know the exact details of her mafia connections, but she's entrenched enough to have goons. We can safely say she did a lot of illegal stuff in organized crime.

Intimidation - Mafia goons trying to kill you is pretty intimidating. That and the threats of erasure.

Criminal threat - See above threats of erasure.

Conspiracy - She works together with Sal Manella in the obstruction of justice.

Perjury

Manfred von Karma

Forgery - He's known to forge evidence constantly.

Obstruction of justice - See above. Plus, tazing lawyers and stealing their evidence is pretty frowned upon. So is intimidating witnesses.

Assault and battery - The evidence room fiasco. Potentially aggravated depending on the actual voltage of the tazer and if he lied about it or not, but given they didn't die, probably not.

Theft - He stole evidence from the evidence room.

Intimidation - Brandishing a taser at someone is generally considered this.

Corruption - Being a government official, most if not all this stuff constitutes corruption.

Incrimination - Due to his conspiracy with Yogi, he is guilty of attempting to frame Miles by proxy.

First-degree murder - He sees a gun and a man he doesn't like in the elevator, and he does think about it before doing it. Thus, it is premeditated and first-degree. Also, given his conspiracy with Yogi, he may also be guilty of murdering Hammond by proxy.

Child abuse - Both Miles and Franziska could push for this, even just with what we have explicitly stated. Depending on interpretation and how poor of a guardian he was, this charge could have some serious ground to stand on.

Emotional abuse - Pretty much the same hat as the child abuse charge, only less uncertain.

Criminal threat - I don't know what you want from me, man. He threatens everyone all the time.

Torture - I haven't played investigations yet, but from what I'm looking at, he psychologically tortured a guy, so. That's pretty non Geneva convention certified of him, even if this isn't a war.

Workplace abuse - Again, this is hearsay because investigations, but he's pretty crappy to his subordinates, it seems.

Solicitation - He heavily encourages Yogi to kill Hammond and frame Miles.

Conspiracy - He provides Yogi with the means to kill Hammond, so while there is technically no mutual agreement, he's also guilty of this.

Perjury

Damon Gant

Corruption - As a government official, a great deal of his crimes constitute corruption.

Forgery - A great portion of the conflict of his case comes from the forged evidence he made.

Obstruction of justice - Most of the rest of the conflict of his case comes from the evidence he withheld.

Blackmail - Quite a severe case of it, at that. Multiple years against a single person is nothing to sneeze at.

Incrimination - That's what it was when he made it look like Ema killed Neil.

First-degree murder - He thought about killing Neil long enough to consider the pros and cons of doing so, and went through with it. That's pretty premeditated. A good lawyer may be able to get him down to second degree for Goodman, but it's highly doubtful considering.

Conspiracy - He had Lana hide Goodman's body, and while there was blackmail involved, there was still a mutual agreement. Thus, conspiracy.

Concealment of death - There are a few different names for this, but it's when he had Lana hide Goodman's body. It was unsuccessful, but there were still significant steps taken to have it happen on both their parts, so he may get a partial sentence.

Criminal threat - He makes so many threats.

Workplace abuse - I think using a pipe organ to punish your employees violates some international laws or something. Speaking of which...

Torture - Of the audio variety. Seriously this guy is the police how did this fly for so long that is BAD.

Vigilantism - This is actually very interesting. Despite the fact that he is a member of law enforcement and Joe Darke did kill multiple people, he still used illegal means to bring him to some form of justice. Depending on how much he wanted Darke convicted, it could be argued that his actions constitute vigilantism.

Assault and battery - One case of assault against Goodman, and two charges of battery against Neil and Goodman. Assault is the threat of violence and the means to follow through, and battery is the actual act of violence; seeing as Neil was unconscious, he could not have been threatened. The assault was aggravated, as a knife is a deadly weapon.

Perjury

GAME TWO