#and no one judges the female characters based on anything but how big of a ‘waifu’ they are

[hecksupremechips]

I’m about to sound like the worlds biggest idiot but I need to say it anyways. It absolutely baffles me that the majority of the persona fanbase only cares about the "waifus" and not like the actual plot or characters

[ladykailitha]

So I just want to preface this with I am pro kinktomato and ship and let ship. 100%. I might judge you or block you if I don't like it or makes me uncomfortable but I completely and wholy am for you shipping whoever however.

Got it. Great!

Now this is something I don't think I've seen brought up when it comes with Eddie being shipped with anyone BUT Steve. Eddie is 19-20 in season 4. He is a double super senior. Now we don't know the birthdays literally anyone else (except Will and El) but as Argyle, Jonathan, Robin, Nancy, and Chrissy are all still in school and are seniors, that makes them 17-18 olds.

Now, here's where it becomes an issue. Let's softball it. Say Chrissy/Nancy (or anyone else from the show) is as old as we can make them, barely 18. And let's make Eddie as young as we can make him being a super super senior 19, almost 20. That's still a pretty big gap between the characters' ages. Especially at that age.

Now let's take the gap to the extreme. 17 year old girl with a 20 year guy. And suddenly that's not a good look for Eddie.

Do I know that the truth is probably in the middle? Sure. But I think sometimes we forget how OLD Eddie is.

Which brings me to my next point, why is Eddie that old? If Hellcheer was end game (had they lived) then why make him a twice flunked senior? If he just needs to be in school to deal drugs and DM Hellfire, making him a regular senior wouldn't change anything.

Now, if you tell me it's because he's a drug dealer, let me tell you even in the 80s, having a guy Eddie's age dealing drugs to teens would be sketchy as hell. But since he's still in high school it's not seen as weird.

Let's say you do want him to deal and still be DM of the Hellfire Club but you don't want him too young because the person you plan on coupling him with is a 19 or almost 19 year old?

Suddenly having Eddie 19 isn't that weird. He's the same age as Steve, probably a little older, but a lot closer in age then Eddie is to anyone else we pair him with (that one dead guy notwithstanding).

Which also guys, I know Robin and Steve are close, but he's still older than she is and do I really need to say it? (Because I really don't want to, because I don't want to be seen as dictating how people write the characters, their headcanons, or who or how they ship).

So what I'm trying to get to here, is Steddie makes more sense regarding the age of the characters and how they interacted with each other, then how they acted with any of their female counterparts.

I'm not going to tag this as any other pairing then Steddie, because this isn't hate on the other ships in anyway. This is just my analysis based on what we know about the ages of the characters.

[elvisabutler]

spark ( chapter one: company )

fandom: elvis presley | elvis ( 2022 ) rating: m pairing: elvis presley ( fameless big daddy electrician ) x female original character word count: 13957 told y'all it was just shy of 14k warnings: old southern church ladies being all up in people's business. not the best of marriages. talk of children. copious amounts of sweat. elvis preferring to wear a jumpsuit that's worn in versus getting a new one. infidelity in some form. elvis in glasses. religion playing an at least faintly important part. a bit of negative self talk. this is not safe for work. i am not giving away anything else in these warnings. author’s note: first off the largest and most sincere of thanks to the ever delightful and loving marina who once upon a time just had whispers of a sort of off shoot/same vibe sort of thing for crawfever ( yes this is why this fic has gotten crawfever adjacent as a tag despite it not being the same thing ). and let me take them, burrow into her brain and find the bits and bobs that her brain had dreamed up but not been able to put into words. this fic would not exist without those whispers and without your edits. second, special thanks to my phenomenal wives and besties christi and birdy as well for you two know just how much you supported me in this from when marina did the whispers and i spewed what i affectionately called marina's brain herpes at you two, your screams and thoughts have been so powerful to get me to work on this. third, special other thanks to the charming @prompted-wordsmith for the edit job and the saving my ass on that one spot both me and marina could not figure out words for and putting up with my frankly excessive em dash use. beyond that, thank all of y'all who've enjoyed my vibes posts and have been getting excited based on what i've said to y'all, what marina has said to y'all, etc. just i'm very excited to show y'all this and i hope you enjoy. and quick tiny note, this is set in the 50s, so elvis is a wwii veteran and thus his birth and everything is pushed a little bit back to make this work.

“Call that handyman—the one from the church, I have to get to work,” her husband Nathan calls out as he leaves without a kiss exchanged between the two of them.

Words left unsaid die a quick death on her lips and tongue as she lets out a sigh. Once again she was left alone with barely a goodbye. She supposes she should be thankful he at least waited until she was awake. That he waited till she at least was conscious and able to ask him what she needed to, even if his response left so much to be desired. Call the handyman—Mr. Presley was his name, not that Nathan cared to know. After all, that would require him taking an interest in the church life or her sister’s life. It would require him to see the look on her face when she holds little Elizabeth while grabbing her from Sunday school or dropping her off at Sunday school for Melly. It would require… so many things.

Mr. Presley always told anyone to call Crown Electric and ask for him if they were in need. Some people argue it was some form of shrewd marketing but the pastor likes to reassure the congregation that Elvis, the godly and kind soul that he is, wouldn’t do that willy-nilly. Lilly’s hand shakes as she calls and reaches what she assumes is the receptionist before being reassured that he'll be over in a jiff. 

A jiff turns out to be a surprisingly quick time, no more than a half an hour before she hears a knock that somehow sounds delicate and gentle but is forceful enough for her to hear it easily. Adjusting her dress, she smoothes out an imaginary set of wrinkles, nervous for reasons she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Perhaps it was because she feels so very silly calling up a handyman for this fix. Truly if she could she’s certain she could fix it herself and she knows Nathan had fixed this very problem before. And yet here she was, about to answer her door. Oh, she hopes he doesn't judge her too harshly—hopes he doesn't think less of Nathan or her. 

As she opens the door she is greeted by the sight of Mr. Presley in a simple olive jumpsuit that appeared to be a bit tight in the middle, his paunch pushing at the fabric the same as it appeared to do in the area of his thigh. It's strange for her to see him like this, far more rugged than he ever is in church or at the potlucks. Lilly swears her heart skips a beat in what she thinks is shock cause she looks up at Mr. Presley’s face and sees what is one of the most genteel and warm smiles she's ever seen on a person. 

"Mrs. Harris," Elvis greets Lilly with that smile that has Lilly's own lips curling into one even as she bites at her lip and tilts her head down.

"Mr. Presley. You came quickly," A statement of fact while hiding a question of why and how as she moves aside to allow him to enter her home. 

“It's not everyday lil Miss Lizzie’s aunt calls for help from me. In fact, I think this is ya first time," Elvis answers while keeping his gaze on her as he enters, carefully avoiding looking around the house. "Musta been an emergency."

"Lil Miss Lizzie’s aunt" shouldn't sting as much as it does and yet she feels herself wince just slightly at the idea of only being known as an aunt, never a mother. Of being known as a barren woman who defied her family's legendary fertility to have an empty house and a husband who tolerated her at best as of late.

"Oh you just have to try harder, Lilly. Must be something—in your diet. Or that stress of yours. Nathan days you've been downright mean when you talk sometimes."

She's been downright mean, it would take a downright mean person to know one wouldn't it? It would take a man who ignores his wife like Nathan does to recognize a woman who's mean when she talks. Frustrated is what Lilly was, dejected is what Lilly was. But mean? No, she tries too hard not to be mean that the idea of Nathan accusing her of such a thing is a betrayal of her heart.

Lilly sniffles slightly, attempting to play it off as allergies. "You could say that, Mr. Presley. Nathan had to rush out and I'm—I can't quite fix it myself. And you did say if anyone needed help with anything to make a call for you."

Elvis opens his mouth to speak before her sniffles hit him. It's as if a grenade has gone off in front of him. It's as if he can see the rubble of whatever had been in front of him at those small, barely-noticeable sniffles. Why…? There was no reason for her to be crying. 'Less she didn't want him to be here. Had he said something to offend her, something that made her emotional? Or was it embarrassment from needing to call him? He shouldn't reach out to touch her, shouldn't offer comfort he isn't sure she needs. But there's something about that small little sniffle that has him frowning and praying it's just allergies or the dust from his suit or something physical causing them. His hand moves to grab her own and—zzzt—that's when he feels a spark shoot into his hand, up his arm and settle in his chest. If he didn’t know any better he swears his heart skips a beat or two as he shakes his head.

"Know I'm not the most charming o' company Mrs. Harris but—I do good work. As for Mr. Harris, I'm sure he's busy bein' a good provider. Givin' ya everythin' ya need. Fixin' things can be a bit o' work for you young ones, ‘specially for the men after a long day. That's why you got ol’ fools like me. Fix things so ya don't gotta worry that pretty head of yours.”

Lilly's lips can't help but quirk into a smile, small as it is, at his words. They're not entirely comforting at face value but the longer she allows them to sit as she watches him set his bag down on the floor by her oven and make moves to actually do his job, the more they settle something inside of her. A final sniffle escapes her before she blows her nose by her sink, turning to face Elvis when she's finished.

Lilly's never put much stock in the idea that someone's entire aura and demeanor can change based on the clothes they wear. After all, she was the same person whether or not she was in her nightgown versus her dress or in the dresses she’d wear around the house compared to, say, her Sunday’s best. Mr. Presley, though, there’s something to be said about how he looks standing in front of her compared to how he looks every Sunday. There’s something to be said about how the jumpsuit he’s wearing almost looks too small for him but it’s just his middle that tightens the fabric. It’s just that paunch of his stomach yanking the fabric forward in an effort to contain him, stretching the fabric across his chest and making it so he has to leave the zipper partially undone before it reaches his neck. Her eyes refuse to linger on his lower half for too long but she can see how tight it is around his legs, around his thighs and she feels a shiver come over her for just a moment. This–this isn’t the same man who dresses in a full suit, jacket and all to church. This isn’t the same man who has his hair slicked back and his suit pants pressed like his mama’d taught him in church. 

This isn’t the same man she hands her niece off to every Sunday. No, this is another man entirely, a rugged down to Earth—salt of the Earth man. He’s a man who isn’t afraid to get dirty and afraid to work on things other people might stick their nose up at. He’s a man through and through and Lilly can’t help but wonder what else Mr. Presley’s been hiding. If there’s another side of him she hasn’t seen that is as fascinating and as invigorating to look at as this one. 

Not that she should be looking, not that the Lord wouldn't… perhaps this is why Nathan and her still have a fruitless marriage. A marriage of short kisses and dinner on the table and mothers who touch her belly and whisper how soon enough they'll be blessed. Perhaps with two at once. Maybe this is why the lord refuses to bless her—maybe if she didn't wish for company—covet her sister’s and her friends’ growing families. She could have company if she could keep Nathan home for longer than a few hours. 

Elvis’s mouth is opening and closing as if words are passing through them and Lilly blinks once, twice, three times before shaking her head to clear it of the thoughts that have started to swirl around it. "I'm sorry Mr Presley, could you–could you repeat what you just said. My mind went… I started trying to figure out what I could scrounge up in case this takes too long.”

There’s a chuckle, warm and inviting that leaves Elvis’s lips at the explanation before he shakes his head. “Got that little faith in me, Mrs. Harris? Think ya gonna be without an oven for a whole day? I’ll have this fixed up in in an hour, two if that.” He pauses and smiles. “Most of the time, it’s somethin’ real simple. Like ya said, you or Mr. Harris could’ve fixed it but ya both got things to do. Him, goin’ to work and bringin’ home the money and you, uh, takin’ care of… the house.” 

Lilly’s chest tightens at his words, at how he stops mid sentence. She knows perfectly well what he was going to say, that she would be taking care of the children and the house, but the house is as empty as her womb. There’s a warmth to it, of course, attempts at making things as inviting as can be and yet there’s always the gust of cold air from the fridge or from the screen door opening and closing making the house feel even emptier than it is. Emptier in a way it doesn’t feel right in this moment with someone else in the house. Not with someone like Mr. Presley taking up so much space in her kitchen just from height and bulk by his lonesome. Maybe even just from his presence alone. Still, his words settle her fear just a bit as she watches him bend down to open her oven. She can’t help how her eyes linger on the worn fabric stretched across his backside and under, between his legs. They’re right there, and she hadn’t meant to look, she was just about to say something to him, something that’s been swallowed up by every thought that slams into her head at the vision in front of her. Oh, she–she’s just on edge from this morning and how Nathan left so quickly. That’s all this is, nothing more, nothing less. She takes a breath and moves to grab a pitcher from her lower cabinets unaware that Elvis had looked back to ask something of her before being presented with the sight in front of him. It’s nothing untoward, and is purely chaste but there’s something about the way her dress tightens just a smidge around her backside that has him swallowing his tongue and moving to stick his head in the oven with a flashlight to see what might be the problem.

 

The problem as he expected was something simple, an easy fix with a part he has in his bag but he notices how there’s a few other things that could be dealt with while he’s down here. He should charge her for them, but… he finds he doesn’t want to. Finds that spending time in her company is worth the extra time he’d be spending in her oven. Especially when he hears her voice softly singing some—he thinks that might be Jo Strafford but he can’t be sure. There’s an element of homeliness that has him sighing while in the oven. Normally he feels this sense of ease in church and here he is with Mrs. Harris and she makes him feel just the same. 

“Mr. Presley, are you alright? Do… Is it worse than you thought?” He hears her soft voice above him and bashes his head against the top of the oven, cursing slightly as he does. 

“‘M fine. It’s fine Mrs. Harris. Jus’ looking at the work I gotta do. Definitely—gonna take all two of those hours I promised ya but it’ll be good as new when I’m finished with it,” Elvis answers, rubbing at his head and moving his arm down to rummage through his bag, worried about how he’d look if he bothered to pull himself out from inside the oven. 

The problem with doing that, the problem with hiding away in the oven as he does, is that even though the thing isn’t on, it’s stifling in the summer heat. Roasting him slowly but surely as he feels beads of sweat enter his eyes and slightly fog up his glasses. His free hand, unoccupied with his work, moves to grab a cloth he has on his belt just to wipe at his eyes. He hopes he doesn’t get any dirt on them. Meanwhile above him, Lilly busies herself with puttering around the kitchen. She’s making lemonade that’s almost as sweet as her sweet tea, but only because she’s never really enjoyed how sour lemons can be, sure that was supposed to be part of the allure but—Lilly’s never been that sour of a person. Instead more full of sugar sweet smiles and sweet Southern charm that had her husband falling at her feet when they were teenagers and had his parents eating out of her hand the moment she said hello. 

It takes Elvis damn near the whole two hours to finish, finally managing to finish a little bit after lunch time. Just enough time for LIlly to whip up something real quick, nothing too fancy, but Nathan would understand in this case, after all, it’s not as if he had fixed it before work. She hears Elvis’s groan from inside the oven and she can’t help the way she crouches down at the noise, making sure her legs are covered with her dress and moving to hold out her hand in an effort to help him pull himself out from inside her oven. She notices the dirt on his hands but doesn’t mind in the slightest, knowing she’s got a functioning sink and from that groan he honestly just might need a hand getting up out of it. There's a hesitation and an aborted attempt to swat her hand away before he takes it as both their arms twitch at the same time when their hands touch. 

"Didn't shock ya, did I, lil darlin'?" His voice sounds distant for a moment as he uses the leverage from her hand to scoot himself out and then pull himself up into a sitting position. 

“No, Mr. Presley, you didn’t—” Lilly’s words trail off as she looks at Mr. Presley’s face and notices just how covered in sweat it is. It shouldn’t be that sweaty, she thinks, it shouldn’t look like he’s practically used her garden hose in the back to hose himself down. That rag should’ve been used to mop up the glittering beads rolling down his cheekbones and collecting in the dip of his cupid’s bow. Unless he has somehow lost the ability to put it to use—but as Lilly’s eyes trace down his strong forearm she finds it’s translucent in a way that brings to mind summers outside and gigglingly waving at the boys across the lake. Being in a confined space like her oven would cause something like this, would cause someone to sweat as much as this but seeing it in front of her, seeing it before her very eyes has Lilly struck a bit speechless. There’s a glass of lemonade in her hand that she plans on offering Mr. Presley but the words refuse to come out, caught in her throat as she just stares at him. Stares at the sweat covering his face and his hair and making there be this curl among all the chocolate brown plastered to his head. It shouldn’t—it isn’t attractive on Nathan or any other boy she had ever seen look similar to this after a football game or after a hard day of entertaining outside. Yet here was Mr. Presley looking so very attractive that Lilly can’t find the words to describe it. This could not be the man she had seen so many times at church, at Sunday School when she dropped off her niece. 

Elvis is confused the longer he looks at Lilly, the longer he sees her staring at him like he’s a prime cut of meat. That—he hasn’t seen that look on a woman since after the war, since before his overeating and the nightmares and the grief and the visions he can’t ever stop thinking of unless he’s working. Sure, there’s still the few who try and set him up with their daughters who they figure can’t find another man and the few widows who remember how he was when he first came back to Memphis. But someone who’s Lilly’s age looking at him like that? Like she might be willing to pounce on him despite the ring on her finger? Oh, that was… That is something he cannot entertain, that has to be the heat finally getting to him, finally making him imagine things that certainly aren’t there. There’s no conceivable way someone as sweet as Miss Lilly, Mrs. Harris, Lilly, would ever be looking at him like that. His eyes drift down to the glass in her hand and a grin threatens to overwhelm his face as he grabs it with a simple thanks and starts to down the drink without a care in the world.

Lilly’s eyes watch as a single sweat drop rolls down his skin. Mr. Presley’s neck is stretched out as he drinks, Adam’s apple bobbing. The drops of water on the outside of the glass fall to his neck. They join their sweat brothers in rolling slowly but surely down his throat, tracing a path her mind whispers to her about chasing with her tongue as she had more than once before with Nathan. They roll down past his collarbone and down to his chest—his exposed chest because of that stupid zipper. They make a home in the patch of sweat and musk and warmth that is his chest hair and Lilly’s mouth opens to let out a choked-off squeak, she thinks. Or maybe it was her choking on her own breath, on her own tongue as she tries to say something, tries to tell Mr. Presley to set down the glass or drink slower or that he missed so much sweat on his body. Maybe–maybe it went all the way down, oh, maybe it…no, she cannot entertain this idea, she cannot entertain the way her mind wants to explore the possibilities. Tonight Nathan can help rid her of these thoughts, he can help her forget how she sees all this sweat gliding down another man’s skin. Down Mr. Presley’s skin, down the skin of someone who teaches Sunday school and wears tight jumpsuits that leave nothing to the imagination. The thoughts swirl and swirl as she clenches her thighs together and rubs them against each other. There is a smooth, slick quality to the glide that makes a flush of shame rise to the very apples of her cheeks, or maybe that’s the way Mr. Presley’s body is burned into her mind.

“Oh.” She exhales the word, swaying a little before she shakes her head, “Mr. Presley. You— Your—” Lilly shuts her eyes before continuing. “Are you enjoying the lemonade? My lemonade?”

“My lemonade”? What was she thinking, it was just lemonade, she didn’t have a claim over it, she didn’t want to know if Elvis enjoyed something of hers. That way of thinking—no, she just wanted to make sure she had made it correctly. That she had made it the right amount of sweet for him to enjoy and for it to quench his thirst. A repayment for making him do such a silly job as he just finished doing for her. Her eyes meet his as she finally is able to take her eyes off of his neck, off the vein in his neck that throbbed as he swallowed, at the way his swallows allowed the droplets of sweat and water roll down his throat. Her hand twitches with a desire to touch and hold. 

“I loved it. Sweet as anything I‘ve ever had.” He licks his lips, tasting the tangy salt of his sweat cutting through the sweetness of her lemonade. It’s not a lie, he truly does enjoy her lemonade, but he thinks–he thinks he might enjoy her company more, enjoy how she asks if he’s alright and worries about him enough to give him lemonade after he swears he’s practically sweat through his own jumpsuit. Not many people extended such domestic kindness to him anymore. He was Elvis the Pelvis, Elvis the Sunday School teacher, he was Elvis the electrician, but never just Elvis. He wasn’t ever just a man that a pretty wife might offer lemonade to. “Ya mind if I have another glass?” 

The way she hands over the pitcher is almost robotic or automatic and Elvis can’t help the way his hand shoots out to grab it, his fingers brushing over hers yet again igniting another spark between them. It’s not possible and yet he swears he feels it from his fingertips up to the top of his arm. Lilly pulls back her hand quickly, cradling it against her chest. “You can have th-the whole… the whole pitcher if you need.” 

Elvis laughs, the idea almost as comical as the way she says it with a straight face. Pouring the glass, he shakes his head at her and shrugs, “Can’t polish one of these off myself. If I had help now—” 

There’s something inside of Lilly that loosens at those words, at the playful nature of them despite how there is perhaps a flirtatious edge to them. It’s as if there was something inside of her that she hadn’t realized was a problem before that evaporated at Mr. Presley’s laugh and at his smile. It felt like true enjoyable company, the sort of company you’re supposed to have with your friends and your husband, but Lilly can’t remember the last time she felt it with anyone other than her sister. Her mild bitterness at swollen bellies and husbands who came by and kissed their wives on their cheek, happy to see them and see their handiwork coloring her happiness to see friends. God hadn’t seen fit to grace her womb with a child, and Nathan was alright with that despite Lilly’s pleas so she had dropped it all the while pushing those friends away, the reminder of the dream she wanted slipping farther and farther out of her grasp, through her fingers like the sand on the beach. 

Lilly smiles and grabs the other glass on the table, it is normally Nathan’s but she can set out another one, she can do the dishes before he arrives home while dinner is cooking. She sets it right in front of Elvis. “If you’ll do me the honor of pouring it. If you’re a gentleman.”

The laugh sounds almost sinister when it leaves his mouth, a dark sort of thing but the warmth in it has Lilly realizing that perhaps it’s a special laugh. Maybe it could be his laugh for only her. Nathan had one of those for her, once upon a time. She misses that laugh and to have another person give one to her is… it warms her soul from the inside out and she swears she feels a part of her, a part she knows has been snapped in half for the past year at least snaps back into place. His words are almost missed but when she focuses, puts him back in focus, she hears him clear as day as he pours her a glass. "God and my mama'd strike me down if I wasn't a gentleman, 'specially to you, Lil darlin."

There it was again. A nickname. Nathan never gave her one, told her that her name was already short enough and pretty enough and yet here was Mr. Presley giving her one. It’s an open secret he’s liberal with his use of nicknames and yet hearing one perhaps only for her has her heart fluttering in her chest, fluttering against the confines of the bones keeping it inside. Lil darlin, a shortened version of Lilly and darling in one simple nickname. Her body warms at the implication of familiarity. “Thank you, Mr. Presley.” Her teeth move to worry at her lower lip as she toys with a question inside her head before looking at him. “Would–Would you like to stay for dinner? Nathan—Mr. Harris might be late and I’m—you’re charming company.”

The way she starts and stops in asking makes Elvis want to say yes, wants to put her at ease and tell her there’s perhaps nothing he’d like to do more that afternoon, but his eyes drift down to her ring glinting in the light and he sighs, shaking his head. The thought is tempting, but thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife and thou shall not commit adultery. While he may not do the second, he knows if he stays much longer he’s likely to do the first. “Not—I appreciate the invitation, Mrs. Harris, but I have to get home. Maybe. A raincheck?”

A raincheck. A promise of maybe another time. A promise of if things were different he would say yes in a heartbeat. A promise that if he could he would stay sitting at her dining table and drink lemonade as she cooked dinner for her husband. Her husband, the one she cares for and loves with all her heart. He— He— There should be no raincheck and yet he wants her to agree to one.

“A raincheck.” Her face had fallen as he let her down easy before the mention of the raincheck, the mention of it making her smile once again. The mention of it having her smile and beam and bloom like her flower namesake, soaking in the attention as if it was water meant to nourish her and fulfill her. “Of course. You—Just finish as much of the lemonade as you’d like and you can see yourself out, if that’s alright? Just—so I can make dinner and have it done on time.”

His eyes watch as she stands up, smoothing out her clothes and sees how she practically glides across the floor of the kitchen as if she’s a natural in it. Her body moves as if it’s used to being around people and used to having people underfoot and Elvis is struck by how it feels like something is missing watching her, feels as if something doesn’t seem right in the picture. There should be someone else near her. He—no, that’s not a path he’ll go down today. After another ten minutes of him just watching her work and two more glasses of lemonade, he sets down the glass and makes his way out the door. “Goodnight, Lil darlin’!”

It feels a little dirty, the way when he gets home and is in bed for the night his cock jumps at the memory of her staring at his chest. He knows she's married, saw the ring clear as day in the sunlight but that look. He only remembers that look from June when he took her once upon a time. Had her husband not been giving her what she needed? Had she not been given the proper water to blossom? Had he been leaving her to wilt inside their shared home that she kept so well? Had he–had he deprived her of the ability to put down roots? The idea knocks the air out of his lungs and has him praying for forgiveness no more than five minutes later as he wipes his hand on a dirty shirt nearby.

Elvis doesn’t see Lilly until that Sunday in church, and yet his mind wanders to her when he’s working with other people’s issues. None of them are as simple as hers was and it makes him almost angry that he’s stuck spending his time with these issues when hers were over far too quick. Time flies when you’re having fun, but had he been having fun? Or was it just that God himself knew better than to allow him to stay in her house for too long, the urges he could feel flowing through his veins almost too hard to ignore. When he does, though, when he does he sees her in the most gorgeous of dresses, a simple baby blue number that matched her sister’s and matched her brother in law's tie. He expects to see her husband. Nathan, she had called him, and instead only sees the three of them and one small little girl in Lilly’s arms. Little Lizzie being carried by Lilly and looking so at ease and happy in her arms that Elvis’s heart twists at the image. A woman like that, a woman who can get a child that was less than a year old to be so calm and collected in a sea of people… now that’s a woman who ought to have a passel of kids, a football team of children. A platoon of children behind her, all in single file, smitten husband bringing up the rear. Yet here she was on a Sunday without her husband and tagging along as an extra hand, helping her sister who, if rumors were to be believed, was expecting again. He sees her wave off her sister and brother in law before she walks toward him, a soft smile on her face.

“Mr. Presley,” Lilly murmurs softly as Lizzie yawns in her arms and snuggles closer. “I was going to hand her off to you but I don’t think I can. I think she’d much prefer to keep her pillow.” She looks down at her niece before looking up at him. “I—If it’s alright, do you mind if I stay here?”

His hand moves in such a way as to brush off her concern. Did he mind if she stayed there? What sort of silly question was that. Did he mind if a woman who occupied his mind as he pleasured himself stayed in here with him. He has to bite back a laugh. If he could he’d let her stay in this room with him until time eternal, until the rapture where those who were worthy would be saved. She would be saved and perhaps–perhaps, if he could resist, he would have mended enough fences with God for him to do the same thing.

“I can always use the extra help, Mrs. Harris.” He motions to the children already around him. “They can be a bit of a handful.”

A laugh that sounds like the church bells ringing leaves her mouth as Elvis watches her bloom like she did at her house. There’s… It’s strange, seeing her so happy because of words he’s saying, almost as if he’s the reason she has to smile and she’s soaking up every bit of attention he can give her. Elvis has never fancied himself a gardener by any means but for her he thinks he might be one. Her husband should nurture her as she nurtures him and their children when they have any and yet he wonders if he does. He wonders if the boy, Nathan, realizes what he seems to be doing to Lilly, how her petals fall without attention, how she withers without his care, without his water nourishing her soul, her body and filling—Elvis shakes his head to clear it. 

“You always handle them so well, Mr. Presley. You’re a natural, I think.” The question is on the tip of her tongue, the question of why Elvis doesn’t have children of his own but she stops herself, she stops herself because it’s none of her business why. Maybe he just never found the right woman—a shame, she thinks. He would make a great husband from what she’s been able to see. A loving husband. A caring husband. So wrapped up in her own thoughts she very nearly misses him speaking to her as she sits down, shushing Lizzie’s protests at the movement and making sure the little ones around her quiet down.

"Surprised ya don't have children, Lil Darlin', ain't ever seen a woman be a natural with 'em like you," Elvis says, peeking over the rims of his glasses to a child who looked about ready to cause a complete ruckus. His focus is purely on that as he misses her wince and the way her hand reaches out to rub at her stomach, almost as if to mourn the lack of children from her womb.

"Nathan and I… We've been trying. Less often, lately, but—oh I don't—it just hasn't happened. God's saved those blessings for my sister. Little Lizzie and, and the one she's carrying now." Lilly bites her lip, trying not to let the tears she feels pooling in her eyes fall. She’s in public and Mr. Presley is just an acquaintance as of now, he doesn’t need to see the emotion she’s only ever reserved for her sister, Melly. A sniffle escapes her before she can stop it and Elvis’s hand reaches to grab a handkerchief from his pocket to give her to blow into and to dry her eyes. She takes it gladly.

"God'll gift ya one soon enough, be a cryin' shame if he didn't." A true statement of fact disguised as a reassurance. Elvis doesn’t think there’d be any true justice in the world if the Lord didn’t bless her with a child or several. Even now as they talked just her presence seemed to calm the children as they sat near her, waiting expectantly for him to tell a story or sing a song. Even Lilly dabbing his handkerchief at her eyes looked as if she was waiting for him and what he would do. As much as he wants to continue to talk with her, he thinks perhaps he should just entertain her. He thinks he should show off what he can do for her. His mind doesn’t dwell on the meaning behind it, instead choosing to dwell on how all he wants to do in that moment is watch Lilly be happy with her niece in her lap while she makes children listen and remain calm even if they are excited. 

The class is the calmest one he’s had in at least a year.

Things keep breaking in Lilly’s house and if Elvis was a suspicious man—if Elvis felt any hope when it came to Lilly, he would venture she called him on purpose. He would venture that she wants to see him and perhaps breaks things to do just that and yet they’re so different, each thing that’s broken, that he thinks perhaps it’s honestly things just breaking. The one true joy involved in it, though, beyond seeing her face when he’s fixed yet another thing is how she smiles when she sees him. 

Elvis is a man. Elvis is a man who can’t help himself sometimes. Elvis is a man who is not perfect. Elvis is a man who cannot and will not avoid the temptation of at least seeing Mrs. Harris more often. He learns Nathan rarely comes home on time except for certain days. He learns how great of a cook Lilly is, the smells wafting around the house when he works. He learns she’s a great cook because he’s tasted it at her insistence that he take home the food she’s made, if not insisting that he comes and eats with her. There is a part of him that thinks he’s playing her husband, replacing the man who is never home and is rarely at church with his wife despite how much it means to her. But Elvis knows he isn’t her husband. Despite what he does when it comes to cooking with her, despite how every so often his body betrays him, pictures her beneath him or on top of him, taking him in a way he wouldn’t think she could… he never acts on it. He never tells her. They haven’t crossed any lines, they are just friends who are becoming closer the more and more time they spend together. Days turn into weeks and weeks turn into months and before he realizes, before either of them realize it’s been three months and another thing has broken. Something feels different as he finishes up and prepares to leave only to realize that he can’t, not with her the way she seems to be on this particular day. 

He knows he should have already left, knows that her husband is liable to be back sooner rather than later, after all today isn’t a day he normally goes straight out with his friends. Today is a day he comes home to eat dinner with his wife, perhaps—enjoy other pleasures with his wife and then leave with his friends. It is a Friday, he has the rest of the weekend to spend with the boys and he knows Lilly will be with him on the Saturday with their wives and Sunday during church and the potluck afterward, not that he enjoyed going to them. But Lilly looks so… she looks so in need of company, something had happened the night before, he reasons, something had caused her soul to curl in on itself to the point where she doesn’t talk nearly as much as she normally would with him. Sure, they had still been floating around each other, and she answered a question here and there and would check to make sure he wasn’t accidentally shocking and hurting himself but there was no humming above him, no subtle roll of her hips that made him ache when he was alone at home. Done with his work, he washes his hands in Lilly’s sink, watching as she busies herself putting the finishing touches on her dinner before she pops it into the oven he fixed a few months ago. Yet he can’t shake the feeling that something else in this house needs to be fixed beyond the oven and beyond the wiring he had fixed tonight. He’s never been one to leave a job undone or hastily finished only for it to fall apart some time later for someone else to repair, damage caused by his carelessness. His eyes against his better judgment watch as she bends, watch as her dress rises and stretches around her backside, highlighting it in a way that has him averting his eyes. When he hears the quiet slam of the oven closing he finally looks back at her and is met by her wiping her brow for a moment before staring at him. 

“Do I have something on my face?” The question is so innocent he almost laughs. She has nothing on her face. There’s nothing wrong with her face other than the fact that it’s marred by a frown instead of—at the very least—the small smile he’s used to seeing from her. He wants to fix it, he wants to keep her from wilting, make it so she can continue to bloom the way she has been from the moment they properly met outside of church. 

“Ah… No, Lil Darlin, you don’t. Ya jus’—did somethin’ happen with you and Nathan last night? Ya look awfully sad and I—you weren’t even hummin’ today. Felt like I needed to put on a record it felt so quiet in the kitchen.” Elvis tries to choose his words carefully and even so Lilly’s face falls just a hair as she sighs. 

“Oh. I–I didn’t realize it looked so obvious. I…We were supposed to go on a date, Mr. Presley. We were supposed to go on a date and he was supposed to take me dancing because we haven’t in over a year and I miss it. But—there was a business meeting that ran late and by the time he got home I was too tired and the dance hall was—”

“Closed,” he finishes off for her, knowing full well what time every dance hall in the general area of Memphis closed. He knew full well that the only one that might have stayed open past a normal time was the army one and Nathan, unlike him, was not an army man. No, he was merely a boy–a boy playing at doing business and taking care of his wife financially but not emotionally. There it was again, that deep unceasing urge to fix it, that urge to fix this even if it’s not his place to try to fix anything beyond her appliances and her wiring. His fingers twitch against the side of his leg as he feels them both loosen, one even bouncing just slightly. It’s as if his body is trying to rev up while his mind reminds him with a traitorous whisper he still has every bit of equipment needed to help—to fix this, even if it's all more than a bit rusty. He can shake off that rust just fine, if it was for her. 

 “I… Lil Darlin. If—I know how to dance. Know I don’t look it, with this paunch,” he gives his stomach a light slap that has it jiggling just a bit and has Lilly’s eyes widening and a flush of desire coursing through her veins, wondering how that would feel under her hands, not that he notices. “But I used to do a lot of swing dancin’, if—I could dance wit’ ya if ya want me to. Ya can say no, but the offer’s there.”

For a moment, Lilly just stares at Elvis as if he’s grown an extra head. Surely he’s saying this in jest, he doesn’t mean what he’s asking, he isn’t offering to treat her better than her husband did. He isn’t offering to dance with her in the kitchen or the living room. That’s–that’s such a silly notion that despite how their relationship, their friendship has grown he can’t be caring for her more than her husband does. The laugh that escapes her sounds harsh even to her own ears as she winces at the sound, her eyes meeting his as if there's a million and one apologies on her tongue. His eyes make every apology that tries to form disappear in every breath she takes. He's not angry, doesn't think she's mocking him with her laughter. As always he realizes she just thinks he’s joking or that there is no way he actually wishes to do what he’s mentioned because after all, if her own husband doesn’t want to dance with her why would a stranger or a friend of sorts want to? That’s not something you do for a woman when you aren’t married to her. Swing dancing in her living room, that has to be a joke. 

Her voice is quiet, though, once she stops laughing and notices how Elvis still looks like he might be expecting an answer, as if she hadn’t practically mocked the mere idea of them swing dancing in her living room. Maybe—oh, maybe he was being genuine. Oh, he was far too good to her, indulging her silly wants and desires as if they were married instead of just merely friends. "You're… you don't have to." There. There, she had given him a chance to take back what he offered and made it so they could move on from this—move on from what such an offer meant to her and how she could feel her throat tightening and her heart in her chest twisting. 

Elvis takes a moment to just take her in, take in the way her body seems to wilt at the mere idea of him not dancing with her and the idea of him taking her up on her offer of taking back what he agreed to. The breath that leaves him is overtaken by a laugh, though he tries to stifle it. He holds out his hand and moves to the living room. "Lil Darlin', wouldn't've offered if I didn't. Gonna have to forgive me if 'm rusty. Haven't done it in a while."

"Neither have I." 

He's sure he feels a muscle in his jaw tense at those words before he shakes his head to clear it. Soon enough her husband would realize how much he's let his wife wilt from lack of attention, from lack of water to nourish her body and soul. For now though, for now he’s here to help her, to make her smile and be happy in a way she deserves to be. Her hand is soft enough that he almost feels wrong touching it with his callus-filled ones. It feels wrong to have such soft skin against his own but at the same time, it settles something deep within him to feel her hand in his and to feel her pressed against his body. He takes a moment to put on a record, praying it actually is something they can dance to only to realize it’s “Sing Sing Sing”, a song he’s danced to more times than he cares to count. Laughter erupts from in a fit of pure joy as he sees Lilly’s face light up when they start to dance. 

There should be a bit of awkwardness that only comes from when you first try to dance with a new partner, and yet they fall into a rhythm so natural his mind swirls with the possibility of dancing with her like this the rest of his life. Her feet move in step with his, easily avoiding his own, before he grabs her to pick her up, a move he hasn’t done in almost a decade but he does with an ease that shocks him as she giggles, the sound adding to the music as if it’s another horn. He’s getting dizzy with the sheer joy of hearing it. It feels so natural to swing and toss and lift her up as she smiles brighter than anything he’s ever seen. It looks like the sunrise in France when there was those brief moments of peace. All he can think is how that smile needs to be there every second of the day, that’s a smile that deserves to be seen, deserves to be shown off to everyone and yet—and yet he hopes not even her husband has seen this smile. Perhaps this is just for him and his swing dancing with her. Maybe no one else has seen this smile, because he swears even when he was younger he didn’t move nearly like this, didn’t smile so hard his cheeks are burning from the use. 

Elvis is so wrapped up in his thoughts that he misses her foot positioned a certain way when he moves to pick her up for another lift and stumbles. A short curse leaves his lips as he moves to fall on one knee with Lilly falling onto his other knee. He hisses at the pain, knowing he’ll regret this move later, but he couldn’t have her falling to the ground, couldn’t have her risk being injured because he couldn’t catch her—because he lost his footing like a klutz. Except Lilly is still laughing, she’s still laughing and still putting off every bit of joy in the world in his lap. His eyes run down her body, seeing how she’s breathless, her chest heaving and pushing the buttons of her dress. He shouldn’t look and yet he sees, he sees how her chest is heaving in delight. As if to help himself—to keep himself from staring even longer his eyes dart down to her legs, down to her thighs where, oh Lord, her dress has risen up just a hair. Just enough to reveal more of her thigh, to reveal a hint of a stocking that has his mouth drying up the longer he stares. Her legs haven’t seemed to catch up with her brain and the rest of her body, thinking they’re still on the ground and needing to kick up and down almost like a child. There’s a playful exuberance in the action as she appears to not have a care in the world despite how the action has her dressing riding up that little bit more as she continues to giggle and kick at the air in his lap. The skin and the stockings threaten to overwhelm him as he feels the stirring in between his legs a moment too late as he sees Lilly’s eyes widen.

“Oh.” A singular word yet one that packs such a punch as he realizes what it means. What it means for her to utter it to him like that when she’s in his lap as his cock rises to attention like he’s back fresh from the army, wanting to dance with a new girl every night and yet here is one singular woman reacting in such a calm and startled way that he has to stop himself from tossing her off of him in a huff. Still, he lightly pushes at her in an effort to keep her from feeling just how aroused he is only to have her hand reach out and touch his face. Against his will, he nuzzles into her palm before remembering that he needs to make sure she’s not… she needs to be away from his lap. The—his cock—Lil Elvis was not needed here, she was married and he was not that young soldier returning from war any more, no he was merely this fat old man who let himself go and found himself lusting after a fellow church goer’s wife. His young wife. 

He misses her words before she repeats them, allowing them to cut through the haze he feels from having her looking up at him happy in his lap. “Your knee! I’m so sorry, Mr. Presley.” Her words are said in a rush as she scrambles to get up, her hand accidentally brushing across his cock before she finally stands up and holds out her hand. “Let me help you up, are you alright—?”

“‘M fine.” Elvis grunts out, as he pulls himself up using Lilly’s hand and his own strength. He hears his knee crack, wincing as it does. “Jus’... Lil–Lil darlin, I gotta, I need to go.”

Needs to get out of her house, needs to not be in front of a woman who has his cock standing at such intense attention that he knows if she looks down she’ll be shocked and horrified at him. He’s committing such an egregious sin even thinking of her this way, even viewing her in the light of a romantic partner, a sexual partner. Viewing her as his—no, he needs to find his way to his truck and to his house to be free of this temptation that he worries he’s about to succumb to. His eyes notice how her face falls but she doesn’t try to stop him, instead frowning and stepping away, smoothing out the bottom of her dress. As if he’s running away—fleeing her presence like all the other men in her life. He moves quicker than he has any right to, right on past her, forgetting about niceties and being a gentleman and wanting to make her happy, shutting the door behind him.

It only takes Lilly a few minutes to realize that she forgot to ask him something about Sunday school and his plans for this week. The question isn’t perhaps important but to her it is. And Mr. Presley has never once made her feel unimportant, so it is without hesitation that she trots outside to where she sees him still in his truck in her driveway muttering angrily to himself while looking down. Her mama had always told her it was rude to eavesdrop and yet here she was doing exactly that as she walked up to the truck, not immediately announcing her presence. She hears curses and mentions of his cock and “she’s a nice young woman, why are ya standin’ at attention like she ain’t married, boy. Like ya ain’t attached to an old man she’s jus’ spendin’ time with to be nice.” 

Lilly wants to correct him, wants to tell him that she values his company because it’s better than anything she’s received in so long and yet she doesn’t, instead choosing to come up to his side of the truck and lean against the window before moving just enough that she’s leaning her head inside the truck as well. What she sees—she could not have prepared herself for what she sees.

Feeling his interest in her is one thing that can be explained through the two of them dancing in a way that had her moving against him. It’s a natural response. Feeling it when she collapsed onto his knee, breathless and laughing with enough joy that she wishes she could chase till the ends of the Earth is one thing. Coming out to his truck because she forgot to ask him about his plans for Sunday school this week and seeing that same interest still there was another thing entirely. Lilly tries to keep her eyes focused on his face, tries to not allow her natural position of leaning into the car to make it easier for her to look down between his legs but her eyes drift there against her will. Her eyes drift and the olive of the suit doesn’t allow him to hide what’s going on. Instead it broadcasts exactly what he feels between his legs. 

There is a spot slowly growing in size on his jumpsuit. There is a spot where she felt his arousal. There is a wet spot on his jumpsuit for her. No, because of her. Mr. Presley is aroused by her, he’s aroused so much that it’s seeping through his clothing. Even when she was younger and fooling around with Nathan she hadn’t seen someone react to her as strongly as Mr. Presely is right now. The concept of breathing is foreign as she keeps looking down at it and she swears she sees the fabric twitch under her gaze. Somehow that twitch and the accompanying noise—the whimper, maybe—from him is almost like a harsh smack to her back to force the air to leave and enter her lungs. 

“Lil—Mrs. Harris.” Elvis’s words are choked out and he thanks God that his stutter didn’t reappear in that moment, the shame of everything making his skin feel flush and warm even as his cock twitches under her gaze, aching and wanting to play with its new friend, its friend it yearns for same as his heart and mind. Damn the societal norms and what’s proper for a good Christian man, he wants, he wants, he needs her to stop looking at it. “I’m—my face is up here.” His hand tightens against his thigh after he says that, almost as if he wants to wince. “What do ya need?”

Her eyes finally wrench themselves from the spot even as his cock twitches yet again, a wave of goodbye to her eyes—to her. What had she needed to tell him? What–What did she need from him other than—? No, it was church. God. It was about Sunday School. A shaky exhale leaves her mouth before she speaks. “I-I just wanted to make sure you–you might want my help again this week with the children? I know that since everyone—all the children seem to have gotten over the tummy trouble that we’ll—you’ll have your hands full and I—” 

The more she speaks the more her mind cycles back to what she’s seen, the more her breaths come by shorter and quicker, her chest heaving right near Elvis’s eye level and that… her dress has just enough of a sliver of skin showing he can see them heave with only her brassiere on, it’s threatening to drive him mad, threatening to cause him to reach out the hand he’s fisting into his jumpsuit to touch the skin. To touch her skin and feel if it’s as soft as it is on her arms and her thigh and— 

“Yes!” His answer is barked out, sounding more like an order than him merely answering a simple question in the affirmative. Forcing it out is the only thing he can do to calm his mind, to calm his cock, to get Lilly, Mrs. Harris to lean back out of his truck and to remove the temptation of her, her, her from his view. “You—please, I’d love your help, told ya before—the babies love ya.” He coughs, clearing his throat, as he remembers how she looks with a child in her lap, singing lullabies and cooing. It does nothing to help him calm his body, to help him calm his mind. “Is—Was that all ya needed?”

Lilly jumps a little at his bark, her breasts bouncing as she bonks her head against the top of the truck with a soft ouch leaving her mouth. Her hand moves to rub at her head as she pulls back a little, trying to keep her eyes looking firmly at his face versus where it had been. She hears him curse and feels his warm hand touching her head where she had hit it, gingerly investigating if she hurt herself in a major way. A hum and a feather soft touch that she wishes were his lips are what tells her she’s fine, there’s no damage done to her head. She should pull away, should finally stop leaning into his truck, should stop acting as if she’s a wife trying to have the last bit of attention from her husband before he leaves for work but she can’t help it. She can’t help how she wants to stay where she is, just because of how heady it feels to see his attraction—his desire for her. When was the last time she had seen Nathan like this? Lilly couldn’t remember. Couldn’t… the realization sucks the air out of the truck and Lilly feels every bit of heat and humidity in the cabin and around her skin. Her mouth opens and closes before she smiles softly at Mr. Presley. “Yes, that—yes. I just—I had forgotten to ask before so that was all I needed, Mr. Presley.” Her eyes glance back down at his lap to see how his hand is still clenching the fabric of his jumpsuit and how his cock once again twitches at her attention. She feels her skin flush and she shivers slightly when she finally starts to move back. 

Elvis looks at her as she leans back, watches her start to stand up straight by his truck and tries to not focus on her chest, tries to not focus how her breath seems shaky as she does this. His mind cannot think about what this means, cannot think about why she’s reacting in this way. She is not—he is not. They are not one. They are Elvis and Lilly. He’s so busy trying to make sure she’s out of his truck that he doesn’t realize she’s leaning back in until he feels the brush of her lips against his cheek. His head turns as if he wants to catch those lips only to realize she’s already left, only to realize she’s back to standing straight, acting as if she didn’t just kiss his cheek and looking so happy he can’t help but be reminded of an actual lily in full bloom. 

“I should–I should get goin’. Mr. Harris should be here soon. Wouldn’t want to cause you any trouble.” He looks down at his lap as he turns on the truck and sighs. He needs–he needs to get home, to wash away how dirty he feels in this moment. 

“You–you wouldn’t. But, yes, Nathan should be home soon. Thank you for, um, thank you dancing with me, Mr. Presley. I-It was—I haven’t had a good time like that in a bit.” Her upper teeth worry at her lower lip. “Perhaps… Maybe we can do that again some time. The next time I have to call you out.”

“May—you just have to ask, Lil darlin’.” His answer is airy, shocking him in how it sounds almost as if he’s in a tunnel or floating on air at the idea. The truck is finally ready to allow him to back out and he finally lets go of his jumpsuit to wave at her with a tight smile. “Good night, Mrs. Harris.” 

Elvis tries to not focus on how she looks in her driveway waving at him as if all her neighbors aren’t peering through the curtains wondering what’s happening next door. He tries to not focus on how she looks so natural waving to him with her arm cupping her waist almost as if she aches for… no, she–she wouldn’t. The heat and the events of the afternoon were causing him to think these dumb thoughts, these dumb desires. A shower would solve his problems once he got home. 

His mind wanders in the shower, a consequence of it being one that's meant to relax rather than to just cleanse him of the day's adventures. His mind wanders and rather than settling on the horrors of his memories that he can never get rid of, it settles on her. It settles on the comforting smell of her perfume and how she smells of a soap he swears his mama used to use. It settles on the light he sees in her eyes sometimes that burns brighter than any light bulb or sun or explosion he's ever seen. It settles on the comforting weight of her body against his when he danced with her, lifting her in the air like he was a decade younger and half a person smaller, he thinks. It settles on the weight of her body on his knee, an action that hurt and had him nearly stumbling and falling on top of her, but had him catching himself before he did. It settles on her face, so full of joy and life that it thawed something inside of him. It settles her face with a smile so big he smiles at the memory. It settles on the laugh and the feeling of her kicking her legs while on his knee. It remembers the glimpse of her thigh and—he looks down to see his cock at attention once again, precum already dripping out like he's turned on a faucet and he groans, his fist slamming against the wall as he tries to stop his other hand from wrapping around his cock. He fails miserably and shudders, his eyes shutting and mumbling her name, his mind picturing her sweet hand around it before she puts it in her mouth. His cheek burns when he comes.

Elvis tries to avoid thinking of what happened for the next week. He tries to avoid thinking of how his body can’t forget how it felt to have her notice his arousal, to have her touch his arousal however accidental the action was. He tries to avoid thinking of everything and yet he can’t. It mocks him to the point of near insanity. The guilt of wanting—the guilt of needing—the guilt of wishing has him visiting his mother’s grave one early morning after another restless night of sleep. His joints groan and ache as he sits down next to it.

“I met someone, Mama. I wish she wasn't married. You'd–you'd've loved her. Dances so well, perfect lil housewife. She'd–she'd take care of me like ya did. Take care of ya lil boobie right." Elvis huffs out a laugh. "God hasn't given… Hasn't blessed her wit' a baby and—she'd—it's a cryin' shame. I'd take care of her child any Sunday. Any day."

His mind drifts as he tells her more about Lilly, drifts to a world where it’s their children he takes care of and his stomach flips from the mere idea. Thou shall not covet thy neighbor's wife and thou shall not commit adultery and yet he feels like he’s edging closer and closer to doing it. Feels as if something is going to break inside of him or between them soon. The prayers he sends to God every night are starting to include pleas to give him strength to resist his urges, to allow himself to remain on the correct path and to not allow himself to fall prey to his base desires. To fall prey to sin of the highest order, to wreck a marriage no matter how much pain and destruction it contains, no matter how the pain threatens to burst at the seams. 

“Don’t know why… Don’t understand why God is testing me like this. Lilly—Mrs. Harris—Miss Lilly deserves to be happy. Deserves to make a life with her husband and here the Lord wants to test me by putting–by putting her in front of me like this. By… I don’t know if I’m strong enough to resist. I—I wish she had met me before the war. ‘Fore all this.” 

Elvis feels a gust of wind in an otherwise calm breeze that settles him down as he tries to work himself up. It settles him down and reminds him of his mother’s listening to him and protecting him even in death. Knowing her, she might be trying to have a talk with the Lord Himself right in this very moment. 

“Thank you, Mama,” he whispers as he moves to stand up, running his hand across the top of the headstone. “I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

Something is different about today, another day Nathan where once again told her to send for the man who tempts her, unable or unwilling to mend his own house. It no longer feels like Nathan’s house, and that should be worrisome to her. Instead, something is different in the air between them and Lilly wonders if Elvis can feel it, if he can't feel how her heart is beating out of her chest when their fingers brush against each other as they swap ingredients. If he can't feel how her breath catches every time she looks up at him and sees him staring at her, watching her stir something or sprinkle a bit of salt onto the food. She wonders if he can hear her thoughts, hear what nasty things her brain thinks watching him be so domestic with her. She wonders what it would be like to be his wife instead of Nathan's. 

Her hands are dirty, covered in raw juice from the chicken and she knows she needs to wash them before cutting up the collards and the snap peas and—Lord she knows she's making far too much food but perhaps Elvis can take some home and remember today. Remember the care the two of them put into the meal. Her mother had always taught her to put the same amount of love in food as you would put into the person you make it for. Perhaps it should worry her that her heart feels fit to burst with her love for this food. It doesn't take too long for her to wash up and grab the towel and yet it's enough time for Elvis to reach a dish above her in the cabinet by her head. It's enough time to have him press up against her, his stomach a warm and solid yet soft presence behind her. It's enough time for her body to freeze in place, before she feels herself sway back a little and feels her breath leave her mouth all at once. It's enough time that Elvis notices these things, sees his reflection against the glass of the window above the sink and sees Lily's against his. He sees—he sees her eyes shut and her head bow as he feels her body shudder. 

A dam—the dam holding back any shred of self control Elvis had breaks in that moment. It breaks the second he feels her body shudder against him, the second he sees her melt into his embrace like she belongs there. A groan leaves his lips unbidden and Lilly, sweet Lilly, whimpers at the sound, her eyes opening and seeing the erotic vision of the two of them still clothed against each other. Her body rocks back even as his arm snakes around her trying to hold her in place, trying to keep her from moving against him and yet it barely works, her body seeks him out, wishes for more than what he’s giving her and he–he can’t oblige. She doesn’t know what she wants. His lips brush against the shell of her ear, his breath a hot dagger against her skin. “You want this?”

A simple question. The most simple question with the most simple answer. A yes or a no determines Elvis’s actions in this moment. A no will have him backing away and apologizing profusely, a yes will have him granting her what she needs, what she wants. It will have him giving into the temptation he should resist but cannot any more. The temptation that the Lord must be putting him through for a reason, some higher plan he doesn’t understand quite yet. 

“Elvis, please,” Lilly’s voice is a whisper but Elvis hears his name finally fall from her lips and hears how desperate her please is and before he realizes it his hand moves to unzip his jumpsuit to reach down at the bottom, to try free his cock as Lilly starts to whine, wishing for more. Wishing for his touch.

As her chest heaves with quick breaths that Elvis tries to steady, a hand snakes up her body until it reaches her chest, covering so much of it that it ignites something primal within him. He’s always known he’s a large man and yet the way he sees her breasts rise and fall with his hand covering one is to know another thing entirely. He almost moves it away before Lilly stops him, her own hand covering his. There’s a tug of his hand forcing it into the gap between her dress and the skin of her neck and collarbone and Elvis can’t help but oblige her desire even as the heat from her body threatens to set the whole of his hand on fire. 

“I gotcha, Lil darlin'. Elvis's gotcha." His words are practically inaudible, they're said so low and deep from within his chest, but Lilly seems to get the message as her breaths start to slow, beginning to match pace with Elvis’s. He’s got her and she can relax. He’s got her and he’s going to take care of the ache inside of her. The ache she’s felt every day she’s seen him since he fixed her oven. Lilly’s brain swears it hears something about him needing to pull down his jumpsuit fully, something about the damn buttons and zippers and she feels her mouth moving to offer to help before she feels the heat of what has to be his bare chest against her dress. 

In another time and in another place he would have her help him, have her lift up her dress and help him with her undergarments but the way she sways and moves against him has him realizing he can’t trust her to do such a thing, he can’t trust her to be able to help him the way he needs her to. It’s not a problem and a selfish part of him thanks the Lord for it, thanks the Lord that she won’t turn around and that she won’t have her hand brush up against his unclothed cock. His foreskin won’t scare her off. He won’t scare her off with the intensity of his arousal and of how his cock is already dripping his precum onto her kitchen floor. It takes some maneuvering and he leans against her, pushing her against the sink, his body practically covering her as he lifts up her skirt and manages to pull her underwear down. Her vagina—her pussy—her flower is glistening just from the touches he’s given her. Nathan truly had been forsaking the wife he promised to love and cherish in the house of God if this is all it took to see this level of pleasure from Lilly. His fingers move to touch, to just feel the slick of her arousal. The cry she lets out nearly has him jumping away and yet he knows he can’t, knows after hearing that noise from her mouth he needs to hear it again. He wants to wrench it from her over and over until she’s hoarse. 

Elvis takes his time sinking into the wet heat between her legs, he’s seen the pictures of Nathan and seen the man in person once before. There is no conceivable way she is used to someone of his size inside of her and he'd be damned before he ever injured her in any way. Let alone when he’s—no, he won’t think of that, won’t think of anything other than treating her as she deserves to be treated by a man. By her own husband but he’ll do—he can do what her husband won’t. His eyes can’t help but watch even as his mind tells him not to. His eyes can’t help but watch how her hole stretches around him, trying to take him in bit by bit. The memory sears itself into his brain and he knows in that moment he won’t likely be able to forget this, won’t be able to walk away from this unscathed. 

Her body feels full, between her legs feels full, she feels so full even as she knows there has to be more. He’s as long as her husband but Nathan’s never filled her like this. It’s almost as if she can’t breathe, the shock to her system too great. She wants to tell Elvis this, wants to tell him this is too much, she doesn’t know if she can handle this and all that comes out of her mouth is noises she’s never heard. Whimpers and whines as he pushes in slowly but surely, his grip on her never faltering, the reassurances never stopping. He’s got her. He’ll have her through all of this. He’s got her even as he bottoms out inside her, a growl of pleasure coming from deep within his chest. The hair on his stomach is against her backside, rubbing against her bare skin in a way that shouldn’t serve to heighten her pleasure and yet it’s all her mind can focus on- it’s the only thing that is bringing her back to the earth, back to the present moment. His thrusts are gentle… almost slow and inviting in the way he pulls out, the stretch of his cock erring just enough on the side of comfortable despite how she feels almost as if it’s catching on something inside of her but that can’t be true, Nathan’s never had that problem, why would Elvis be having it despite how he possesses more girth. 

Elvis wishes this was different, wishes he could have her against the sink with her facing him but that’s—this isn’t about what he wants and desires. This is about Lilly, isn’t it? This is about making sure she knows how someone in this world wants to treat her with the love and care he’s trying to treat her with. This is about making sure the pleasure she feels is almost too much, that it threatens to overwhelm her. This is about her and making sure she is happy and taken care of by him. His head had moved down, kissing at her neck, one hand trying to fondle her breasts while the other hand was resting firmly against her lower stomach, practically cradling where her uterus is—not that he realizes. He knows his body isn’t equipped to last too much longer, his age and everything slowing him down just that little bit and yet the slap of his stomach, the slap of his skin against Lilly’s has his thrusts getting stronger as she tries to thrust back, needy in ways that—from the sound of her sighs—she’s not used to. 

“More.” A sob she tries to choke back. “Please.”

The only thing he has to give her is his come, that’s all he has left from his thrusting, he can’t go any deeper, can’t stretch that little pink hole any more than it already is. He can’t give her anything else that isn’t already there as he hears the squelch between the two of them. Hears how his cock is welcomed by her body, how she’s wet and it’s only been made worse by his precum and he–he has to look up. He has to see the picture they make in the window if only for his own sanity, if only to perhaps settle his roaring mind. 

A second too late he realizes he shouldn’t have looked. A second too late he realizes that seeing the line of her throat as she leaned her head back against his shoulder in pleasure is too much. A second too late he feels his hips stutter as he feels himself coming, feels his come fill the spaces his cock isn’t filling inside of her, adding even more liquid between them and making the noises louder. Her mouth is open as she pants and as he’s looking in the window, watching as the rays from the sunset illuminate the pair of them in an almost heavenly glow, Lilly looks up and catches his eyes. 

Her eyes tighten just a bit as she realizes what’s happened, as she realizes he’s had his release. His hips aren’t moving as he pants behind her, trying to recuperate and trying to catch his breath. Her eyes tighten and her shoulders start to follow suit. This—this is something she knew, this is an outcome she knows. This is where Elvis pulls out of her and leaves her aching and wanting. This is where Elvis and Nathan are the exact same two men when it comes to her desires and needs. She can’t look, can’t watch as he pulls out of her and leaves her to be slumped over the kitchen sink. Minutes pass and yet he’s still inside of her, he’s still inside of her and she can feel half thrusts against her backside, his release and her arousal and whatever else squishing and squelching as he moves. Some trickles down her leg as she shivers in anticipation at what’s happening. There isn’t a reference point, she has nothing to compare this to and yet it feels so right. This feels how it’s supposed to be. 

Elvis can feel she hasn’t come, he knows—he may not know her body inside and out but he knows how women tick, he knows if he were to pull out of her he’d be no better than—he wouldn’t have done what he set out to do against this sink. It’s as if his body and his cock know this, too, and through a grace or an act of God he can feel himself firming back up the more he thrusts into her, the obscene noises between her legs spurring him on. Her gasp sounds like a plea and a hymn all in one. She hadn’t been prepared for this, he can tell in how her movements are scrambled as she starts to rock with him. Could it be that she was chasing after her release? Could it be that she just needed that extra push? He’s already in so deep and his thrusts are going deeper and deeper but the angle, the angle is all wrong. 

“Elv—” Lilly starts before he shushes her softly, his hand moving to between her legs as she keens softly. He doesn’t go where she feels he needs to, where she can feel her body throbbing and she needs him to understand that he’s missing it—he’s missing where she needs him to be but that’s when she hears it. 

He’s cooing, crooning, he’s talking so gently to her, praising her as she tries to stand on her toes, trying to change the angle. If only she was higher up. If only she could allow him even deeper, deep enough for him to be where she feels she needs him to be. A whine leaves her lips as his hand still doesn’t move to help and settles on her thigh, grabbing it and squeezing it as he lifts it up onto the counter gently as he can.

“Let Elvis take care of ya darlin'. You're feelin' something, ain't ya? Somethin' right there, right? You just need help with it, don't ya?” His words have the fire growing inside of her, have her whimpering and nodding because yes, yes, she feels something, she feels that there’s something there. What that is she doesn’t know, only knows that he’s giving it to her, he’s coaxing it from her as she feels him so deep inside she wonders how he fits.

Her hand moves down to between her legs, wanting to touch him, it, herself only to have his hand that had still been fondling her breasts, playing with her nipples to swat it away with a small tsk, “no, no, Lilly, let Elvis—let me take care of you the way you need. Do—can I touch you there? Help you rub yourself there?”

A groan, high pitched and almost anguished leaves her mouth as his fingers finally move between her legs, finally reach the part between her legs that throbs in time with her heart. The sob that escapes her mouth comes from deep within her, a release before he’s even properly touched her. He’s got her. Elvis has got her. He’ll take care of her. 

Elvis is taking care of her as his fingers, calluses and all, brush against her clit, slowly but with such intent that Lilly finds herself arching against Elvis, the strength of his body behind her making arching forward impossible. Her pussy clenches around Elvis’s cock, fluttering while still trying to milk him for all he’s worth. It’s hard to tell who’s making which noise as he thrusts into her, chasing his second release inside of her, never thinking of the lack of protection between them. His groans and her moans and their breaths are a symphony of sounds echoing through the kitchen, his glasses askew on his nose as he watches Lilly lean forward whining, almost as if she’s passing out. His own body follows hers, leaning against her, the sweat between them fusing them together as much as their come is. 

Their breath is the only sound in the room.

[that-left-turn]

Carol's and Melissa's screen time in S11, was it the first sign of a change in the spin off? I always assumed Carol was written out of certain scenes because Maggie came back but in hindsight of Melissa and Angela's departure, I wondered if some people already showed their muscles.

For the viewers, yes, Carol's/Melissa's diminished screentime was the first sign that something was going on behind the scenes. If things change drastically in between seasons in ways that don't make sense, like a character gets written out or a new one appears in an inorganic manner, or an actor gets disproportionately more or less screentime than they had before, that almost always means that someone's flexing their muscles. It's also not normal procedure for studio execs to be involved in pre-production when the room's breaking a new season.

Angela had advocated for Lauren to come back to the show, but that doesn't mean that she intended to replace Carol with Maggie. There's a troubling logic in viewers assuming that screentime for the female characters is finite, so if Maggie got scenes, they had to be deducted from Carol's allotment. The story should dictate who services the plot, not the sex/gender of the performer.

As so many people have pointed out, it makes no sense to have Leah's showdown be with Maggie because there are no emotional stakes involved and Angela is a talented writer, with a good grasp of the craft. It's tough to make showrunner as a woman of color, especially in a strongly male dominated genre like horror. You're just not given the same opportunities as the men and to run a big production, you have to be leagues better than your male colleagues not to be passed over for a shot at showrunning. She would not choose to sabotage her own show by botching the payoff she set up and which everyone was waiting for.

There was a lot of gossip swirling about in the fandom before the news of Melissa's exit broke. I believe it was sourced from some production assistant (pretty much the lowest ranking person on a set, whose knowledge of anything is at best secondhand) and it painted Angela as the villain who benched Melissa for some petty reason, while the handsome leading man tried to stand up to her to protect his friend and cast member. In light of everything the fandom now knows about the spinoff, it might be a good moment for those who believed that narrative to examine why that story was told and how easy it was to judge another woman to be manipulative and deceitful based on nothing but hearsay.

[howlingday]

Do you think Salem has hobbies if she does what kind of hobbies would she have? What would her inner circles hobbies be?

Let's see... Going for jokes and whatnot, let's see what kind of hobbies Salem and her inner circle probably has.

Salem is literally making Grimm all the time in her black pool. That said, I could see her also being really into cooking and might even watch cooking shows and cooking along with them. She then has her Grimm dispose of what's left of the meals when the inner circle is done eating.

Up next, we have Cinder, who is constantly plotting and scheming of way to become more powerful. It's kinda hard for me to say what she likes to do since most of what she does is all in the interest of serving the purpose of a later goal. That said, I'm having trouble thinking of anything since most of it would be more what she considers a waste of time... except gardening. She has her own personal garden that she plants seeds for and waters until they grow into beautiful flowers or food-stuffs for Salem to cook with. It may also better solidify her ties with Salem.

Tyrian is Salem's oldest and most faithful servant, serving as her tracker and hunter for the Maidens and the relics. Since murder isn't considering a viable hobby, part of me wants to say hunting, though I can't really see Tyrian as a hunting guy. Not with long range methods, anyways. Now fishing is a different story. I could see him dipping his tail into the water, using it was a hook until he yanks up the hapless fish. He also provides Salem with her cooking supplies. Am I just making up a Salem cooking AU? Who know.

Watts is Salem's tech guy, and he is very good at hacking and other computer-based things. Aside from that, I could also see him into other intellectually-driven pursuits. Not chess because chess is too important to the story of RWBY. No, I'm thinking more like crossword puzzles and sudokus. His morning paper is all he needs to have a good time. And if he screws up, he can just erase it because he's not an idiot who fills out the crossword in pen! YOU HAVE PENCILS! USE THEM! ...Wait, what were we talking about?

Hazel. Oh, Hazel, how sad it was to see you go after coming so far. Judging by his size, you'd think he'd be big into weight-lifting and some kind of martial-arts routine, but I think he instead picks up where his sister probably left off with her hobby. I'm thinking things like books or movies or maybe even like tiny horse figurines. Stuff you wouldn't normally associate with an eight-foot-tall brickhouse with an immunity to pain and an unquenchable desire for hate.

Let's see, who else is in Salem's Inner Circle? Looking at the Wiki, it's... Oh no. Ohoho my god... Evernight Castle? No, that's not what it's called, is it? Oh, it is! Oh my god, and it's located in "The Land of Darkness". Yeah, no, Hazel is definitely an MLP fan and he joined the villains to avenge his dead sister. Just... Oh my god... This cannot be real! Ugh... Anyway, who else is there?

Wait, who the hell is Vermillion Raddock? Oh, RWBY: Grimm Campaign. Yeah, one of these days I'll actually see it or hopefully play it, but good golly, will it be a while. Did they ever sell Grimm Campaign merchandise, or was it just a podcast that we had to be members of RT to watch? Oh well, questions for later.

Let's see... Tock... Unnamed female warrior... Oh, Mercury! I guess Emerald isn't a member, either, huh? Or even a member at all? Anyway...

Mercury is probably the easiest to figure out for me. Judging by how he's into sniffing boots and recording genocide, I'm gonna guess he's a blogger of some kind as a hobby. He's not in it for the money, just for the reactions he can get out of people. But then again, I may have a bias against the guy who recorded people being murdered with a smile on his face. Seriously, fuck this guy!

But I could be wrong on all accounts for these characters. What do you guys think?

[mrsportgas]

Ghost ridders Chapter. 8

#Summary: Eight years ago, you were taken against your Will to Mary Goise to become the new slave of Saint Roswald, or rather, to living a hell on earth. One day, while you go with  him on a visit to a New World´s  island a familiar face appears. This creates the perfect opportunity for you to escape, join the Whitebeard Pirates, and discover more about your past, your abilities, and who you really are. All  while you try to endure your new crewmate, Portgas D. Ace, who is incredibly annoying... or perhaps incredibly irresistible? You haven't decided yet.

This story is based in the world of One Piece, with the same characters and timeline. Of course, this story is fiction created by me. Some of the timelines, names, and characters might be the same, also some names, characters, stories, or even personalities may be altered. The story is happening pre-time skip, while strawhats are in sabaody for the first time.

The first chapter is an introduction to the current story, which begins with Ace as your central romance. (This romance may shift to other characters as the story progresses, but don't worry, there's still plenty of Ace to come.) The story is written in first person. Female gender, Y/N, but feel free to change the gender, name, or anything else that makes you more comfortable.♡

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

"Yes… we are… friends…" I said hesitantly, trying to convince myself more than I was trying to convince Ace.

"That didn’t sound very convincing…"

All I could focus on was the article in the newspaper. The picture of Law brought back memories, memories of a promise and where I should actually be right now.

"Y/N… are you okay?" Ace asked, noticing my fixation on the paper.

"Yeah… I…" I replied, not really knowing what to say. It was all overwhelming—too many emotions, too many feelings all at once.

"It's fine if you don’t want to talk about it, but calm down."

"Ace, I… I shouldn’t be here, I need to leave, right now," I said, suddenly looking up, ready to leave that very instant.

"You're not going anywhere, especially not at this hour. Marco would kill me."

I started to cry, and Ace pulled me into his arms. "What’s wrong, rookie? Everything’s going to be fine. I'll help you with whatever it is."

"No one knows about this… it happened too long ago. Right now, I don’t know what to do, Ace. I have to go, but at the same time, I don’t want to."

"Then don’t go, simple as that. Stay here with me," Ace responded with a big smile, as if the answer was that easy. When he saw the look on my face, he continued, "What happened, Y/N? What did that Law guy do to you?"

-------------------- 14 years earlier --------------------

YOUR POV:

It had been exactly five years since my mother had left me here, in the most insipid and cold land this world could offer. Winter lasted forever, and I still wasn’t used to it—I never had been, and I never would be. Despite living in a house that was practically a castle, my days were unbearably dull, stuck inside without being able to step out for even a minute (all by my mother’s orders). Marco was the only one who ever spoke to me in that house. His father still couldn’t understand how my mother had the audacity to leave me here until she "sorted some things out." The servants were always too busy to "play," talk, or pay attention to a child.

Marco had left home years ago, tired of living under his father's orders, setting off in search of adventure. We were very close when we were younger, but over the years, I had only received news from him through letters and the occasional quick phone call.

Today was my 17th birthday, and judging by the way things were going, my life was continuing without any excitement. The special meal they had prepared for me tasted bland, and the decorations they had set up in the grand hall didn’t stir any emotion in me. My only wish was to escape. Even though I was no longer a little girl, I still felt like a prisoner in that huge, freezing house, filled with ghosts of the past and broken promises.

The crackling fire in the hearth was the only sound breaking the silence as I watched the shadows cast by the flames on the walls. As night fell, the cold became even more intense, and a sense of dread washed over me. I couldn’t stay there, not one more day. So, with my heart racing, I decided it was time to do something drastic. I snuck upstairs to my room, where I had stashed a thick coat and boots.

"It’ll just be a walk," I told myself, trying to calm my nerves. I didn’t have a plan, but the mere act of leaving gave me a strange sense of freedom.

I waited until everyone in the house was asleep, and when the last servant turned off the lights, I opened the window in my room, which led to a small garden, and slipped out. The cold air hit my face, but I didn’t care. My feet moved quickly across the snow, taking me further away from the house, from the castle that had been my prison for so long.

I wandered aimlessly through the empty streets of the town. The night was dark, and the streetlamps cast flickering light on the snow-covered pavement. No one was around. Everything was quiet, until I heard a noise.

There were voices, several of them. At first, I didn’t pay much attention, but then the sound of something hitting the snow caught my ear. I cautiously approached, hiding behind a corner, and that’s when I saw it.

A group of boys, not much older than me, were surrounding an animal lying on the ground. They were pushing it, kicking it, and mocking it. One of the boys seemed to be leading the attack—a young man with light hair and cold eyes who kept laughing as he struck the poor animal.

My hands started trembling. Fear and adrenaline surged through me, but so did something deeper: anger. I couldn’t just stand there and watch. I didn’t know what it was, but I knew what it felt like to be trapped, helpless. I felt an inexplicable connection with it.

I took a deep breath, scooped up a handful of snow, and packed it tightly in my hands. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but it was all I had. I stepped out from my hiding spot without thinking too much, and before they could realize what was happening, I hurled the snowball directly at the leader’s face. It hit the mark.

The boys turned around, surprised. The leader brought a hand to his face, furious. The animal lying on the ground looked up at me, incredulous. As for me, I wasn’t sure what to do next. The group started walking toward me, but I didn’t move. My legs were shaking, but I tried to hold my head high.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the leader said, approaching with a malicious grin.

“Leave him alone,” I responded, trying to make my voice sound firm.

The boy laughed, and the others followed suit. He seemed confident, used to intimidating others.

They kept getting closer and closer until they were just a few feet away from me. Almost instinctively, my fist turned black, and I landed a solid punch on the boy’s cheek. Everyone froze, stunned. The boy, catching his breath, quickly retreated.

“This isn’t over. Come on, guys,” he spat as he delivered one last kick to the animal curled up on the ground. “If I see you around here again, you’ll regret it,” he added, disappearing into the shadows.

I ran quickly to the animal, scooping it into my arms. It was a bear—a polar bear. Given the island’s climate, I wasn’t too surprised, until it started making small sounds of pain at my touch.

“Please, don’t hurt me,” it said.

“Are you… are you a Mink?” I asked, curious.

“Yes,” it replied weakly.

“Are you alone?”

“Yes,” it said again, looking down, blushing slightly.

“Come with me to my house,” I responded instinctively.

“I’m scared.” The polar bear kept trembling. After a moment, it paused, as if considering something. “I’m sorry, I’ve caused you trouble. Now those kids will come after you.”

“I don’t care,” I said with a big smile. “You’ll never be alone again.”

With that, I picked up the polar bear in my arms and quickly made my way back to the house.

“I’m not supposed to have friends… so don’t make any noise,” I told the large polar bear, not realizing how impossible it would be to hide him for long.

Though injured and exhausted, the polar bear nodded, its large eyes filled with both gratitude and fear. I could feel its weight, but the impulse to protect it gave me strength. We made our way back to the house cautiously, my thoughts racing as I planned how to keep him hidden.

When we reached the garden, I carefully opened the window, hoping not to make any noise. I helped the polar bear inside, though his back legs got momentarily stuck in the small frame. Once inside, I assisted him in standing, though his body trembled from the pain.

"What’s your name?" I asked, motioning for him to sit in a dark corner of the room.

"My name is Bepo," he replied softly, his eyes now shining with a mix of sadness and relief. His voice was gentle, but weighed down with something I couldn’t quite identify, as if each word carried a heavy burden.

I turned, trying to find something to help him heal. I knew there were old blankets and bandages in my closet that I used to treat my own injuries from climbing trees or playing in the garden during my childhood. I knelt beside him and began bandaging the worst of his wounds.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper.

"You don’t have to thank me. I just… couldn’t let them hurt you." Even though my tone sounded confident, the truth was, I was scared—scared they’d catch us, and that the boy would come back seeking revenge. "When I grow up, I want to be a doctor, like my brother, so this is good practice for me."

Once I finished bandaging him, I sat down on the floor in front of him. The silence of the house enveloped us, broken only by the soft crackling of the fire in the downstairs fireplace and the whisper of the wind against the windows.

"Bepo, what were you doing here? How did you end up in this place?"

He lowered his gaze, nervously fiddling with his paws.

"I ran away," he finally said. "I lived on a faraway island. I left to look for my brother. I came here searching for him, but I haven’t had any luck."

I could see the pain in his eyes.

"Well," I said with a smile, trying to be reassuring, "you’re not alone anymore. And neither am I now, right?"

He nodded, though he still seemed a bit wary. I knew the safety I offered was fragile. I couldn’t keep him hidden for long. My family, the servants… someone would find out sooner or later. But for now, the important thing was that he was safe.

Suddenly, we heard a sound—footsteps. My heart started racing. It was late, much later than I thought. Had someone woken up?

"Quick," I whispered, pointing to the wardrobe on the other side of the room. "Hide in there."

Bepo moved clumsily, but managed to hide just in time before my bedroom door opened. It was one of the servants, an older man with a stern expression. He looked at me suspiciously.

"Are you alright, miss? I heard strange noises."

"Yes, I’m fine. I just… couldn’t sleep. Nothing to worry about."

The servant watched me for a moment, as if deciding whether to say more. Finally, he nodded slowly.

"Very well. Try to rest, young lady. Tomorrow is an important day."

After he closed the door, I stood frozen for a few seconds, listening to his footsteps fade away. When I was sure he was gone, I approached the wardrobe and opened the door. Bepo looked at me with nervous eyes, his large body crammed between the blankets.

"An important day?" he repeated curiously.

I sighed, sitting on the bed. "It’s my birthday. But honestly, it doesn’t mean much to me."

The polar bear watched me in silence, and for the first time since I found him, he smiled a little. "Maybe this birthday will be different."

I looked at him, and although I didn’t want to admit it, something in his words gave me hope.

The night dragged on slowly, and although I had managed to hide Bepo from the servants, I knew I couldn’t keep him hidden forever. He couldn’t stay in my room for long. He needed a safe place, but more importantly, I needed answers. How had he ended up here, so far from his home? I remembered something: the village library. Perhaps, among the old books, I could find information about the Minks, about how to help him return, or at least how to keep him safe.

"Bepo," I whispered, leaning toward him. "We’re going to the library. We have to leave now, before dawn."

The polar bear nodded with a determined look in his eyes. He was clearly still in pain, but he stood up with effort and followed me. We opened the window again, and more carefully than the first time, slipped into the garden and headed toward the village. The streets were deserted, and the streetlights flickered eerily, but the cold air and the silence wrapped around us like a cloak, hiding our steps.

We arrived at the library, an old, dusty building that barely stood upright. The wooden door creaked as I opened it, but it didn’t seem like anyone was watching. We entered quietly and headed to the history section, where I knew the books we needed might be. While Bepo searched through the shelves, I flipped through the old, worn volumes.

Suddenly, a loud noise interrupted the silence. I turned my head quickly, and my heart skipped a beat when I saw someone at the door.

It was the bully. The same boy with light hair and cold eyes, accompanied by some of his friends. They seemed to have followed us, and now, with a malicious smile, the leader walked toward us, with slow but deliberate steps.

"Well, well. Where do you think you’re going with your little friend?" the boy said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

My body tensed, and I stood in front of Bepo, trying to protect him. My heart was pounding, but this time, I didn’t feel afraid. I felt the same anger as before, but also a clear sense of injustice.

"Leave us alone," I said, trying to sound firm even though I was terrified inside.

The boy laughed, and his friends copied him. "Do you really think I’m going to let you go after what you did? You humiliated me in front of my friends, and now you think you can just walk away."

He took a step toward me, and his expression was one of someone who enjoyed having control. My hands trembled, and I felt the helplessness creeping back, the fear that there was nothing I could do to stop him. But just as the boy raised his fist, ready to hit me, something unexpected happened.

A whisper, barely a movement in the air, and suddenly, the boy froze. His arm hung in the air, unable to move forward. In the dim light of the library, a tall, slender figure appeared, dressed in black, with a cold and calculated look. His dark hair fell over his sharp eyes, and a fine, sharp sword was stabbed into the ground in front of him.

"That would be a mistake," said the newcomer, his voice deep and calm.

The boy turned quickly, his eyes filled with surprise and fear. "Who the hell are you?" he asked, trying to sound defiant, but his voice shook.

"My name is Trafalgar Law," said the young man with dark hair, not moving a muscle. "And I suggest you back off. You have no idea who you’re messing with."

The bully’s friends took a step back, uncertain, but the leader, maybe out of pride or not wanting to lose control in front of his followers, tried to maintain his composure.

"And what are you going to do? Cut—?"

Before he could finish the sentence, Law made a quick motion with his hand, and the boy collapsed to his knees, unable to move. It happened so fast, I barely saw it. It was like he had lost control of his body, and for the first time, instead of arrogance, I saw fear in his eyes.

"I warned you," said Law, his gaze fixed on the boy. "Leave now, or I won’t be so kind next time."

The boy didn’t need more warnings. He muttered something unintelligible, and along with his friends, scrambled to his feet and hurried out of the library, leaving us in silence once again.

Bepo, who had been still during the whole encounter, relaxed slightly. I let out a sigh of relief, though my heart was still racing. I turned to the stranger who had appeared out of nowhere to save us.

"Thank you," I said, not really knowing what else to say. "I don’t know who you are, but thank you."

He looked at me, and for a second, I thought he wasn’t going to respond. But then he nodded slightly.

"It’s nothing. I’ve seen those idiots causing trouble before, and I couldn’t let them get away with it." His eyes shifted toward Bepo, and a faint smile appeared on his face. "A Mink, huh? I didn’t expect to see one around here."

Bepo looked at him cautiously but nodded slowly. I stepped in front of him, still trying to protect him. Law had saved us, but I wasn��t sure if we could trust him.

"I’m… I’m looking for a place to be safe," Bepo murmured, lowering his head.

The boy crouched down to Bepo’s level, and ignoring my arm, gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. From now on, you’ll be safe. I’ll take care of it. My name is Law"

I didn’t know who Law was or why he had decided to help us, but something about his presence made me feel safe. It was as if he knew much more than he was letting on, and even though I barely knew him, I trusted him.

“Come with me,” Law finally said, standing up. “I know a place where you can stay out of trouble… and away from bullies.”

I nodded, and together with Bepo, we followed Law into the cold night.

Law suddenly stopped and raised his arm to halt me, his voice firm. “Not you. You go.”

“What? I’m not letting Bepo leave with you just like that. I don’t even know you.” I replied.

“Bepo will be safer with me. Now go and forget about us.”

Dawn was starting to light up the village, and I knew I had to get back home before anyone noticed I wasn’t in bed. I responded with a huff.

“Y/N…” said Bepo, worried.

“I’ll never abandon you. Stay with him. Tomorrow night, I’ll come for you.”

Bepo seemed calmer, and Law looked skeptical, rolling his eyes, clearly annoyed that I wasn’t following his orders.

The next night came faster than I had anticipated. My day had passed in a sort of fog, trying to hide my exhaustion and the nervous excitement of knowing I would see Bepo again that night. No one at home seemed to have suspected anything, or at least, no one had said anything. The birthday feast had been held as if everything was fine, but I couldn’t focus on the gifts or the formal speeches. All I could think about was the little polar bear I had left the previous night.

When night finally fell and the castle was silent, I repeated the ritual: coat, boots, and the garden window. But this time, my steps were filled with determination. I knew what I was doing, and nothing would stop me.

I arrived at the same place where Law had told me I would find Bepo. It was a small cabin tucked away on the outskirts of the village, hidden among trees and snow. I approached cautiously, but before I could knock, the door opened, and a large, furry figure threw itself at me.

“Y/N!” exclaimed Bepo, a mix of joy and relief in his big eyes shining in the dim light.

I smiled and hugged him, though I could barely wrap my arms around his huge body. “Are you okay?” I asked, quickly checking him over. He seemed less hurt than the night before, which reassured me.

“Yes, Law has helped me a lot,” Bepo replied, bowing his head shyly. “And… I wanted to give you this.”

Suddenly, Bepo pulled out a small box from his bag, extending it to me with trembling hands. It was a simple package, wrapped in brown paper with a modest ribbon, but his eyes sparkled with excitement.

“Happy birthday,” he said, his voice trembling slightly with nervousness.

My eyes widened, and I felt a lump in my throat. I carefully opened the package, and inside was a small pendant, a medallion with a blue stone in the center. It was simple but beautiful, and I felt warmth in my chest as I looked at the gift.

“Bepo, it’s beautiful,” I murmured, holding it in my hands. “Thank you.”

Bepo blushed under his fur and lowered his gaze. “It’s not just from me… Law bought you something too, but… but he’s too embarrassed to give it to you,” he added in a whisper. “He said he’s not good at this kind of thing.”

I couldn’t help but laugh softly at the thought of Law, with all his coldness and confidence, being too shy to give me a gift.

“Well, when I see him, I’ll thank him… even if he’s a bit shy,” I said with a mischievous smile. Bepo laughed nervously, and I was glad to see that he seemed more relaxed than the night before.

“Oh! Law told me to take you somewhere tonight to celebrate,” Bepo said suddenly. “He said there’s a bar in the village where we could blend in. Would you like to go?”

I was surprised. The idea of going to a bar with a Mink and a mysterious swordsman wasn’t something I had ever imagined as part of my life, but it sounded exciting. “Why not?” I replied with a smile. “Let’s go.”

We walked together through the deserted streets, the night air crisp and clean. Bepo walked beside me, still a bit shy, but his steps were more confident than before. I was relieved to see him like this, more at peace with himself.

We arrived at the bar, a small wooden tavern on the outskirts of the village, hidden among some trees with a half-fallen sign. It didn’t seem very crowded, but when we entered, the atmosphere was warm and welcoming. The lights were dim, and the air was filled with soft laughter and quiet conversations.

However, we had barely settled at a table when the noise of a fight caught our attention. Across the bar, a group of pirates was surrounding two figures, and the atmosphere had quickly become tense. The two figures seemed to be at a disadvantage.

Without thinking, we rushed toward them. A orange-haired boy with a cap was covering himself from a punch, while the other, also wearing a cap that read “Penguin,” was struggling with another man. The group surrounding them didn’t seem willing to let them escape easily.

“Leave them alone!” I shouted, stepping in front of Shachi while Bepo pushed one of the men back with his great strength.

The entire bar froze for a second. The men attacking the boys looked at Bepo, surprised to see a huge polar bear in the middle of the fight, and then at me, as if unsure of what to do.

But I didn’t care. I felt the same anger as the night before, the desire not to let anyone else suffer at the hands of bullies. I threw myself at one of the men attacking the boys, punching him in the stomach with all my strength, remembering everything I had been taught.

Bepo, for his part, used his imposing figure to intimidate the rest, and within minutes, the men began to disperse, retreating one by one. Law appeared out of nowhere like a shadow, with his huge sword.

The air in the bar was filled with tension the moment Law appeared, his imposing figure and icy gaze leaving the pirates breathless. The huge sword in his hand seemed to float around him with lethal confidence. The men surrounding Shachi and Penguin froze completely, their bodies paralyzed by the presence of the swordsman.

“Room,” Law murmured, and immediately, a glowing blue field of energy covered the tavern.

In the blink of an eye, the pirates’ weapons were ripped from their hands, and their bodies were swapped places, disorienting them. Before they could react, Law had already slashed the air with his sword. No one was physically hurt, but the absolute power of his Ope Ope no Mi was clear. The men fell to the ground, gasping and trembling, completely defeated.

“Get out of here before I regret not killing you,” Law said coldly, his eyes gleaming dangerously.

The pirates didn’t need to be told twice. They quickly scrambled to their feet, stumbling over each other as they ran for the exit, leaving only the echo of their footsteps and the awkward silence that remained in the bar.

Shachi and Penguin exchanged relieved, though slightly embarrassed, glances at having been rescued. Bepo approached them and gave them friendly pats on the back. “Good thing you arrived in time! They would’ve crushed us,” Shachi said, catching his breath.

“It was nothing,” I said, smiling as I made sure they weren’t hurt. “Want to join us for a drink? I think after that fight, we could all use one. I’m Y/N, by the way.”

Both of them laughed, scratching their heads sheepishly. “Sure! We never turn down an invitation to drink. And if it’s from a cute girl like you, even less. I’m Penguin, and this is Shachi.”

Shachi nodded quickly, giving me a cheeky grin. “Yeah, thanks, Y/N. It’d be an honor to join you.”

I laughed at their comments, though I felt a pair of eyes on me. I turned to Law, who was leaning against one of the nearby walls, silently observing the scene. Though his expression was impassive, I noticed a slight stiffness in his shoulders and how his eyes narrowed whenever Shachi or Penguin threw me a compliment.

We settled at a table, and the drinks arrived soon after. The atmosphere in the tavern returned to its warm and lively state, but this time, with us at the center. Bepo, Shachi, and Penguin were animated, joking and laughing among themselves, while I joined in the conversation now and then.

However, as the night went on, the boys’ attempts at flirting began to intensify. Shachi would wink at me every time I spoke to him, and Penguin kept finding excuses to get closer. Both kept making comments about how lucky I must feel to be with “two such handsome guys.”

While they laughed, I could feel the shift in the air beside me. Law, who had maintained a cool composure until then, was growing more and more tense. Though he tried to keep his expression neutral, it was clear he didn’t like the way the boys were addressing me. I noticed it in the way his fingers drummed softly on the table, in how his eyes darkened whenever one of them leaned too close.

Finally, when Shachi made a suggestive joke, something in Law snapped. “You should calm down,” he said in a low voice, but it was loaded with authority. His gaze focused directly on the two. “Cut the nonsense.” After a pause, he continued, “Join me. I’m looking for new members to form a pirate crew. Join me.”

The table fell silent for a moment. Shachi and Penguin exchanged slightly uncomfortable glances before quickly nodding. “Y-Yeah, we’ll do it!” they exclaimed with enthusiasm.

I smiled softly and leaned toward Law, whispering low enough for only him to hear. “ You jealous, Law?”

------------TO BE CONTINUED--------------

[abrieenthusiast]

i think its very funny that the heartstopper fandom, on pretty much all platforms, constantly create worst case scenarios based on nothing for just about anything that could happen in season 3.

the following ive heard/remember vaguely hearing (note: some have differing levels of understandability but most are very low)

charlies mental health storyline (aka his main character arc this season?) is gonna be reduced to make room for more characters...i get that this was a fear last season but judging how that just. didnt happen and this storyline is kinda the primary plot of the season also alice oseman adressed this a while back saying "idk how i would do that so ur good"

general thing about how are they gonna "squeeze" vol 4 and 5 into one season....if theres one thing the show can do its pace really well, also season one took place over 5 months and that was season ONE so im gonna go out on a limb and say its gonna be fine (also you guys really dont realize how fast paced the books are dontcha)

imogen will "take over" tara's role as nicks female friend....okay first he can have more than one female friend in fact he has a lot of them?? second this was another fear for season 2 that DID NOT END UP BEING A THING so CALM DEOWN

general things about other minor characters being in season 3 will take away the main plot...AGAIN THIS WAS A SEASON 2 THING WHEN NAOMI AND FELIX AND JAMES WERE ANNOUNCED AND GUESS WHAT IM ABOUT TO SAY???? oh and this was purely because aunt diane was cast...speaking of which-

aunt diane will take the place of nicks mom figure?...this only came up because of the haley atwell casting but tbh i think this is just a funny bit about how minor characters like nicks mom are played by very famous actors??

aunt diane will sub in for sarah in the beach scene....this was because there werent any pictures or reports of olivia when they were filming in mallorca/the big crew wrap photo? yeah neither was haley? or jack? just very odd reasoning?

olivia coleman couldn't be in this season because of scheduling conflict....i kid you not the only reason this is a thing is because she was never seen or reported on sets during shooting, which was also the case for season 2 so i dont know why this is a thing?

[contraspem--spero]

ok im curious what do you think about mizuki akiyama, the character who is heavily implied if not canonically transfeminine/trans female?

not a malicious question

Hi anon! I'm grateful you seem to ask in good faith, so I'll answer even though I don't normally entertain fandom stuff on my blog.

I'll also be using they/them for Mizuki going forward even though I personally don't agree with that but I assume you would be more comfortable this way.

My short answer: I don't really care about them. I like Mizuki's design, some of their cards/focus songs slap, I liked the rooftop friendship storyline, Mizuki&An interactions and their character overall, but I have no personal stake in the The Big Secret storyline. I don't have to morally agree with every media I consume. I can (and do) enjoy things with non-binary or trans characters in them; that fact doesn't make me doubt gender critical or radical feminist ideas.

As of right now, it's only implied* they're transfem; for as long as it's not outright stated in canon I will keep hc-ing Mizuki as a gnc guy who faces isolation and bullying because of it, as did I for dressing in "men's clothing" and not wearing make up. Which might also be canon just as well in the future.

Mizuki never answers the question of why they dress the way they do with anything other than "Because I like it", which actually aligns the gender critical idea of clothes and make-up and nail polish etc having no gender and how both men and women can both dress however they want (whilst simultaneously being aware that some of traditionally female/feminine clothes are purposefully impractical, financially draining, or outright harmful to your body and it's no coincidence; the gc idea of people having the freedom to do whatever doesn't necessarily go against the feminist idea that patriarchy is the reason those roles and practices exist in the first place and are actively harmful to women and girls as a class), and honestly? I like the way that is written.

Maybe the message proseka writers intended to send wasn't "Mizuki is trans because they dress like a girl and being forced into male roles makes them depressed and transphobia is bad", maybe it was "Mizuki is simply a boy who likes pink and dresses and cute things and maybe we should stop bulling people for being different that the rest". Or maybe I'm dead wrong and they will be confirmed as transgender later down the line. Who knows. It makes very little difference to me anyway because they're not one of my favourite characters and that's that.

*whilst they're being referred as they/them in the official English translation, we should be very, very aware that English translation is oftentimes inaccurate and occasionally even harmful/blatantly wrong and is prone to buying into popular fandom headcanons (e.g: calling Nagi An's Aunt officially whereas in canon their relationship get no label and are much more complicated than that; unnecessary Tsukasa Angst in Saki's even where he most likely refers to Saki being lonely and not himself; the whole Spojoy Kanade honorifics blunder, while understandably untranslatable, was handled very poorly). Plus it's the only way to make the entire storyline to work in English as Japanese language has no pronouns and we can't judge based off that. Leaving out the pronoun issue we're left to judge based of... Clothes and song lyrics. *Shrugs*

**I also feel like Mizuki's storyline was done very dirty in general by proseka event format because it feels so. painfully. stretched out over three years. It seriously lacks the pacing, but that's my issue with N25 in general; they're moving a little bit too slow for my taste save for Ena.

[regalia-of-wisdom]

The ecchi food show writes better than Naruto

Currently on twitter there’s been a discussion going around regarding fandom spaces and the original media and how often fans are either willing to defend female characters or to ignore them, specially when compared to male characters, etc. So I was going to write a thread but I ended up writing, like, a big ass essay on Food Wars and Naruto, of all mangas. Needless to say it got too big to be uploaded to twitter, so to tumblr it goes! Let’s get to it!

So when I was watching Shokugeki no Soma (I know I know, epitome of feminism, ultimate media for activism, Nobel peace prize worthy etc.) I remember being comfortable enough in the writing to actively dislike a female character. This isn’t true anymore btw, upon rewatches + future plot I think she’s wonderful now. But something I focused on, often, back then was the particular way in which I tended to phrase that to myself: “feeling comfortable to dislike a girl”. This wasn’t something I tended to do. Even when I found certain tropes or characteristics annoying, I always felt like I needed to like and defend the girl characters, bc if I didn’t then no one else in the fandom spaces I went to would have.

So what did it mean to “be comfortable”? I think it meant feeling like the author wasn’t making their female character fight uphill battles in terms of likeability and relatability. Everyone knows that Kishimoto doesn’t know how to write women, and the one or two chances where he does it feels like luck. That means that it’s E A S Y to ignore anything he writes when it comes to his female characters and their flaws, because these wouldn’t be applied to the guys. They were fighting uphill battles, it was unfair. If all the girls are shallow and boy crazy and incapable of fighting for themselves, then that wasn’t a flaw that I had to personally assess, that was a set of comfortable tropes that Kishimoto didn’t care to fix or explore and therefore the character as it was written was not complete. To judge them as I would with Kishi’s male characters would have been unfair.

In Food Wars, I never had this vibe (do wanna point out that I never finished the manga or the anime, so if the writing in terms of the girls’ arcs specifically goes downhill, I’m not talking about that LMAO). It was incredibly refreshing to see girls with a variety of personalities AND flaws, in a way that made it clear that I could just honestly Judge them based on their own merits. What about their personalities worked for me, personally? How do they handle obstacles? How do they react to the plot??? The answer wasn’t the same for every single girl. They all had different priorities! It was mind blowing, and this came from a fucking. Ecchi manga where everyone keeps getting naked everytime they eat food. The artist literally drew hentai sjdkdkdlld.

They even made me change my mind on the character I disliked, by the way, after she went through her character arc. Her role in the story changed, and I had a new view of her. All was right with the world. I loved them all again! And this time it was because the authors knew what they were doing, and not out of spite! What the fuck!? THE ECCHI FOOD MANGA??

How can THESE people make me feel like I knew how to read characters, while others didn’t? Rather, why did I feel like I NEEDED to force my brain to see the way characters are treated differently in other media? There’s something so gross about the way that other fans close their eyes away from the faults of their favorite authors. I can’t stand Naruto fans that don’t want to admit Kishimoto’s fatal flaw. I don’t assign misogyny to authors because I don’t fucking know them, but Kishi’s writing was misogynist. Food Wars might be objectifying (and I do think that people downplay how often girls, specifically, tend to get naked more often. I know guys get naked too and it’s a whole “equality” thing but I know what I’m talking about when I say that. The ratio isn’t actually equal and ALSO It’s Shonen jump, many of the girls are teenagers and yet their boobs are huge. This is something else tho, I’m actually praising the character writing lmao.) but it’s purpose wasn’t to demean the impact of girls as both an audience and a subject matter, at least in terms of story telling. Naruto was way too toxic for its girls, despite having minimal fanservice when compared to the foodgasm manga.

But, like, more importantly, the fandom footprint of Food Wars just doesn’t compare to Naruto. Food Wars was big for like 3 seasons and then I never heard from it again, but Naruto is known by every fucker on the market. Everyone knows who Sakura is, and everyone feels comfortable insulting her and shitting on her character choices, as if she was a real human being and not the product of some dude’s head. It is IMPERATIVE that I understand what Sakura COULD be and focus on that, because otherwise endorsing the kind of environment that feels comfortable insulting girls that don’t act correctly just ends up causing trouble all around, when the shitty ass male characters get so much nuanced writing thrown at them by comparison.

I refuse to accept understanding men as being more “natural” than understanding women, that just isn’t fucking true, and allowing it to continue could lead to genuine misogyny towards REAL people. I actually do know people in real life that refuse to understand why women would stay in abusive relationships, or why they apologize so often, etc. And these opinions are equally reflected in how they view certain characters in media. More often than not, understanding why men would damage themselves became more second nature than understanding why women would act “foolishly”.

I don’t think media consumption and literacy are actually, like, the be all end all in terms of the betterment of society or whatever, but at the very least I think endorsing an environment where we can stop accidentally insulting one another by no longer putting in some fucking filter over whether or not we care about certain characters is worthwhile. Sakura isn’t real but other girls are, and treating her like ass because she couldn’t finish her power up arc isn’t a hot take that does anything for anyone.

[thespookymoth]

Hi there! I wanted to ask you, what's your favorite thing about each of the sand sibs. Kankuro is just sooo underrated, and almost everyone hates him, so it’s good to see more people who like him! And I also think the stories you write are great by the way.

Hey Anon! 💗

Hope you're ready for a ride because I have a lot of things to say about the Sand Sibs. First of all I can relate to them on a personal level because I am also the older sister to two brothers. I know this dynamic from experience and so I have a lot of feelings for my own family poured into every sibling interaction I write. I take a lot of inspiration for writing Kankuro and Gaara from my own brothers.

--

Temari:

What I like about her is that on the one hand she is able to act logically and based on facts, but on the other hand she is also able to show that she loves someone and cares about the people who are important to her. She has a strong will and knows exactly what she wants and doesn't let that be taken away from her. I also like that she accepts challenges of any kind and never shy away from danger. She is a strong female character in Naruto and just badass.

--

Kankuro:

Just like his sister, Kankuro is very skilled. He's always reinventing himself, testing his limits and protecting his little brother with everything he's got. And when he fails, he uses that as a reason to get better. He seems aloof just like his siblings, but he has so much wit and charm. He just does his thing without caring about what other people think of him, while unlike Temari he takes it all with a pinch of humor.

I think this particular kind of strength comes from the fact that his childhood was anything but easy. He has experienced incredibly bad things and never lost sight of the good side of life. --

Gaara:

Gaara is a complete contrast to his siblings. He is incredibly gentle and introspective. He observes and judges situations only after he has gotten a complete picture, at least that's how I perceive him. Like Temari and Kankuro, he has a certain pride in what he can and is capable of, but he never brags about it.

He does what needs to be done, but never loses sight of the big picture. He is also very aware of the feelings of others. He may not understand everything if it comes to emotions but he understands others on a different, deeper level, understands their pain. Therefore, he is not capable of consciously hurting others.

--

I am sure I am missing a lot more things, the small details about their characters but I love them very much. Please, never let other people influence you on the characters you like or how much hate a character gets. If you like a character it doesn't matter if the rest of the world hates them.

Find people who like the same character and interact with them. That's how I moderate my own fandom experience. I just blend out people who don't like my faves because it's not worth my time or my nerves to argue with someone who already has an opinion contrary to mine. I want my free time to be enjoyable. Have a nice day and thank you for the ask 😊 (And I hope you continue enjoying my stories 🥰)

[the-ghost-in-my-dreams]

The Pleasure Is Mine

Full Moon Bright City

I read a post just now laying it out that wise guys don't take pleasure in seeing someone's downfall and only fools engage in such barbaric behavior. And he is exactly right. For me anyways, I was a fool the whole nine yards baby. From May 2016 to a couple days ago if my memory serves me right especially after all I have been through. I was fooled into a big bag of fool's gold to exaggerate it a little. I was the only one left out of the joke for all those years. So if I stand up for myself and do the right thing by myself for myself, why is it held against me if the result is just a correction of another's mistake, a huge long mistake. I regard myself as a pretty great judge of character based on first impressions and to be frank. That dude doesn't know shit**. You would have to actually take someone down to know how it feels before you can comment on it in the first place. Most people only experience downfall which I bet he has gone through plenty of times. Anyways, that brings me to the topic of right now. Due to recent underwhelming reaction, I am going to be as vague as a I can explaining what I found. Well let's begin.

I went down the rabbit hole that goes past the two year one I just got done with. It is regarding ownership of properties around the area, specifically around my area. More specifically, the neighbors. So I began by looking at properties where I had received a tip or lead to. I typed in the address into the search engine and let it do its thing. I used Google Maps to help out in my search. Soon I was hitting the good free people and address search engines and it just went on forever. When it comes to searching and just shuffling through so much data, its best to go at a steady pace. I looked up the address that I went to, to meet up with this native guy I met last year. And I noticed in the results that it had foreclosed. I then took note of the owner. I didn't think anything of it until I began searching other properties. This includes the one next to my domicile. Long behold, a search brought back the information of previous tenants and anyone that lived there at any point. I have searched the property before but never got back that much information. I scanned it all and noticed the owner for the property that had foreclosed, is also listed under the property next door. His name actually came up a lot in my search and the search was just in my local area. Considering what I know about what the house was used for that got foreclosed, and what I saw in behavior on the app by this native guy, I am suspecting that it was a whore house per say. And according to one Uber driver, it has been a penny pinchin' time for prostitution nowadays. They could not pay their rent and they had to leave. They must have had a lot of business in the beginning because rent is not cheap these days. I then went through more addresses, particularly the closest ones to me. There is a house down the street that was bought by the realty company but has not sold it on market. However, I have seen a lot of traffic there so I am wondering what is going on because the house is finished. The rest did not reveal anything worth mentioning except the fact that the said neighbor next door, has a mega huge family. And also a female that supposedly stays there, apparently is not employed or has been according to the search engine. And the rent is mind glowingly high. Having said enough, I will finish with this: What if there are two different groups and from what it appears so far, the group that survived doesn't seem to care because it didn't affect them more or less. That for sure is a working theory. Believe me the rabbit hole goes much deeper but its just too much for one person. I am still searching, I mean I will continue to search tomorrow. Till then.

I found a family of Silvas that once lived down the street at the house in question, and moved to Plume street in Cabazon where I see prostitution activity as well. This other family of Silvas I had no idea about and so I'm wondering how deep this goes. Starting to think the owner I mention Juan Alfredo Jimenez is an investor or owner in this illegal business as well. I also reported this Andrew dealer in Beaumont to the dea along time ago and I turned out to be right, I think they were trying to kill me at one point. I think that I am going end up right and I was right the first time I called everything out. I'm getting a clearer picture the more time passes. Of course I know more than I publish or say I can only really see the magnitude this goes.

[bubbledumbbinch]

Okay so can I ask for some general headcanons for a Fem!MC in twst? The game has gender-neutral pronouns for the MC so far and it's an all boys school. How do you think the characters reaction/interactions would change if the MC was female? (if all are too much you can just pick your faves, maybe just include the octa and Savannahclaw dorm?) Just your thoughts and some brainrot💖

I think the boys would definitely be a lot more flirtatious to fem!MC!!! (I just wanna call her FeMC so I could say… fem… with a c at the end LOL). This is an all boys school, what do you expect?!

These are mostly short I’m sorry! I wanted to try to fit everyone in!

Ramshackle

Grim would lay at night curled up beside you. On days when your period hit, Grim would sense you in pain and get near your abdomen and purr. He feels like it’s an instinctual thing to do and if if helps out his minion, he’ll do it! Plus there’s tuna in it for him, right? Pet his ears too!

Heartslabyul

Riddle would definitely blush when you are around, but not too heavily! Sure he finds you attractive but it won’t stop him from fulfilling his duties as a dorm leader! He can’t help himself when he gets flustered talking to you since the only woman he grew up around was his strict mother. Since you’re different compared to her, he can’t tell but feel warmth from you which he wants to keep in his heart.

Ace and Deuce would make jokes at each other’s expense, both of them sorta going neck and neck trying to compete for your attention! They know you guys are just friends… unless..? 😳 Ace would make the snarky remarks while Deuce would threaten to beat Ace up.

Trey would act the same towards you, knowing he has to be a respectful upperclassman! You ALMOST can’t tell he sets aside the cupcake with more fruits or decoration on it for you at the Unbirthday party. Trey would give his signature smirk and wink as he sets it down in front of you.

Cater would take you on shopping sprees and outings to have so many photo opportunities with NRC’s only female student! Girls would flood his comments asking if you were his girlfriend, but he never answered. He secretly hopes you like him back so you could do cute couple things together like match outfits!

Savannaclaw

Leona would still call you herbivore and treat you the same as always. Still as lazy as before. However he can’t help but show off when he plays Magift and you happen to be watching. He lowkey stares at your features and shape of your body when you’re not looking 👀

Ruggie would also mostly act the same towards you, but he would bump into you on purpose so he can have an excuse to touch or smell you! His body tingles when he can smell your scent on the blazer he accidentally knocked into you with! Still treats you the same as ever though!

Jack would be gentler towards you, he knows how rough and big his body is, he doesn’t want to accidentally hurt you! His personality is still the same, don’t think he’ll treat you any differently because you’re a girl!

Octavinelle

Azul would try to make shady deals with you to offer you protection against students who may be too forward with you since you’re a girl. In exchange? For you to work at the lounge! and spend time with him. He secretly likes you but would never tell you to uphold his reputation and he is also afraid of rejection ;w; Azul would also not mind seeing you wearing the lounge uniform, fufufu…

Jade would would act more like a butler type! You also find him nearby sometimes, feeling his striking gaze looking at you. He’s always there when someone is trying to confess to you and you look uncomfortable. “Oya oya, do you need some help, miss?” His voice teasingly echoes through the halls, scaring off the guy who was trying to hit on you. Jade would stretch out his hand and escort you to wherever you needed to go.

Honestly? Unless you had a super “girly” appearance, Floyd wouldn’t have noticed until he gave you a hug to squeeze you, noticing your body was different… more squishy... and your bone structure is different. Shrimpy is so squeezable!!! Huh? He has to be wary of your chest? He’ll just lift you up by your tummy! You being a girl doesn’t stop the hug train!

Scarabia

Kalim wouldn’t treat you any differently! He would still definitely invite you over as often as possible, not realizing his sweetness may come off as flirtatious! Might develop a small crush on you :) imagines all the pretty outfits he could buy you from his homeland

Jamil would at first be wary of you but once he realizes you aren’t a threat to Kalim or the school, he stops doubting you. Definitely isn’t the type to judge you differently based on your gender!

Pomefiore

Vil would smirk and think he finally has someone else to practice makeup on! He definitely uses you as a model to show off his products, whether it be makeup, skincare, clothing, etc!

Rook would be… protective. He likes you because you’re different, and he would subtly follow and stake you out to see what things you’re doing differently at NRC as a girl. Rook offers silent protection against those he sees as a threat to you before you can even notice.

Epel would definitely try to prove his manliness in front of you if Vil isn’t in the vicinity! Going out of his way to carry heavy items, be tough, etc. If YOU tell him he’s manly, it’s certainly gotta mean something right?!

Ignihyde

Idia thinks it’s like some sort of anime trope, you’re the female protagonist and it’s like a reverse harem because the whole school is full of boys! Cough cough breaking the fourth wall here! He would probably be more… nervous around you, not like he would ever get close anyways, but still! The idea of the only girl at school actually being friends with you and maybe becoming more makes his heart beat faster.

Ortho would not. Perceive you any differently LOL. He’d be intrigued would say like “A girl? Cool! The body analyses I’ve done from everyone around you reads their body temperatures higher and their hearts are all beating faste- MMPH!” He would be silenced by ADeuce…

Diasomnia

Malleus…. Once he knows how you don’t fear him and how you like him even without knowing who he is. All he can think of is how beautiful you would be as his queen. Who can blame him? He has priorities and he needs to think of these things! I can also imagine him picking petals off flowers and saying “She loves me… she loves me not…” because he’s romantic like that… my heart

Lilia would use his experience in his vast years of dating to his advantage, knowing what ways to talk to a woman best. He swears he is only flirting with you for fun! The way your cheeks puff up in embarrassment is just too cute to resist! He certainly doesn’t mind a gender neutral MC, but Lilia can appreciate the beauty in every gender and he certainly appreciates your beauty!

Silver said 😪😴 . You notice Silver has more of a knightly approach to you, offering to protect you when you need it. He understands how a situation between one girl and hundreds of male students could provide a sense of fear, so Silver would always be there to protect you if you need!

Sebek would blush when you’re around, but he thinks you’re trying to use feminine charm and wiles to seduce the young master, even though all you did was make a yawn noise, flip your hair, or put on a bit of makeup! You have to explain to him that you aren’t doing anything to try to seduce anybody. You just wanted to go to school. He is doubtful but finally agrees. Maybe he was becoming victim to your charm instead?

[rikusoma]

(no hate to the shippers) I think the biggest problem with the "female love interest" in bnha is that anything that went past the first chapters became one sided, empty and sometimes really impersonal.

One sided because the MC barely showed interest aside from pretty superficial things, and their development became very easily platonic very fast.

Empty because the mentions and moments where the "crush" is brought up don't go anywhere, and are acknowledge to bring her down and make her uncomfortable

Impersonal because some things weren't either exclusive to or about each other.

Like, just because she isn't a love interest, don't mean she will suddenly stop being important or that she won't be a close person to the MC anymore. They just aren't going to be romantic.

(no offense to izu/ochas, you keep shipping whatever you want, I will not judge, but keep your opinions on it to yourself off my posts please, if you have a problem, block me and/or just keep scrolling)

Oh absolutely! And even in the first chapters, they didn't know each other well enough to anything To Be mutual. It's always been either nothing or one sided, there's never been a moment where Deku had any feelings toward Ochako.

I honestly think that part of the reason she was even hinted at being a potential love interest is because Hori needed something to keep the people who could pull the series early from realizing what he was doing. He had the formulaic "he was a boy, she was a girl, can I make it anymore obvious" hetero romance starter. Izu/ocha basically became a beard for bkdk.

Now that mha is kind of "too big to fail", Hori can pretty much do what he wants, and the man is chaotic enough to not care if making his two main characters a couple get him blacklisted. He's got a pretty dedicated fan base on his own. He'll be fine.

I will say I wish he was better at writing the women in his story, and he has admitted to being bad at it. But if I'm being honest, he does way better than a lot of mangakas and authors in general with writing women and giving them the spotlight. Is he perfect? No. Does he give them the same attention as the main characters? Of course not, why would he?

Ochako has had some great moments, but that speech when they brought Deku back to UA? It could've been pretty much anyone. I liked that it was her, but Deku would've reacted the same regardless. Bakugou's moment in 322 couldn't have been done by anyone else. And their moments are consistently exactly that. Ochako speaks for everyone and could be replaced by anyone and get the same reaction. Bakugou's moments would not have the same howitzer-level impact (ha, see what I did there?) if someone else took his place.

I still believe that she's going to have some really great moments coming up, completely divorced of Deku at all, save for maybe some teasing from Toga that will be immediately shut down because it just won't be good ammo anymore. She's not the love interest and her character is better for it. She's a hero and is focusing on being a hero. If it were up to me, I'd still have her get together with someone in the future, I personally love IidaChako, and TogaChako is cute, although I'd want to see some development of how Toga shows her love.

Basically, if izu/ochas cared about Ochako's character beyond her being in the same old formulaic main characterxlove interest that typically makes female characters "important" in a story, they'd realize that for her to have an arc that is on par with Deku and Bakugou, she NEEDS to not be paired with Deku. She NEEDS to have her own thing. She NEEDS to not be shoehorned into importance through just being a romantic interest.

TL;DR Hori is doing a great job and I'm looking forward to the rest of the series, bkdk canon

Also Bakugou is going to survive, don't @ me.

[harventheblorbo]

Hello!! I read the rules and wanted to request a Tfp thingie!

Would it be alright if it was Ratchet reacting to the female reader being super sensitive to yelling? I know Ratchet is a mech that gets angry over his tools and I would think he would be yelling at bulkhead but than the Reader starts to get emotional and scared when hearing the big booming voice. Ratchet sees the reader running off and apologizes to them when he finds them and sooth them.

I am very emotional when it comes to yelling or being in trouble and I would love to have a cute thing with him. If you want it can also be with other characters you want to add or you can switch up the story. I dont mind anything! Have fun!

I have a thinv

Ratchet with a F! Human reader that is sensitive to yelling ➥

Containing:.. Ratchet, F! Human Reader

___ is female

Warning:.. Yelling, maybe abit out of character

Authors note: my first angst request. I will be pouring my hear and soul into this fanfic ❤️ I'm sorry if the ending is abit weird 💀 I'm not good at ending angst all that well. hope you like it dear anon

Ratchet had a loud voice and often was in a grumpy mood. this often led to him having to yell at his younger teammates for messing up or destroying something of his. it was common around the base but it would only happen here and there but not every day.

whenever you came along you took note of this and tried your best to ignore it. you hated being yelled at. no matter how much you tried to ignore it, it got to you and would lead to a breakdown and it wouldn't look pretty for the rest of the day. if it wasn't at you, you were able to push it out of your thought but was still mindful of it.

it was Bulkhead and Ratchet that made you have the most breakdowns due to how much yelling there was between them. it was mainly over Bulkhead breaking his tools and Ratchet using the classic same line "Bulkhead I needed that!". that was fine but when they started to have a full-on argument is when you would get triggered.

"Bulkhead! did you break my tool again?!" Ratchet boomed at Bulkhead picking up the crushed tool that would be used for his current project that he used. "I didn't break your tool..." Bulkhead lied. whenever bulkhead lied it was easy for anyone to tell. "okay maybe I did" Bulkhead admitted as he looked down a bit. "how many times do I have to tell you that you can't break my tools!?" Ratchet shouted at the poor mech for the fourth time this week.

today wasn't a great time for you to be hearing yelling. today wasn't a great day in general for you. the school was slow and awful, people picked on you. the teachers gave you a hard time for being late to your classes. the moment you heard ratchet yelling and starting an argument you started to feel an attack coming up. "I need a breath of fresh air, I'm gonna go up top" You waved your human friends off in a hurry.

it was the only place that you felt safe at, mainly because most of the time, no one was there to judge you, and you truly do like how you can breathe up on top of the base. when you left the elevator you quickly crumbled underneath yourself.

You sobbed letting the past of today all out. you felt stupid for crying over something so dumb like yelling but it was something that triggered you. "breath.. just breath" you repeated to yourself as you sat down in a comfortable position with your head resting on your knees with your arm wrapping your knees.

you heard the elevator come back up with the whirring of the elevator. you quickly wiped your eyes and tried your best to not cry. you look over to your right and saw ratchet breaking your position a bit. 'what is he doing here? shouldn't he be fixing his tool?' you pondered to yourself. he walked over to where you sat and sat next to you, with his feet dangling off the side.

"I'm sorry" he muttered. he truly was sorry. he didn't understand how much you were affected by yelling. "what?" You asked being shocked by what he said. you were honestly a little taken back by the thought of him apologizing. "I'm sorry for yelling like that, I should've been more mindful and thought about the others around me." He apologized to you.

you were quiet for a moment taking in that he just apologized. "I saw the way that you ran off and felt guilty for yelling" He admitted as he glanced at your form. you felt a bit teary-eyed again after hearing that. you leaned against his body "thank you for saying sorry" You accepted his apology. "hmmhmm" He hummed as he put his hand over your back trying to smooth you.

[mermaidsirennikita]

I literally saw a tweet yesterday that was along the lines of "Johnny's gonna wake up and see how much Simone killed it at the Met Gala and he's gonna be so happy" and I was like...? I'm sure they're friends, they at least seem like it from interviews and bts stuff but I don't think they're that close or that he cares that much about? There's just a lot weird mythologizing around their friendship. And that goes for the whole cast basically.

I mean, I'll be real, I don't think I've seen any video interviews of them together and I'm not big on delving into the cast members' personal relationships with each other. So I can't judge. I do know I read a quote a month or so back where she said they texted almost daily, so I do think they get along very well and are friends, unless that was bullshit. But friendship is in levels--I've been really super tight with work friends during the work day, but haven't kept up with them after leaving the job. I have friends I can not text on a daily basis but who light up my life whenever we're physically together. I have friends I talk to every day who I've never met in person.

But yeah, this always happens with fandoms... Especially when they're trying to lowkey ship two people who can't or shouldn't be shipped together. I remember back in the day when Game of Thrones was airing there were people who'd outright ship Emilia Clarke and Jason Momoa together, even though he was married to Lisa at the time and she was dating various people (obviously, having partners doesn't mean people can't hook up, but I think Fandom Rules frown on that lmao)... But then you'd have another subset of people who'd just like "EMILIA IS JASON'S BEST FRIEND EVER AND THEY CONSTANTLY TALK AND THINK OF ONE ANOTHER" because they didn't want to look like they were shipping their fave with a married father of two... But secretly, they were.

I think it's a similar thing with the dramatization of JB and Simone's relationship. Like, I doubt he laid in his bed thinking of how she conquered the Met Gala for hours because like... I probably wouldn't think that of my friends doing the same lmao. I'd be like omg big moment for you and talk to them about it when we could, but I wouldn't be like... devoting a lot of individual thought time for it lmao.

But because JB is out, fandom can't easily ship him with Simone. Not unless they wanna get draaaagged. So instead they're shipped as besties who like, prioritize each other over romantic partners and anything else in life lmao. But fandom is only pushing it as a friendship, so you can't call them on it.

I also think there's like, a genuine discomfort with JB's identity with fans. Because they have a hard time reconciling the fact that they can be attracted to him and fantasize about the characters he plays. While accepting that he's not into women and has sex with men. It's something you see with a lot of out gay actors that "pass as straight" or otherwise have a significant straight female fanbase--Matt Bomer, Luke Evans, etc. To me, women who want to fuck JB but are like "how can I want gay man" use focusing on his friendship with Simone as a way of distracting from the fact that he has (or had? I know he had one recently-ish, don't know if they're still together) a boyfriend.

When it's like... You can enjoy him with your female gaze as Anthony or other fictional characters he plays. He seems super open to that based off his interviews. He's not restricting or rejecting your gaze. You can respect his sexuality while doing that; you don't have to pretend it doesn't exist. Idk what it is with women having such an issue with admitting that they're attracted to gay men. A man is a man. If you're into men, you could theoretically be into any man regardless of whether or not he's into you.

[handsmotif]

The Queercoding of Pinky and the Brain

This originally was just me infodumping to my friends on discord, but I decided it might be interesting to some people on here, so I polished it up and made it an actual essay lmao

To start, we’re going to break this into 2 sections -- the relationship between the mice, and Pinky’s relationship with gender, because queercoding doesn’t just mean gay!

For a 90′s show, Pinky and the Brain (and its mother show, Animaniacs) was very progressive for its time! But there were still lots of things that they couldn’t slip by censors, and thus, that’s where we have to read between the lines. And that is something I wanted to clarify here before we dive in, the actual meaning of queercoding. It’s NOT the same as queerbaiting. Queerbaiting is when the people producing certain media purposefully dangle the possibility of queer representation to lure in audiences (most prominent examples are BBC Sherlock, Riverdale, and Supernatural I GUESS? who knows abt that last one anymore), but never follow through, purely for profit. Queercoding is when media producers WANT to write in queer representation, but can’t, usually because the censors won’t let them. So, they must resort to subtext. (example: the policemen from Gravity Falls) It could also be unintentional, simply assigning certain characteristics associated with the LGBT community to characters. (example: Bugs Bunny, many Disney villains) Either way, it heavily relies on the audience picking up subtext, but whether it’s malicious or not varies, depending on the media. Bugs Bunny is an example of positive accidental queercoding, while a lot of Disney villains are negative examples.

Now, to actually discuss the gay little mice! Pinky and the Brain, whether it be intentional or not (based off comments from Maurice LaMarche, Rob Paulsen, and Tom Ruegger, signs strongly point to intentional, but it’s never been explicitly confirmed), is an example of positive queercoding.

There are many moments that I could pick out to discuss here, but we’ll start with some VERY on the nose gay metaphors. 

Remember Romy? If you don’t, that’s their actual biological son! Romy came about due to a cloning accident, where their DNA got combined and spat him out. 

There’s SO many things I could say about Romy. Every appearance he makes has an overarching gay metaphor as the plot. His first appearance in the episode Brinky (yeah it’s literally titled their ship name), it deals with his dads (WHICH I ALSO WANT TO POINT OUT, he DOES call them both dad, and they do both call him their son) disapproving of the fact that he wants to leave home and not follow in their footsteps of taking over the world. Brain even goes as far as disowning him whenever he tells him, which is certainly something a lot of queer people can unfortunately relate to. Also seen a lot in this episode is Pinky and Brain arguing even more than a married couple than usual, which pushes Romy away even further. Later, when Romy eventually does leave, and Brain starts to regret chasing him away, he tries desperately to reach out to him, but Romy doesn’t want anything to do with him. They end up tracking him down to an apartment building, where Romy is now living with his human girlfriend. When questioned about their relationship, the girlfriend, named Bunny, goes off on a tangent about how people shouldn’t judge others based on labels or relationships (hello?), and that Brain needs to be more tolerant. Brain apologizes and Romy forgives him. Happy ending.

Romy’s only other appearance is in the comics. Essentially, the plot of this one is that Brain wants to become the president of the local high school’s PTA, but he needs Romy’s help to make it look like he has a normal home life. He also enlists the help of Billie, the obligatory Woman introduced to make sure Brain doesn’t look as gay as he actually is, that he has a crush on. She pretends to be his girlfriend, and Pinky pretends to be Romy’s uncle, while they make up the story that Romy’s actual mother was lost at sea. Because if the organization found out that Brain has a son with a MAN??? THINK of the controversy! Anyway, the plan works, and Brain actually manages to get elected as president. Throughout this though, Pinky gets WEIRDLY jealous that Brain keeps brushing him aside for Billie. To the point where during Brain’s inauguration, Pinky actually dresses up as the wife/mother lost at sea and storms into the room.

[ID: Comic panels of Pinky, Brain, and Romy on stage at the inauguration ceremony. Pinky busts into room wearing drag, saying, “Yoo hoo! I’m back from years lost at sea to be with my son and ungrateful husband! Narf!” He then hugs Romy, while glaring at Brain. He goes on to say, “I’ll stand by your side, even though you left me behind!” The people in the audience begin to question this, saying, “Oh great fuzzy bangs!”, “What’d she say?!”, “He deserted her to be with that other woman!”, “What kind of monster is he?!”. Brain then rips off Pinky’s wig and says, “This isn’t my wife! This isn’t even a woman! It’s my roommate, Pinky.” Pinky replies, “Well, yes... But Romy really is my son! Poit!” And Brain responds, “N-Nonsense! He’s my son!” More people in the audience angrily speak up, saying, “What’s that?”, “He lives with a guy who likes to dress up in women’s clothing and the both claim to be that kid’s father!”, “Grumble! Mutter!” /END ID]

Needless to say, this doesn’t end well for them. What we can conclude from this is that homophobia exists in the Pinky and the Brain universe, and our characters are directly affected by it.

Moving on, And-There-Was-Only-One-Bed is a pretty common occurrence with these two. Their cage is big, they have plenty of room for two beds, but? They choose to sleep together? Even in some times where this has been inconsistent and they DO have separate beds, they’re always RIGHT next to each other. (what if we put our minecraft beds together ❤😳)

I would like to mention the episode, You’ll Never Eat Food Pellets In This Town Again! This episode is interesting to say the least. Deals with a lot of the meta of the show. Anyway. In this episode, Brain has a nightmare that he’s in a loveless marriage with Billie. You know, the woman he’s supposed to have a crush on. In the end, he wakes up from the nightmare in the same bed as Pinky.

Speaking of female love interests, Pinky is seen having multiple relationships with characters of different species. Any time this is brought up by Brain, Pinky counters with Brain being too intolerant. An honorable mention with this is in Wakko’s Wish, when Pinky is with Pharfignewton, and Brain’s constant pestering about their relationship could be read as jealousy. Pinky needs a mousy date, after all!

Something else I would like to mention is in one episode (I forget what it’s called, I’ll try to look it up later and edit this), Brain is applying for a job. The employer asks Brain if he’s married, and Brain hesitates before saying he “has a roommate,” but that he’s occupied with his own things, which then cuts to a shot of Pinky applying lipstick.

Leading into part two of this essay, Pinky’s relationship with gender! Pinky has always been very gender nonconforming, and loves to wear dresses, do his makeup, and make himself look pretty. For the most part, this is played pretty straight, and not as a gag, like a lot of shows tend to do! It’s just a casual fact about him that he likes to present femininely sometimes.

This does play into their taking over the world plans pretty often, where Pinky wears drag, usually either to sneak into somewhere. Like in one of their earliest appearances on Animaniacs, Noah’s Lark, where they pose as a couple to board Noah’s, and I quote, “love boat.” After boarding, Noah says to himself, “Who am I to judge?” Okay. Yeah. Alright. Anyway.

I actually had less to say on this than I thought I did, but I wanted to make sure to emphasize that Pinky at the very least is coded as being Not Quite Cis, and that he’s played a key part in helping a lot of people watching the show figure out that they’re also Not Quite Cis. 

Wrapping this up because I’m hungry, but I want to throw in some more honorable mentions that I really do not see any type of cishet explanations for:

They literally go on a romantic date at a very fancy restaurant in Brain’s Night Off. This is played extremely casually, and the only remark from anyone that they receive is that they are “much smaller than the usual clients.”

Pinky, on at least one occasion, daydreams about him and Brain being a married couple, and wanting to be a housewife (the original malewife ❤)

There’s an issue in the comics where Pinky has a crush on another male mouse, and when Brain gets annoyed, Pinky reassures him that he thinks Brain is cute and quite the catch too

Brain attempting to kiss Pinky in the reboot??????

Brain actually did conquer the world once in the Halloween special, because Pinky made a deal with the devil for it, and thus Pinky got sent to hell! Brain actually went to hell and gave up the world to bring him back

Brain was extremely close to conquering the world once more in the Christmas special, but after reading what Pinky’s feelings for him were (nothing romantic, just Pinky basically just praising Brain for being so hardworking and an amazing mouse, and lamenting that he never gets anything for it), he gets so emotional that he sabotages himself and wishes everyone a Merry Christmas instead

TLDR; these mice are very queer and need therapy, and are probably the most heavily queercoded characters that I can think of in children’s media.