#hope they go somewhere interesting with that

[notepadofalexandria]

A good friend pointed out to me how once they're roughly out of grade school, girls don't really ride bikes the way boys do. Boys will, often up until they can drive, hope on a bike to go somewhere across town or otherwise outside of walking distance.

It had not occured to me how uncommon that was for young ladies. It was one of those revelations like seeing the 3D sailboat that had been there the whole time.

Another interesting data point on this observation.

the relatively small-fry feminist issue that upsets me the most is that girls hardly use parks, and in every survey and study, they cite boys as the reason. skate parks, basketball courts, soccer fields, they’re overwhelmingly male dominated starting at a very young age. girls get less physical activity, get out of the house less, and participate in less play, because as soon as those spaces have boys in them, girls are either pushed out, or stop using them before they can be.

and it’s a minority of landscape architects who factor this in when designing new parks. are they well lit? are the bathrooms clean and in a busy space? do they have walking trails, roller skating loops, bike paths, rather than only organized courts? are those paths wide enough to accommodate groups? are there multiple courts/play areas, sectioned off from each other? are there lit, covered seating areas, especially picnic tables or other group seating?

in an ideal world, girls would feel just as welcome jumping into a pick-up game as boys, would be able to claim a soccer field with their friends and not worry it would be overtaken or they would be jeered at, would feel free to take up hobbies like skateboarding and go to the park on their own. but they don’t. we’re not in that world. claiming a mixed sex space is an equal one is a lie, for now. we have to meet girls where they are.

[sissylittlefeather]

If You Talk In Your Sleep

Chapter 1

A/N: I wouldn't be me if I only wrote one series at a time. So here is Elvis x reader in Vegas in 1969. It's going to get dramatic, so hang on tight, friends. Hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: 18+ minors absolutely DNI, smut, kissing, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, also a tad bit of angst and mentions of domestic violence (not Elvis)

Word count: ~3.8k

The only thing that glitters more than Las Vegas in 1969 is you. Your dress, your shoes, the insane amount of jewelry you're wearing, even your purse shimmers under the lights. It's almost like you're trying to catch someone's attention. And truthfully, you are. Your husband is a cruel man and although he keeps you dripping in diamonds, you'd be lying if you said you weren't lonely. He's what they call a “Casino Boss”. You're not exactly sure what that means, but you know it's hard and violent. It must be pretty stressful too because he yells at you constantly. He's never hit you, but he has pushed you and grabbed your face and you do everything in your power to keep him happy. Despite his anger issues, he swears that he loves you more than life itself, so he always comes back to you with presents after he's particularly harsh. Still, you're tired of it. Tired of walking on eggshells. And as much as he says he loves you, it's more like he loves the idea of you. He never listens to you or treats you like anything beyond a pretty little trophy that he can smother in jewelry and ignore. It's not an ideal existence, but what can you do?

Most nights you dress to the nines and sit somewhere in a casino waiting for someone to see you. In the beginning, your husband made you come to work with him, but as time has passed, he wants you near him less and less. You're not sure if he's messing around or if he's just secure in the fact that you aren't going anywhere, but you spend most of your time alone. Men approach you all the time, but they've never been interesting enough to tempt you into anything dangerous.

Tonight, you sit here in a gold dress, your hair in big waves as it cascades down your shoulders. You swirl a straw in your drink and take a sip, bored. It feels like you might suffocate if you sit here for another second, so you stand up and walk away, headed for a back door to get some air. As you walk, the reality of your life overwhelms you, you feel the tears start to gather, and by the time you make it outside, they're running down your face. You wrap your arms around yourself and sob. It's cold in the desert at night and the emptiness is overwhelming.

Elvis sits at the blackjack table surrounded by pretty girls and all of his best friends. But even with all the company, he stares at his cards and soaks in the loneliness. His career has finally started to take off again and on stage he feels like he's found himself. But when he's not on stage, he feels trapped. Trapped by a marriage he didn't really want, forced into curated friendships with people that seem to like their paychecks more than they like him. He somehow feels completely unseen, despite the constant attention.

“Sir…?” The dealer asks him hesitantly. He shakes his head and slides his cards forward. Then he stands up and half of the men at the table stand up too.

“Where we goin’, boss?” Several of the girls stroke him and whine that he's leaving so soon. Their hands feel cold and all he sees is dollar signs in their eyes.

“Bathroom. Don't follow me.” He turns from the table and walks away. Several of the men try to and he dismisses them. He heads down a hallway, but doesn't turn into the restroom. Instead, he heads for a door to the outside. He doesn't even care if he'll be able to get back in as he pushes it open aggressively and steps out into the darkness.

You try to wipe your eyes and fade into the shadows, praying he won't see you. But of course he does.

“Oh, honey, I'm sorry. Is this spot taken?” He smirks playfully and then notices your face. His eyebrows come together in concern and he takes a step closer. “You okay?”

“Oh, I'm just peachy.” You shiver and wish you had a cigarette. He pulls a cigar out of his pocket and lights it, watching you closely.

“You don't look peachy. I mean, you look beautiful, but not happy.” He takes a drag from the cigar and you look into his face. You know who he is, but you're not in the mood to acknowledge his celebrity status. You need a human.

“Well, thank you. But no, I'm not happy.” As you say it, more tears slip down your cheeks. His heart breaks a little for you and he reaches into his breast pocket, pulling out a white handkerchief with “EP” embroidered on it in dark blue.

“Here, doll.” You take it and dab at your eyes and he notices how you shiver. He has a thought to take his jacket off, but he can't. “I'd give you my coat, honey, but I've got nothing on under it. Here. C’mere.”

He holds the cigar in his teeth and reaches for you, running his hands up and down your arms in an attempt to warm you up.

“That better?” You smile a little, but you're still freezing.

“Thanks.”

“I'm Elvis.” He smiles and holds his cigar in his fingers as he continues rubbing on your arms.

“You don't say.” You giggle and he chuckles. Then, emboldened by your drinks and the privacy of your location, you gesture to his cigar with your head. “Can I get some of that?”

His eyes widen in surprise, but he nods.

“Sure, honey.” He hands it to you and watches as you take a few drags and exhale slowly. After you do, you shiver again and he clicks his tongue. “You're still freezing.”

He flicks the cigar, there wasn't much left anyway, and unbuttons his jacket. When he holds it open for you, exposing his naked upper half underneath, you blink several times.

“Get in here. I'm warm, I promise.” You look at him in awe and wonder if he's noticed the ring on your hand. It's 7 carats, so it's hard to ignore. “I won't bite ya, honey.”

You look around and realize that no one would ever know. Then, you decide you don't care if they do and step towards him, sliding your arms around his waist. He wraps the jacket and himself around you.

“Ain't that better?” You nod against his chest. He really is warm and it feels so nice to have him around you like this. Add to that the way he smells and you're practically swooning. “You wanna tell me what's got you so upset?”

You take a deep breath and try to decide what you should say.

“I really don't.” He nods and looks down at you.

“I understand that, honey. Better than you know.” For a minute it looks like he's going to kiss you, but he doesn't. Instead, he sighs deeply. “I should go back inside.”

You nod and start to pull away from him, but he squeezes you tighter.

“Just a second. This is nice.” He doesn't say how badly he needs the affection, but you can sense that he needs something from you, so you snuggle into him again. “What's your name, doll?”

You tell him and he whispers it back to you. To your utter shock, he kisses your forehead before he backs away.

“Okay. It's probably time.”

You nod and pull away as he turns back to the door. But there's no handle and he stares at it in disbelief.

“How were you plannin' on getting back in?” He asks, still looking at the door. You miss his arms around you, but you shrug.

“No idea. Hadn't thought that far.” He chuckles and then takes your hand.

“We better head around to the front of the casino.” He guides you back to the entrance of the building and then stands there with you in front of the doors. After a few beats, you pull out his handkerchief and try to hand it back to him.

“Thank you. For everything.”

“You keep it, honey.” You stand there for another couple of seconds.

“Well, I guess I should go back inside–” As you say it, his crowd of followers busts through the door and there's a flurry of activity as they fuss over him and scold him for leaving them. You think to yourself that he seems like a child being admonished for running away. When your eyes meet his, they're full of bitterness and he shrugs.

“I'm fine, y'all. Let's just go.” He calls for his car and you turn to make your way into the hotel. “Wait, honey.”

He jogs over to you at the doors and takes your hands in his.

“Come with me.”

“Elvis, I can't.”

“Why not?” You hold up your left hand for him to see your ring.

“Yeah, I saw that. Something tells me you need to take it off for the night.” He looks at you, his blue eyes piercing your soul. For a second, you wonder how he knew, and then you don't care anymore, not one bit.

“That would be nice.”

“I thought so. Come on.” He slips the ring off your finger and into his pocket and then takes your elbow, leading you towards his car. A bunch of the other guys pile in with you, but they don't say anything about the fact that you've joined them. You ride along in silence with his arm around your shoulders, his hand intertwined with yours. It doesn't take long at all to get back to the International hotel. At the elevator, the guys try to come with you expecting a party like they've had almost every night, but he shakes his head. That's all it takes for them to stay behind. Once the doors close, he turns and leans against the wall of the elevator. You know he's married too, but you hate to bring it up. Instead, you smile awkwardly.

“C’mere, honey.” He holds his arms out to you like he did behind the casino and you go to him, wrapping your arms around his waist again. You stand like that, snuggled together, until the doors slide open and he guides you into his suite with his hand on the small of your back.

“You wanna drink?” He asks, walking to a bar at the side of the room. You've never cheated on Carl before. A drink would probably help.

“Sure.”

“What do you want?”

“Whatever you have.” You hear him put ice in a glass and then pour some things in it. He brings it to you and you immediately recognize it as a screwdriver. “Thanks.”

“You're welcome, honey.” He watches as you take a small sip. “Do I make you nervous?”

“No.” You shake your head. “The situation does. But you don't really.”

He smiles warmly and then settles himself next to you on the couch.

“Please talk to me. No one ever talks to me.” He looks over at you with a look somewhere between bitter and sad.

“You have so many people–”

“They talk at me and about me. No one ever talks to me. Not really. Not about anything real.” You take another big gulp of your drink and then turn to face him, kicking your shoes off and tucking your feet up under you.

“I don't wanna be married anymore. My husband is not… nice. And I miss being a person.” He looks into your eyes with more understanding than you expected.

“My wife is cold. She wasn't before we got married, but after? She's just… cold.” You lean forward and push your fingers into his hair.

“You seem like the kind of man that needs warmth.” He nods.

“I really am. So I guess what I'm sayin’ is I understand not wantin’ to be married.” He sits in silence for a bit, reveling in the feeling of your hand in his hair. Then, he looks at you again. “Does he hurt you?”

You pull your hand back and move away, but he gently grabs you and pulls you almost into his lap.

“Sometimes. Not bad. No bruises or anything.”

“Honey, he doesn't have to leave marks on you to hurt you.” He grits his teeth a little, obviously angry that anyone could ever hurt you. “What's he do?”

“He's the Casino Boss at the Flamingo.”

“Oh.” Elvis understands that means he's dangerous. But he doesn't let go of you or anything. Instead, he buries his head in your neck and leaves soft kisses there. He continues pressing his lips to your skin, moving down your chest.

“Elvis…”

“Yes, doll?” He asks between kisses on your breasts.

“This could only ever happen once.”

“I'm not known for my faithfulness to women.” He murmurs and you take that as him understanding what can and cannot happen. You pull away from him and stand up, his eyes wide as he watches you. Then, you push the straps of your dress off of your shoulders and let it fall into a shiny pool at your feet. This leaves you in just your panties, so you turn and walk towards what you assume is the bedroom. It doesn't take him long at all to stand up and follow you. At the doorway, you turn and wrap yourself around him. He leans down and kisses you deeply.

“Tonight is a vacation.” You whisper.

“Viva Las Vegas…” He whispers in return before grabbing the backs of your thighs and lifting you into his arms. You whimper as he carries you to the bed and lays you down on the satin sheets. His jacket and pants are off before you even know what's happening and then he's on top of you, pressing his lips to every inch of you that he can reach.

His mouth finds your nipple and he teases it with his tongue before pulling it into his mouth. He moves to the other one and gives it the same attention. You haven't been this turned on in years and your body responds as such, making a damp spot on your panties. He continues to kiss down your body and then rolls your underwear down your legs and off, leaving you completely exposed to him.

“Need to taste you, doll.” He moans softly, dropping hot kisses on your hips and thighs. You spread your legs for him and he groans at the sight of your glistening pussy. He settles his body into the space between your open thighs and teases your slit with his fingertip. “So wet for me, honey. Such a pretty pussy.”

Two fingers slide inside you and you gasp at the sensation. When he lowers his mouth to your clit and begins to lick you, you damn-near pass out. Carl hasn't gone down on you since before you were married. And even when he did, he wasn't this caring or skilled.

“Oh God, Elvis…” You moan, your hand grasping the front of his hair.

“That's it, baby. Let me give you what you need.” He growls against your sensitive flesh and you tremble with desire. You feel the edges of your orgasm as it starts to approach.

“I'm gonna cum…” You whimper and roll your hips against his face as he eats you. He groans and nods, looking up at you with his face buried in your pussy. His tongue moves so fast that you'd swear it was detached from his body. But it's not and the delicious sensation of him working you with his tongue has you so close you can almost taste it. “Fuck! Elvis!”

You scream as your climax washes over you, filling your body with electricity as you pulse around his fingers, curled just right to hit your g-spot. He licks you until he feels you relax and then pulls back, his lips and chin shiny with your arousal.

“You taste like heaven, doll.” He whispers as he presses his lips to your body again, rolling his hips against your thigh. His cock is rock hard where it presses into you and you moan softly when you feel it.

“I wanna make you feel good, baby.” You murmur to him as he makes it back to your mouth. He kisses you deeply as your hand trails down his chest and you take his member in your hand.

“Mmm, honey, just like that.” He moans softly as you pump him, sliding his foreskin back and forth.

“Please fuck me, Elvis. Please.” You moan and nibble on his earlobe. He groans and nods.

“That what you want, doll? You want this cock?”

“Yes, please.” He hovers over you, lining himself up with your entrance. You whimper as he slides his tip through your folds. Then, he slowly starts to push into you.

“Fuck, honey, you're so tight. Breathe for me.” You take a deep breath in an attempt to relax, but all you can think about is the fact that Carl will kill Elvis if he ever finds out about this. “You okay?”

He lifts his head up and looks down at you with his eyebrows pulled together in concern.

“I-I'm scared.” You whisper.

“Of me?” He pulls out and settles beside you.

“No. If my husband ever finds out… he'll kill you.” Elvis sighs deeply and runs his hand through his hair.

“So he won't find out. Do you not want this?” He gently runs his fingertips up and down your body as he speaks.

“I do. I really do. I'd just hate to read about you being found in a hole in the desert.” You turn your head to look at him and he smirks.

“Honey. I'm Elvis Presley. You think I'm afraid of your husband?” It dawns on you that he has no idea who he's dealing with and what it would mean for anyone to find out about you.

“Elvis, my husband is a dangerous man. And he works with a lot of dangerous men who live to beat people with baseball bats. I'm not sure you want to do this.” He moves his hand up to your cheek and looks you in the eye.

“Honey, listen to me. I'm not scared. I have a lot of bodyguards and I know how to protect myself. If you don't wanna do this, I understand, but if you do, you’re safe.” He pushes a strand of hair behind your ear and then kisses your cheek softly. There's a strange amount of intimacy between the two of you, considering you've known each other less than 6 hours. You look into his eyes and think to yourself that it's not you you're worried about. But his eyes are so reassuring that you decide you'll cross that bridge when you come to it. For now, you need him.

“I want this.” You whisper as you roll him onto his back and straddle his hips. Again, you drag the head of his cock against you and then sink down onto him. It takes a bit for you to slip all of him inside you, but it's worth it. When he fills you fully, you moan in unison, throwing your head back in pleasure. “Oh God, Elvis.”

As you begin to move on him, his hands go to your hips and he guides you, moaning. He rolls you deep and slow, rocking you back and forth like a ship on the ocean. The speed, depth, and angle of his movements have your eyes rolling back in your head.

“That's good, doll. Fuck, that's good.” He moves you on him with more speed and more pressure as he races towards his high. You feel another orgasm start to gather in your belly and lean forward onto his chest as he starts to fuck you from underneath. He punctuates each thrust with a soft moan. “Cum for me again, honey. I wanna feel you.”

It doesn't take much more for you to do exactly as he asks and tumble over the edge into another climax, your pussy squeezing him just right.

“Oh, fuck.” He fully intends to pull you off of him, as he always does with his one-night girls, but something keeps him right where he is and he cums deep inside you, his cock throbbing with his release. You relax into each other, panting and sweating and he wraps his arms around you. What is it about you that's making him like this? After several minutes in this position, you peel yourself off of him and start to get dressed. “You have to leave so quick, honey?”

You glance at the clock on the wall. It's almost three.

“My husband gets off around four. I have to be home when he gets there.” He tries not to sigh too deeply. For some reason, he had kind of hoped you'd stay and sleep with him.

“Where do you live?”

“The Flamingo. We have a suite.” He nods and watches as you put yourself back together again, walking to the living room to fetch your dress. You walk back into the bedroom fully dressed and look at him in the bed.

“Elvis, I told you. One night only. This can't be a thing.” He nods reluctantly and holds his hand out for you to walk closer and take it. You do, kissing his knuckles softly.

“I know, doll. But it was fun while it lasted.” You sit on the bed and he pulls you into his arms, not wanting to let go.

“How long are you here?” You ask quietly.

“As long as I want to be. But it doesn't matter. Does it?” He asks with a sliver of hope in his voice.

“No. It doesn't.” You stand up away from him and move towards the door. “Goodbye, Elvis.”

“Goodbye, honey.” He watches as you disappear through the bedroom door and then listens for the front door of the suite to close. He lays back, looking up at the ceiling for a while, missing you. On the street, you hail a cab and make it home just in time. You're in bed, almost asleep when you hear Carl open the front door. He doesn't disturb you, but instead gets undressed and slips under the covers. Every single part of you wishes he was Elvis and you squeeze your eyes shut to keep the tears from falling.

Back in his room, Elvis tries to go to sleep without thinking of you, but he's wildly unsuccessful. There's something about the way you seem to understand his loneliness that makes him wish he could see you again.

Still, you both lay in your respective beds trying to go to sleep. But the sun comes up on both of you still awake.

Elvis sighs deeply and drags himself out of bed, resigned to the fact that sleep is not happening. He walks to his jacket, picking it up off the floor and shaking it. Something falls out and hits the floor with a small thud.

“What the…?” He picks your ring up and holds it up to the light, a sly smile spreading across his face. Now he'll have to see you again.

******

Do we need more?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

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

[gotham-daydreams]

Hello!! I love your batfam series, rereading chap 2 got me thinking: Imagine Christmas

Reader is a child, they're so excited for Christmas, perhaps her new family forgot about her birthday because she's new to the manor, but no one forgets Christmas! Maybe this is the chance to spend time with their whole family! Reader takes the time to make little Christmas cards for everyone, each with her own wishes for them like:

"I hope this year, you get that [insert what the character is interested in here] you've always wanted!" and they add sweet little notes and doodles too.

It's Christmas eve, reader goes to where the tree and presents are, they want to put the cards on the mantle, or maybe the table? just somewhere where everyone can see them.

Reader passes the gifts and they get curious and excited.

'I wonder which one's mine?' their eyes get all sparkly and their smile widens, they place the cards on the table and head to the gifts, they read each tag.

"Dick, Jason, Tim, Dick, Alfred, Bruce, Bruce..." But no [Y/N]... No, that can't be true right? Everyone gets a present on Christmas, all the kids on the nice list gets a present, and [Y/N] made sure that they were nice all year, I mean, look at all they've done for their family! As tears well up in their eyes, a choked sob escapes [Y/N].

The door creaks open, "Master Y/N? What are you doing here so late?" Alfred asks.

"*hic* Christmas *hic* cards..." Alfred is alerted by the child's crying.

"Now, Master Y/N, why are you crying? Are you hurt?"

"Alfred...*hic* I was nice all year, right?" Alfred nods at this. "Then...why didn't I get a present?" Reader looks up at Alfred with those sad eyes, all hurt and desperate for an answer.

Alfred thinks for a moment and in an attempt to comfort the child, "Master Y/N, your gift isn't here because it's coming tomorrow, it's a very special gift, so it took some time to come here."

Reader calms down at this and asks, "Really?"

"Yes, Master Y/N, now, we must get you to bed, it's quite late, off you go now." Alfred leads them to their room and as Reader bids Alfred goodnight, Alfred is thinking of what he can order for Reader that would make them happy and that could be delivered immediately tomorrow.

please forgive me that it is very long hehe, it's my first time sending an ask ❤️

thank you for the batfam series tho 😊

I'm honored to have your first ask be sent to me! And I also apologize for the horrendous delay 😅

Don't worry about the length, I love long asks and your writing is amazing! I can definitely see that happening in the story, and can even imagine more of it!

Like imagine the family going back to look at the cards, and never really questioning where they came from or who wrote them until recently? Like, they sort of all had an assumption of who it was or could be, and didn't bother to really look into it until, well, all that happens takes place.

Imagine the reader had their letters sent to Dick, and tried to leave them by the window in the kitchen or hall for Jason. How they would sneak into Bruce's study to leave the note right on top of all the work he had left to do, and slipped a little envelope or note under Tim's door. They've tried to give it to Damian in person, but maybe got all nervous and just attached it to Titus' collar instead. Of course, Alfred always gets his handed to him or put into a little nook in the kitchen wall that only both of them know about. With Barbara's getting hers in the mail or rested upon a counter top, Cassandra's by a little side table next to her room, and Stephanie's close to the front door.

Imagine little reader trying to come up with new locations and areas every year, and trying to be more positive in their letters and also make them more meaningful - but just find it hard. It's hard to make something mean anything when you barely know the person your giving it too aside from exchanges that don't go past greetings and so on, but the reader tries as much as they can. Until that, like with all the things they tried to do, eventually stops as well - but maybe in a fit of self loathing. With them finding their own letters to be annoying, and the gifts they try to give obnoxious or meanings.

It drives them up the wall so much they eventually can't take it, and come apart. Hell, maybe they still continued the little 'tradition' but stuck to the little notes and letters. Now having grown used to getting no reply in return.

I know on that first night, Alfred most likely, personally tries to search for something before going out and getting it himself if he can. At least personally, I'd imagine it's a music box and it sort of serves as one of the inspirations that the reader has for even trying out music. Especially when it's the first thing they see when they get up the next day, and the soft melody is the first thing they hear.

It could have a larger effect from there, having been the reason the reader starts out doing school plays and so on - since it has two people dancing as the lullaby plays - before the reader eventually falls in love with music.

Ah! But that's just my own interpretation, and again, thanks so much for sharing! I'm so sorry about the delay, and not noticing this ask sooner! I love the idea, and can definitely see something like that happening in the series :]

[eccentrcks]

I'm not afraid of you now I'm not afraid of you now villain and violent infant and innocent baby both arms cradle you now I'm not afraid of you now. - "Forwards Beckon Rebound" by Adrienne Lenker.

"Russell Adler, I've been expecting you." He hears her cold voice, thickened with disdain and perhaps resentment, which was ironic that he should be displaying such... dislike towards her instead of the way around for giving him so many emotional scars than his time in Vietnam had given him. "I see we bear similar scars now," Marlene, the little terror who's been a painful thorn to his side, simply sat in front of him on some wooden stool as she nodded at his neck.

Just the opposite sides, kid...

"I wasn't expecting a warm welcome, but..." He stated blankly and tried readjusting his restraints. "I would've expected to be somewhere more reclusive... instead of the same room you entrapped me."

"Don't worry, this isn't my safe house. It's just... temporary." Those empty brown eyes of hers bore into his cold blue ones. His sunglasses remained on the creaky wooden floor. "So, I just removed the tracker from your pocket what you intended to put into me and put it in some fishing shop into fish bait. That's gonna be an interesting trip for your little jarheads." She chuckled dryly and played with the sharp edges of the silver blade.

"You never intended to kill me." He broke the silence after a moment of Marlene staring at him. As if she was inspecting the insect caught in a harmless trap.

"Why should I? Getting rid of you doesn't really benefit me," She leaned forward with her knife, the point end flipping to downwards with the handle in her grip. "You're just an CIA officer with not much value for me. Just one of those... potential casualties. I'd rather just let your job do it for me. I learnt a lot from my mother and the organization that taken me in."

"Astraea."

Marlene just stared at him and an unsettling smile dipped onto her features. "Of course, did you know that mercy isn't always a good thing? Especially the one receiving it? That's the lesson I learnt as a child and relearnt it the year after we first met. So, sparing you wasn't an act of kindness. Otherwise, it would've been nothing more a waste of my time." She reached over to fix his hair and paused to grip the scalp. "It's something you should consider learning for yourself."

Adler almost wants to laugh at that and not out of genuineness. More like sarcastically. It made him think these people were creating a merciless killer more than some obedient soldier, he doesn't really want to know if her mother was worst or not.

Marlene Monroe obviously knows what she is doing, and of course, he'll immediately believe she grew up like an seasoned field operator. What kind of mother teaches their child to be a soldier and to withstand torture in a long capacity? And Adler once believed he could've controlled her like he did with Bell a year ago.

He would've been easily compromised like now.

She let go of his scalp and went back to fiddling with the knife in her hands. "My time with them... made me realized we're not so different each other, although there was one difference that stood out. I had more freedom... and then when they took me in by force, it wasn't long before I felt true isolation. You and my previous interrogators in the past made me feel like I had an opportunity to leave the black hole before, but with them..." Marlene slowly leaned in again. "It was like there was no hope for me at all. Just absolute no way out until they just put you to better use. Nothing can make you feel that way compared to their ways."

Adler stayed still and barely budged from her intense gaze. "So the next time we meet and we will... perhaps I can show you what hell is truly like. It's nothing compared to your little MKUltra methods and all. Then maybe... maybe we'll see that little facade of yours break. Soldiers like you break eventually. They always do." She nodded with a little hum and lightly tapped his chin with the end of her knife.

"What happened to going home?" He had to ask since the last time he'd seen her, she was determine to do Astraea's dirty work in exchange to going home. Yet she was still here, continuing to be the war criminal he's hunting down.

Marlene tapped the knife on her own chin and looked thoughtful before rolling her shoulders. "There's nothing for me to go back to. You'll know the feeling of being seen as an actual villain someday, Russell Adler. Trust me, there's no worser feeling than your loved ones seeing you as the bad guy and eventually becoming one." She stood up from her seat towards a silver briefcase to unlock it.

"Now, I have very important matters to attend to than to entertain you and your whack jobs. So... until then, Russell Adler." Marlene finished before putting on a respirator and some little canister inside released gas. "Nighty night." Those empty brown eyes intently stared straight at his face to watch the drug take effect on him.

Adler felt his vision blurring and breathing became heavier. Little dots that slowly turned bigger filled his vision and it wasn't long before he completely blacked out.

Until then...

-

a.n: Beautiful artwork goes to the lovely @sleepyconfusedpotato and on my god, I loved this piece so much! This is more of a concept on how Adler tries to reach and confront the rotting apple of his eye who gave him fresh scars as she explains how she was taught and etc while he was restrained. This wasn't proofread either, so I apologize for any bad grammar detected.

[gatheredfates]

I said I was going to do a new drive for the New Year! It's a teensy bit late, but it's the thought that counts.

Hi! My name is Sea, and I like to collect things. 💙

Specifically, as of February this year, I have made it my mission to collect as many resources for the Final Fantasy community as I can; including, but not limited to: Communities, Events, Free Companies, How-To Guides, Lore, Tools and more! I have compiled them into Sea's Community Compendium for FFXIV Creatives, a venture I hope will service as a directory for new and old FFXIV players alike to find places and things they might not otherwise know about, and I'm proud to say that the Compendium has over a hundred individual entries!

...But I want more.

Specifically, as much as this is a call to introduce new people to the Compendium, it is a call for anyone who might know of specific resources/communities that not in the document to take a moment's time out of their day to let me know about them. You can submit specific resources via:

My tumblr dm's.

This handy google form.

Or SEAFLOOR, my support and social community for the Compendium and adjacent projects.

You do not need to be a resource/server owner to submit; there just needs to be a publicly accessible link. ✨

Projects like mine equally cannot survive without the support of the community. If you like what I do, please reblog this post or share it with your friends; post it in your community servers or link it on your social media(s). The more visibility I get, the larger the Compendium becomes and the more likely you are to find a resource or community to suit your needs.

Okay, but really, Is my space suitable for the Compendium? Most of the time, yes! Below the read more is some more information/stipulations. This is all publicly available on the document.

Below are the following things I do not accept on the Compendium:

Personal/Single-Character LFC ads. (Though these get posted to the SEAFLOOR Tumblr Community when I find them!)

Content intended for or can be used for bullying, harassment and OOC gossip. E.g. ‘Secrets’ blogs, receipts, callout posts, etc. This does not include IC tabloid blogs or other ventures used to generate roleplay.

Communities that do not have an RP/writing element (large-scale exempt).

Modding outside of general how-to guides and compendiums of a similar spirit to this. This is for no other reason other than I do not want the document to be drowned in mod-related links.

Anything I find personally distasteful or goes against the spirit of this project.

Common-sense rule applies.

I want to put my community on the Compendium but we have an application process. Is this okay?

Yes! Just note somewhere in your application that's a requirement. The only thing that is mandatory for the Compendium is that you must be open to new members or have a public-facing/accessible facet. There's no point advertising a community if no one can join it in some way!

I want to put my Community on the compendium but I only have x number of members —

Also totally okay! People don't start with large communities. Activity is a must but, whether your server has two or two thousand members, if you're looking for new people to join, I'd love to help you find people.

I want to put my community/resource on the Compendium but I worry its too niche?

Okay, and? If your Eorzean Fishing Alliance has four members but you roleplay every second weekend, I still want to know about it. The same goes for resources; if it's relevant to the game, it'll be useful to someone.

How active does a community need to be?

If you find a community has not been active in about two/three months, send me a message and I'll take a look at it. Communities have ebbs and flows, especially event spaces that may take hiatuses depending on member interest/life events. I'm not strict in my implementation provided a space isn't dead. If a link or anything is broken, contact me asap!

I have [insert a question not stated here]?

No drama! Send me an ask or use the #Compendium channel in my Discord!

[luckyblackcatxiii]

Hello! Sorry in advance if this has already been answered somewhere. I really admire the way that you design outfits for your characters and wanted to ask if there were any reference sources that you recommend for designing D&D-ish fantasy outfits. Have you just picked up trends/patterns over time? Are there a certain time periods or fashion eras that you like to emulate in your designs? Media that has inspired the designs? Thanks for sharing your amazing art with us!!

Hey there!

No apologies needed, you'd be the first to ask me this (that I remember in the last couple of years, at least)

I think my biggest suggestion to anyone who wants to design outfits for characters--fantasy or not--is to first do some studying on how clothing is structured, as well as historical and/or regional fashion. Whether that's taking a class or just going through various medias that cover the topic, such knowledge helps you get an overall roundness on the basics of how clothes work, how they can be applied to the human figure, and just why certain fashions became in vogue via the times, emotions, economies, psychology and culture they reflected. All which can then serve as inspiration and guidance on how to go about clothing your made up person/society/etc, because after all: not only do we dress ourselves to reflect our own individuality, but people have been doing that for generations before us. Whether it's the fabric used or the shape of the silhouette, clothes tell a story! And a lot of it is interesting!!!

Also, the more you understand clothing, the more believable and strong your designs will present themselves.

(You'll also suffer the curse of recognizing how inaccurate a lot of historical TV shows and movies are with their depictions of costuming, then have to stifle this down so as not be obnoxious to those around you! Yay!!)

When it comes to designing fantasy things though, the best part of drawing from reality and historic fashion is you can have references without the feeling of having to be entirely beholden to accuracy (while still--I should hope--being respectful enough to avoid borrowing more personal aspects of cultures who may not appreciate parts of their identity being used without knowledge/context applied). I often like to mix and match different time period/regional aesthetics and mesh them into something that becomes seemingly familiar yet unique enough to call my own, and it seems to pay off in the long run.

Aside from that, I like to keep in mind the practicality of an outfit--why is it being worn and what is its purpose?--while also making sure it defines the most important aspects of my character, as well as has a nice shape/sillhouette. After that, aesthetics, personal enjoyment, easter eggs, and overall fun make up the rest of the designing process. Be sure to indulge once in awhile, if not always if that's your vibe!

On that note: I personally like to depict western clothing between the 15th-early 20th century, with the Georgian and Edwardian era being my favorite. Though, thanks to my VtM game, I've definitely grown a deeper appreciation and affection for the 20s more 'recently' and with Curse of Strahd, I've been having a ton of fun getting more familiarized with Slavic and Eastern European clothing. I have a lot of CoS NPCs that need designing (and I'd like to do a fashion zine for Barovia someday, so I've been doing a lot of research as of late...)!

If I'd have to give credit to any media that's inspired my own designs, I'd have to say Odin Sphere (or any fantasy based Vanillaware game, really) is always there in the back of my mind when I'm tackling a fantasy look. I'm absolutely blanking on anything else, but i'm sure there's plenty of inspiration that subconsciously sits in my brain just Ratatouille-ing my hand when I decide to design things AHAHAH~ I'm sure once this is posted, it'll all come rushing to me...

This has gone on pretty long and I admittedly feel like an unqualified egomaniac after yapping as much as I have, but I hope this helps, if not offers some overall insight on my own process! Thank you so much for your inquiry and kind words, I'm so glad you enjoy my stuff and look forward to supplying you more in the future! :,3c <3

[ylangelegy]

redbullracer!seungcheol x jounalist!reader (i will cry????)

some time ago, i was obsessed with this f1 edit of seungcheol and i ended up with a plot featuring world champion red bull racer choi seungcheol having a big fat crush on a competent, no-nonsense journalist. seungcheol is commitment-phobic, a bit of a simp, and has zero rizz. his co-driver jeonghan takes advantage of this 🫡

under the cut is a little in medias res moment somewhere around the first scene! tbh, i feel like i still lack the f1 know-how to pull off this fic so it will rot in my drafts for now (߹ ᯅ ߹)

"They always ask about my love life," Seungcheol grumbles, running his hand through his hair.

"It's like they don't care about anything but that," he continues, before his expression sharpens the slightest. "Did they ask you something weird?"

Jeonghan's eyebrows quirk and he makes a show of thinking. "Oh, they asked if you had a crush on someone," he replies, waving a hand dismissively. "I was really surprised— you're a grown man!"

He pauses, just to give the moment some dramatic weight. "But I told them the actual truth, of course," Jeonghan finishes, grinning wide.

Seungcheol feels a strange shiver of dread go up his spine at Jeonghan's admission. He pauses before he leans over, his expression intent. His eyes flicker between Jeonghan's, and his voice drops to a hushed whisper. "You didn't."

For a moment, neither one of them say anything. But Jeonghan can't keep up with the farce any longer, and he howls with laughter.

Jeonghan doesn't even try to keep a straight face as he laughs, the noise loud and sharp. Seungcheol immediately smacks him on the shoulder, his expression horrified.

"You really told her that I have a crush?" Seungcheol hisses, casting a quick look around. No one looks even remotely interested in him, too busy wrapped up in their own conversations to pay him and Jeonghan much mind. Meanwhile, Jeonghan is still laughing. He's hunched over, practically wheezing.

"I told her," he says, confirming Seungcheol's worst nightmare. "And guess what? She had a pretty interesting response for me."

Seungcheol sighs before dropping his head in his hands. Wonderful.

"What did she say?" he responds, his voice coming out as a grumble. There's a slight bite of irritation to his tone, directed at Jeonghan.

Jeonghan snickers again, almost giddy with the information.

"That your love life is of no interest to her," Jeonghan responds, grinning. He makes a show of nonchalantly inspecting a finger. "She wasn't too keen to talk about your little heart-pumping, butterflies-in-stomach kind of crush, either."

Seungcheol can feel his stomach drop at Jeonghan’s words. He had hoped that Jeonghan'd been lying in order to rile him up. There was hope, at the back of his mind, that you might be even the teensiest curious who he was interested in.

"She didn't ask about who it was?" Seungcheol asks weakly, hoping against hope that Jeonghan's answer will change.

Jeonghan pauses, just to build up suspense.

"She didn't," he confirms, and he's not even trying to hide how gleeful he is about this whole thing. "All she wanted to know was how my drive was."

Seungcheol closes his eyes, taking a deep breath.

It figures. The one time he's actually interested in someone— something he didn't think could even happen— and it's a girl who has doesn't give two damns about his life off the track.

"She's very professional," Seungcheol huffs, lifting his head, and he’s definitely not pouting.

"Oh, she is," Jeonghan agrees. His smile is more subdued now, but it's still there, still present.

"She cares about racing, above all else. That's a good quality, isn't it?" Jeonghan adds as he glances over to where you can be seen, speaking with Chan from Mercedes.

Seungcheol follows Jeonghan's gaze, peering at you.

You're engaged in an animated conversation with Chan, and although your voice is too low for him to hear, he notes your serious expression as well as the rapid-fire way you talk with your hands.

Seungcheol makes a face, sighing again at Jeonghan’s words. "What's the point of being attracted to someone that laser-focused on work?" the older man muses, the rhetorical question more for himself than anything.

The answer to Seungcheol's question comes right on cue. Chan's gaze flicks over your shoulder, towards the two Red Bull drivers, and he must mention it to you or something. In the next moment, you're twisting around to give Jeonghan and Seungcheol a small wave of your hand.

And a fraction of a smile.

Seungcheol is painfully, visibly affected.

At your tiny little smile, he feels his heart begin to pound. A shiver of heat goes up his spine. And are his ears turning red?

This is bad. This is very bad.

Jeonghan catches the reaction and begins to snicker again. Seungcheol feels the urge to hit his best friend in the stomach.

"You're screwed," Jeonghan teases, his voice a delighted little whisper. "You’re so, so screwed."

this WIP is currently at an est. 20k words but it's a mess!! all the f1 terms are wonky!! etc., etc.— as a small bonus (and apology, because i may never publish this in full lol): i abused taylor swift's so high school while writing, so the line i associate most to this fic is 'brand new, full throttle/you already know, babe' 🏁

[rook-laidir]

Hello! 1 and 16 (for Rook Codex Ask)

1 - A letter to Rook about their exile.

Laidir,

Heard you’re going by “Rook” these days. Is that right? Has a good ring to it.

I’m still taking care of the fallout from you killing that noble, so consider your contract with Varric extended. You’re getting along so well, I’d hate to break the two of you up. Besides, he could use someone of your skillset. Just don’t get him killed, alright?

Look, sweetling, I know half of the crew would’ve done the same thing with that noble - myself included. But now politics are involved and I know how much you hate politics. I’m practically doing you a favor by letting Varric take you out on loan. When this is all over, come stop by The Hilt. We can settle this with drinks and some Wicked Grace like reasonable adults. Just don’t expect me to go easy on you.

For gold and glory,

Isabela

16 - letter from Rook to their love interest

*an unsent letter found stuffed underneath Rook’s wardrobe*

Neve,

I can only hope you’re the one reading this and the wisps didn’t take this to the kitchen somewhere else very public. If you’re not Neve, please light this on fire and never speak of it.

I know you’re avoiding me. And I get it. I haven’t been able to figure out what to say so I’ve kinda been doing the same thing. Every time I look at you, my mouth goes dry and I can’t find the right words so congrats on being the one to finally shut me up.

I can’t stop thinking about that day in your office - the wisp hunt, I mean. I keep replaying it over and over in my head. Cheesy, I know. I just -

I really wish I kissed you. And I know you wanted to kiss me too. I’m no detective, but I don’t think I was reading that wrong. Unless I was. If I was, tell me and I’ll leave you alone. We don’t have to ever talk about it again if that’s what you’d prefer.

But if you did want to kiss me, if you still do, maybe we can try again? Take it slow? I could always buy you dinner from Hal’s. I’d hate for you to think I wouldn’t be a gentleman about it.

Or you could just burn this and toss the ashes down into the Fade. That works too.

- Rook

[just-here-with-my-thoughts]

R U Mine?

Tags cos you voted for it for @theproblemwithstardust @probadbatch @hobbititties @indigofyrebird @tolikara :)

I have done at least 70 minutes of work on this - mostly revising my first draft which is undergoing a wholesale rewrite ^^; I'm feeling happier with it though so I hope you enjoy this sneak peek fresh from the second draft!

“Two… beds,” said Hunter drily, leaning a little to peer into the corners of the room as if he had somehow missed something. He could feel Crosshair bristling with indignation without even looking. When he had finished his slow survey of the room – neatly made twin beds, a small desk below the window, and a door leading to the adjoining fresher – he turned his gaze to Crosshair, failing to bite back a smirk. Crosshair’s cheeks were flushed with bright spots of annoyance, and he glared sullenly at the floor. “You wanted to take things slow,” was his terse answer, reluctantly dragged from somewhere deep within. Hunter let his gaze rove over Crosshair’s face, taking in the storm of discontent there. Sliding his pack from his shoulder and leaning his armour crate up against the wall, he stepped close to Crosshair, their height difference forcing him into the sniper’s eyeline even as he tried to keep his chin sulkily down. “I want to go slow,” he agreed, his words measured. “But I want to go somewhere.” He glanced at the beds, the amused quirk of his brows accompanied by one corner of his mouth lifting in a smile. “Reckon we can push them together?”

And from a little bit later...

When he broke for breath and pulled back mere inches from Crosshair, he couldn’t help the grin that lit his face. “Missed me?” “Always,” Crosshair breathed into their shared space, bringing one hand up to brush away the strands of hair that fell into Hunter’s face. Hunter mirrored the movement, calloused fingertips coming up to stroke along Crosshair’s narrow, stubbled jaw, trailing down to his sharp chin. Crosshair followed the gesture with interest before catching hold of Hunter’s hand and pressing his fingertips to his lips in a kiss that was a little too lingering to just be romantic. Hunter’s breath hitched as the sniper flicked his tongue against his fingertips, the gentle action of his mouth turning into something sensual. He was about to lean in and capture his mouth again when he spotted the flash of colour at Crosshair’s wrist. Dragging his attention from the teasing kisses at his fingers, he instead threaded them through Crosshair’s, turning his hand to drop a kiss into his palm. Then he pressed another to the inside of his wrist, just above the red-thread bracelet there. “You’re wearing it.” “Of course I am.” Crosshair scoffed, squeezing Hunter’s fingers tight and turning their joined hands over to admire the small, messily stitched black symbol at the centre of the bracelet. “I wear every single crappy bracelet the others made me, why wouldn’t I wear this one?”

WIP Poll Game

RULES: Make a 24 hr poll with titles of every WIP you plan to work on (even if it's one or two) . Once the poll closes spend 10 mins for each vote you received on each of your WIPs!

Tagged by @huntressdarkness and @theproblemwithstardust - I don't have many WIPs at the moment (just enough to haunt my every waking moment as I neglect them...) but here they are ^^;

*EDIT* just to make this fun, if you reblog or comment telling me what you voted for, I will post WIP snippets and tag you in them! ^_^

Links below:- Savage Hunter series Pieces Of The People We Love Beach Days series

Tags if you want to play for @indigofyrebird @leapingbadger @the-little-moment @violet-tinted-world @royallykt @lifblogs :)

[arom-com]

Buck: I’m on shift :)

Every miserable old man with a sad, unfulfilling life in a 3 mile radius: time for me to die

[wildflowercryptid]

doodled some cycle nuts kiddos on a notepad i yoinked from a storage facility

[melljam]

oh,!! oh dude!!! her design is so cool !!!!.!.

[johnslittlespoon]

You're A Dog (I'm Your Man)

Ch. 5/8 – 'I Count My Time In Dog Years'

[WC: 27K | Gale Cleven/John Egan, Pining, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Requited Unrequited Love]

John Egan loves like a dog.

[AO3 LINK]

[puppppppppy]

who up seeing their disorder in a fictional character but feel like its not their place to put a name on it

[flugame-mp3]

what do you fucking mean that's how charlie dies. THAT'S HOW CHARLIE DIES??? i mean i know the show has a penchant for killing off every character who's not a winchester brother or an angel of thursday but good god. what the fuck. charlie was such a good and enjoyable recurring character, and she had such a fandom impact that i've seen, and she's only around for THREE SEASONS?? (sidebar: it's amazing she has the presence she does for only being around for a couple episodes in the long run!) but: was this necessary? and she just dies offscreen after her skills are utilized to progress the plot of decoding the book of the damned?? oh my god. what in the actual fuck. i'm finding myself getting genuinely very upset at her death. she did not fucking deserve that. and i can absolutely see why the fan response to her death is what it is now. completely fucking unjustified and throwaway and useless.

[remyfire]

Have you ever wished you had just a little extra assistance to perform your devious act of mischief? Afterward, do you feel immediate regret and need help figuring out why the fuck you're the way that you are? Good news!! Saint Beej and Saint Sidney are here to help!

This is possibly the silliest gift I've ever received and I can't stop giggling about it. Huge shout out to @allcanonisrelative for bringing some much needed levity into my day!