#i haven't even begun to check this for errors

[kale-theteaqueen]

The Humble Art of Gift Giving

SO Thrilled to participate in my first ACOTAR Secret Santa with @acotargiftexchange! I absolutely loved writing this piece for @danikamariewrites. Everyone check out her work if you haven't already, it's amazing! I hope you enjoy this piece of Nessian Christmas Fluff! Merry Christmas, TTQ <3

Summary: Nesta loves giving gifts. Takes pride in it, actually. Especially at Christmas. She's had her list of potential options for her family ready for months now, and all that she needs to do now is actually buy them. And therein lies the problem. What if they aren't good enough? What if they're cheesy or off the mark? Nesta's gifts are always perfect, and this year will be no exception. Cassian knows this, and loves her for it. But her biggest challenge this year isn't shopping for family. It's getting a gift for him. Especially when she makes it her personal mission to top the previous year's presence. Luckily, all it takes is a quick trip to the local Christmas Market to give her the inspiration she needs.

Read Below or on A03!

Feyre.

Elain.

Cassian.

Gwyn.

Emerie.

Azriel.

Rhysand.

Lucien.

Amren

Morrigan??

Nesta scowled at the Excel sheet in front of her, at the blank squares that needed filling. It was December 16th, and there were still too many open-ended questions. Feyre was getting new paints, ones she specifically asked for, and were linked accordingly in her designated row, highlighted in a soft green to indicate she’d purchased them. Elain was receiving a set of earrings and a necklace made of pressed flowers, also highlighted in green.

And Cassian, well…

There were many, many links in his row. Options upon options. But nothing felt good enough.

Nothing felt good enough for Gwyn either, nor Emerie or Azriel. Links to Etsy shops, indie bookstores, and, regrettably, even Amazon filled the sheet, but they were all white, the category marked ‘Purchased?” painfully blank. And she hadn’t even begun to consider what she should purchase her extended family of sorts.

They always did this holiday together, making a big bash out of it, and every year since Feyre and Rhysand got married, and especially since she and Cassian had gotten engaged, she was presented with the same dilemma.

What did she get them? Would they even bother to get her anything?

Apparently, they were, or at least that’s what Feyre had claimed, when she asked. Her sister jumped on any chance to have a big happy family, and though it took significant effort and trial and error, she more or less had it. Nesta just didn’t know quite where she fit in.

“Sweetheart, your food is going to get cold.”

Nesta raised her eyes from her laptop, frowning at her fiancé, who was smiling knowingly at her from the other end of the couch, a bowl of pasta in his hand. She should have been working on the next book in her series, the manuscript open in a separate tab. Her last book may have only been out for about a week, but even still, deadlines were deadlines. If only Nesta had actually written anything in the past two hours.

“I gave you twenty more minutes, as promised.”

With a sigh, Nesta sat up straight, closing her laptop and evaluating his latest creation in front of her. Pesto, with fresh pine nuts and fusilli pasta. Gods, she didn’t deserve him when he made dishes like this. Especially when he had to pry her away from her writing. Or at least, what was supposed to be writing.

“How’s the Christmas list coming?”

Ah, he knew her too well.

“I just don’t know what to do,” She said, taking her first bite and practically melting at the taste in her mouth.

Cassian hummed knowingly, more than aware of how meticulously she planned Christmas presents. She collected links for months, bookmarking random Instagram ads or TikTok promos. But when it came to actually purchasing them, to deciding on what was good enough, she often lamented for weeks.

“We’re going to the market tomorrow, right?” He asked. “I’m sure we’ll turn a few more of those lines green.”

“I suppose,” Nesta said quietly, lifting a hand to push her glasses farther up her nose. A new development, one she still wasn’t quite happy about. But spending time reading in the dark had its consequences, apparently.

“We won’t leave until we’ve got at least the rest of the family knocked off.”

“Maybe it’s stupid, and I should just get them all gift cards or something.”

“You hate giving people gift cards, Nes.”

Nesta sighed, leaning back against the cushions. “But if they don’t even like me, then why would they want a gift from me?”

Cassian stretched out his leg so his foot could nudge her calf affectionately. “They like you, sweetheart. All that tension has been resolved, yeah? Mor was just telling me that she was excited to see you and hear about your latest book.”

Nesta frowned, stirring her fork around her bowl of pasta. It was true, the animosity that defined a lot of her relationship with Feyre’s found family was largely gone after months of working out past traumas or grief. Now, a year and a half later, Nesta was three books into a successful series, and happily engaged to the man beside her, who continued to look at her with nothing short of affection in his eyes, despite her anxiety.

“You’re right,” She replied. “I just…”

“Want it to be good enough?” Cassian supplied, scooting closer.

She nodded as his arm slid around her shoulders, pulling her comfortably against his chest.

“Your gifts are always so thoughtful, you know,” He replied. “Mor wears that charm bracelet you got her, with all of our initials, almost every day. I think the only competition you have is yourself, baby.”

 Nesta huffed out a soft laugh, nestling into his shoulder. “I just want everything to be right.”

Cassian tipped her head up, kissing her softly. “I know. Tomorrow, Nes. We’ll get it all wrapped up, tomorrow.”

---

The Christmas Market was crowded, families and individuals alike scouring the stalls for the perfect, unique gift for their loved ones. Nesta watched them from her spot near the entrance, a cup of hot chocolate in one hand and a map in the other. In her pocket, her phone sat ready with her meticulous list of gift recipients.

“Alright,” Cassian said, looking over the page listing all the vendors. “Should we start from the right and snake our way through?”

Nesta nodded, her eyes scanning intently over the seemingly endless number of shops. There were at least twenty candlemakers, local artists, even a bonsai tree shop. The wheels in her head began turning, and she began making mental notes of who would be most interested in which items.

But before she could delve too deeply into her analysis, Cassian slid his arm around her waist, squeezing just enough that she looked up at him.

“Try not to look so serious, sweetheart. We’re supposed to be merry.”

Nesta huffed, but took a step forward towards the shops, holding out a hand for him to take. “I am perfectly merry.”

Cassian laughed, a bright and melodic sound that often was the only thing to pull her out of dreary moods. “Of course. The most festive woman I know.”

Rolling her eyes, she couldn’t help the smile that tugged on her lips. Pulling him forward, she entered the first aisle, taking in the first few shops. On careful steps, she approached a woodworking tent, eyeing the various cutting boards, cheese platters, and handcrafted pens. They were all beautiful, but nothing caught her interest or fulfilled the basic requirement of what she considered to be a perfectly tailored gift.

That is, until her eyes caught on the end of the table, at the line of puzzle boxes. She smiled, running her fingers over a medium sized one, assessing the various cogs and gears within.

Amren did mention needing something new to fidget with.

Pulling out her phone, Nesta filled in the tiny woman’s row, and flagged down the shop owner.

With one gift down, her confidence boosted, and she strode down the path towards the next few stalls with a small smile, eyes scanning over the various handmade jewelry, knitwear, and blown glass. Cassian wasn’t too far behind, though his attention was typically scattered in these kinds of environments. More often than not, she’d turn and find him gone entirely, entranced by a tent in a different aisle.

He grinned at her when she caught his eye, holding up a knitted flower hat, small and definitely intended for a pet. Immediately, her mind drifted to Azriel’s beloved twin black cats. And, more acutely, how horrified they’d be at the prospect of being dressed. Rolling her eyes, she smiled amusedly at him and shook her head before continuing on her way, knowing full well her fiancé would try and convince his brother to put them on anyway.

As she looked through each row, the time seemed to fly by, with her list slowly but surely getting smaller and smaller. As she reached the center of the market, she finally looked down at her phone to take stock of what she’d thus far acquired:

A set of blown glass flowerpots for Elain.

A cocktail smoker set for Azriel, paired with a bottle of locally distilled whiskey.

An old map of the city for Rhysand.

A set of handmade wooden ballpoint pens for Lucien.

Which left Gwyn, Emerie, Morrigan, and, of course, Cassian.

She hadn’t found anything remotely good enough for him. Everything was either something she’d already done, or found too tacky, or cliché. It had to be personal, thoughtful. Something no one else would think of.

The closer she got to reaching the end of the market, the more anxious she became about the prospect.

Luckily, all it took was a brilliant antique book stand to occupy her thoughts.

It was by far her favorite tent so far, with shelves lined with antique copies of some of her favorites, of bags made from the bindings of repurposed books, prints and posters, and everything a bookworm could dream of. Smiling at the shop owner as she entered, Nesta made her way to the collection of old novels, perusing the selections.

There was nothing particularly rare or beautiful, but as Nesta scanned her eyes over the titles, there were at least several options to satisfy Gwyn, who loved collecting old and special edition copies of her favorites. But, to her surprise, it wasn’t her lovely friend she had in mind when she found the final book in the row, larger than the others. Taking care to pull it free gently, she observed the title.

Landscape Painting Through the Ages: A Definitive Guide

Flipping through, she smiled at the depictions of various flora and fauna, of the various instructions on perspective and shading. It was old, perhaps 40 or 50 years, but it was perfect for her youngest sister, who was always looking for new references to paint from.

Even better, as she turned around to approach the counter, she spotted a gorgeous Pride and Prejudice handbag made of a re-purposed binding. Gwyn would be head over heels. The shopkeeper smiled broadly at her as she approached, and said, with a thick accent,

“That one’s been sitting on the shelf for ages. I’m glad she’s found a home.”

Nesta smiled at the kind man.

“It will be well loved.”

Arms full, she stepped back out into the path, scanning for Cassian who was, unsurprisingly, nowhere to be found. She’d thought he’d have been easier to spot, with his height. But it seemed everyone had their own tall significant other to drag around.

Retracing her steps, she scanned through the rows, tent after tent. Rounding the corner, she contemplated texting him, telling him to meet her at the entrance to save her the anxiety, but then she caught sight of his curls, the red scarf around his neck, and her tension eased.

He stood at what was unmistakably a jewelry stand, and Nesta quirked a brow as she approached. The old woman behind the counter spoke animatedly to him, and in his hands was a tiny box, wrapped simply with a satin bow. Her interest piqued, she tried to assess what it was, listening for any clues. But just as she approached his side, he spun on his heel, grinning down at her, the box disappearing into his pocket.

“There she is,” He said. “How are we doing, sweetheart?”

Nesta looked up at him quizzically, and the amusement in his eyes told her he already knew what she wanted to know. But he didn’t budge, even after several seconds of staring him down. So, she relented,

“Fairly well. Just Emerie and Morrigan left.”

And him, of course, but that was for her knowledge only.

“See, I told you this market would be a good one.”

“What about you?” Nesta asked, shifting her arms as he reached to take some of her bags from her.

“A master of gift giving never tells his secrets, Nes.”

Nesta scoffed, even as she looped her arm through his and they meandered down to the remaining tents.

“How many of those ridiculous cat hats did you buy?”

“They had powdered wigs. Do you know how amazing Shadow and Smokey will look in those?”

Nesta shook her head, unable to hide her grin. “Azriel will kill you.”

Cassian shrugged, unbothered by the prospect. “I just want one picture of my nephews. Then they can rip them up for all I care.”

“I still don’t know what to get Morrigan. I have no idea what she likes other than wine.”

Cassian tilted his head in contemplation. “There’s that distillery that makes social justice themed alcohol, their booth is back towards the front. That would be right up her alley.”

Nesta’s brows rose, the idea scratching her itch for something unique yet appropriate for the still superficial friendship they had.

“That’s perfect,” She said quietly, pulling out her phone, anxious to fill in her spreadsheet. “Let me just-”

“Take your time, baby. We’ve got plenty of it.”

Nesta stared down at the screen, satisfied by the solid block green rows. Just two left now, which seemed so much more manageable than this morning when they started. A weight lifted off her shoulders, and she let out a long, satisfied breath.

“Just Emerie then.”

Cassian hummed in acknowledgement, offering his arm to her again.

They made it to the front of the market, and Nesta turned to assess the stands again, deciding on where to look again for her friend. Slowly, she wandered to one of the first jewelry booths, assessing the various bracelets. It was intricate metalwork on gorgeous cuffs. Cuffs that would make incredible friendship bracelets.

“Your ring is gorgeous.”

Nesta lifted her eyes, meeting the soft brown ones of the girl behind the counter. Looking back down at her hand, she assessed her engagement ring, the ruby set among tiny white diamonds. Cassian was by no means a poor man, but still, she’d protested that she didn’t need something so exquisite. He disagreed.

“Thank you,” she replied. “My fiancé has good taste, or so I think.”

“Excellent taste,” the girl replied. “The gold band will match those cuffs nicely.”

A smile tugged on her lips as she ran her fingers over the metal. “I think you’re right,” she said. “I’ll take three.”

The girl grinned at her, moving away to wrap them. All the while, Nesta continued to try and come up with various ideas for Cassian. But still, nothing seemed like enough. He had an engraved watch, one she’d gotten him for their first Christmas, and he had plenty of other sentimental gifts, ones she’d all but planned out years in advance.

And now, it seemed like nothing could top it. Except perhaps his wedding band, which they’d just selected only a few weeks ago.

“Wait, are you Nesta Archeron?”

Nesta returned her attention to the girl, who had her bag of goods in her hands. Her brows were in her hairline, her mouth dropped open.

“I… Yes, I am.” Nesta replied, still unaccustomed to being recognized in public.

“I thought you looked familiar. You’re my favorite author!” The girl gushed, her entire face brightening. “Would you… Would you sign my book? I got the last copy on release day. I absolutely adore the love interest. How he accepts Aurelia even with all her quirks and dark days? To die for! Did you base him off your fiancé?”

Nesta couldn’t hide her smile this time, knowing full well that most of his description did indeed from the man waiting just a few feet behind her. And with that thought came a new idea, one that seemed so simple, yet hadn’t before crossed her mind.

“Perhaps. And I’d love to,” She replied, reaching out to accept the copy and a pen. It was still so surreal, even after all this time, to see her own work in person.

Quickly, she signed her name, wishing the girl a happy holiday season, before shutting the book and handing it back.

“Thank you so much!” The girl said, looking so unequivocally happy it made Nesta’s throat tight. It was remarkable that someone was this happy about her writing.

“And…I’m really glad you found your person. I hope one day I find mine.”

“You will,” Nesta said, accepting her jewelry with a larger smile. “I know it.”

---

Over the course of the next week, Nesta’s nerves about what to buy eased.

Only to be immediately replaced by her nerves about if each recipient would like the gifts she got them.

It was December 23, less than a day remaining before the entire family would gather for Christmas Eve dinner. Nesta was always nervous to meet with them all at once, it was a feeling that would likely never quite go away. But now, at least, it was more anticipatory. Would Elain and Feyre like their gifts? Would Mor and Amren? Rhysand and Azriel?

As she looked down at the wrapping paper in her lap, the boxes strewn out in front of her in the living room, she ran through her gift checklist one more time. A warm glow was cast over the living room, the Christmas tree lights twinkling. Cassian had lit a fire a few minutes ago, and the heat of it soothed something deep in her soul.

It would be fine. These were good gifts. She’d wrap them, and everything would be perfect.

“Nes, sweetheart, I found the rest of the scotch tape.”

Nesta lifted her eyes, smiling gratefully at Cassian as he padded back into the living room, settling down on the floor, his back against the couch. Nesta shifted down to join him, reaching for Azriel’s gifts to place into a box. With meticulous precision, she taped it up, wrapping it in navy-blue paper with silver stripes.

“You’re so good at this,” Cassian murmured. “You should make it a paid service.”

Huffing a laugh, Nesta reached for his finger, using it to hold a satin ribbon in place as she tied it off.

“I don’t think my skill is quite that impressive. Gwyn’s, perhaps. Or Elain’s. They'd probably make thousands.”

Cassian hummed, leaning forward to press a kiss to her head.

“Feeling better now that you got Emerie a slot in that coveted yoga class she’s been trying so desperately to get into?”

“Much,” Nesta replied. “Though, you know how nervous I’ll be tomorrow, anyway.”

His laugh was soft, and he shifted, his arm sliding behind her, pulling her close once she set Azriel’s wrapped package aside.

“Nervous about whether they will like your gifts or nervous about having attention on you while you open yours?”

Nesta swatted him lightheartedly, hating and loving how well he knew her.

“They’re good gifts, right?”

“Amazing gifts, sweetheart. You put Santa Claus out of business every year, and we all know it.”

“I do, don’t I?”

There was one thing, at least, she wasn’t nervous about anymore. And it was his own gift, which she’d finished only a few days ago. The idea had struck that moment at the jewelry stand, and every day since she’d worked to put it together.

He pressed a kiss to her temple, a proper smile on his face. “Does that make me Mrs. Claus?”

Nesta lifted her head, assessing with a raised brow. “I’m not sure. You can’t exactly bake cookies very well.”

Cassian reared back in mock offense. “That was one time, Nes. I could make a successful batch of cookies right this minute if you wished.”

Nesta shook her head, shifting to settle more comfortably against his chest. “I think I prefer you staying right here.”

His chest vibrated in contentment, almost a purr. His arm was a comforting weight around her, and not for the first time did she marvel at how her life had turned out. How she was spending her evenings with this man, in their house. It was all pretty perfect, if you had to ask her. And Nesta had been raised never to believe in perfect things.

“But yes, you know I love attention.” Nesta said with a sigh. “It’s always fine, I know. I’m not sure why I always get nervous.”

“You want everything to be perfect, my love. And it always is.”

Nesta hummed, though couldn’t say she was convinced. Still, she adored him for how soothed he could make her with just a few words.

“You know, I was thinking,” He added after a moment. “I know you don’t like all the attention on you when you get gifts. So, what if we start our own tradition of exchanging the night before? Just us?”

Nesta’s lips parted, and she sat up, assessing him. Her gift to him was wrapped delicately, sitting under the tree next to the one he’d placed for her, just hours ago.

“You want to?” She asked, something within her very much approving of the idea.

“Well, you’ve been very secretive about my gift. Maybe I can’t wait anymore.”

Nesta couldn’t help the smile that tugged on her lips.

“Alright.”

Before he could smile back at her, she was moving, pushing out of his arms, and crawling the few feet over to the base of the tree. Reaching, she grabbed her own package, turning back to face him.

“You sure? You like being the center of attention when there are gifts involved.”

Cassian smirked. “Because I always get the best ones from my lovely fiancé. I can brag about it all night tomorrow.”

Her cheeks heated, despite herself, but she smiled back, shifting back over to him. Holding out the package, she said,

“Well then, be my guest.”

“You’re excited,” Cassian replied, intrigue in his voice. Lifting the gift, he shook it lightly by his ear. “Should I be worried?”

“Just open it, you brute.”

His smirk softened into a gentle smile. With deft fingers, he untied the ribbon around the box and undid the paper along the taped points, not tearing. He truly knew her too well. She sat back on her haunches, watching closely, wondering only at the last minute if it was too stupid, too cheesy.

Cassian’s brows rose as he unveiled his gift, the title of her latest book staring up at him.

“This is… your book.”

Nesta bit her cheek, controlling her nerves. “Open it.”

His interest was clear in the focus that settled over his face, and he opened the cover. His eyes scanned over the note she’d penned there, an extra dedication to him and him only. Carefully, his fingers brushed over the various tabs throughout the pages.

“What is this?” He asked softly, opening up to the first one.

“We weren’t together when my first book came out,” Nesta explained. “And we were just getting started when the second came out. In this one, the main character, Aurelia, she-”

“Leaves the first love interest for the one she ends up with, I know,” He said softly, flipping to the next tab.

Nesta nodded, folding her hands in her lap. He had read the entire thing before publication, after all.

“This is…Sweetheart.”

Nesta shifted closer, evaluating which line he was looking at.

“Aurelia scowled as Ramin brushed a bead of sweat off his brow, the jagged mountain path looking nothing short of ominous. “I thought you said you liked the outdoors,” He said. “This is the outdoors.”

“I like sitting outdoors. Not hiking for thirteen miles.”

“We have to get up this hill, sweetheart. We need to get a better sense of our position.”

There, in the margins, was her script, slightly messy yet coherent to those who knew her best.

“October 4th, 2019. We went camping as a family, to Rhysand’s cabin. We got lost trying to find the campground’s maintenance buildings. We hiked six miles, because you wanted to get to higher ground, to ‘evaluate our position.’”

Each tab had a memory associated. Something Cassian did or said that Nesta had taken and put into this character, the manifestation of what love meant to her. From their petty arguments to the ways in which he understood her unlike anyone else. To how she knew it was him, from the moment they met, and no one else.

“Nesta, this is incredible.”

“I know it’s not much,” She said. “But I couldn’t figure out what to get you that you didn’t already have.”

“Sweetheart, it’s everything.”

Cassian looked up at her with genuine tears in his eyes, an expression that was almost reverence on his face. It filled Nesta with intense warmth, with love.

“You like it?” She asked, her voice a soft whisper.

He moved, quickly, closing the book with care and setting it aside, before he was crowding into her space, pressing kisses all over her face until he caught her lips, where he stayed for one, two, three, four more, until she was practically breathless.

Nesta’s hands rested against his own, which cupped her face, and laughed, just a little.

“I love it, Nesta,” He replied. “I love it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, sweetheart. I will treasure this always.”

She pressed her forehead against his, relishing the affection she felt from him.

“I wanted the world to have a piece of how wonderful you are,” She murmured. “But the specific reasons as to why can be just for us.”

“What did I tell you,” He replied, dipping her head to press another kiss to her lips. “The best gift giver.”

Pulling back, he stroked his thumb over her cheek affectionately before moving towards the tree.

“I’m afraid mine may look quite small in comparison.”

Nesta shook her head, watching as he pulled the tiny box from its place atop the tree skirt. The man could bring her a rock, and she'd likely cherish it until she died.

“You know I don’t need anything special.”

“So you tell me every time I get you a gift, baby.”

He approached her again, settling down beside her and placing the box in her hands. It was the one she’d seen briefly at the Market, the one he’d hidden from her.

“I know you got me something that’s not sentimental, and I got you a gift like that too, for tomorrow night. But these, I think, can stay between us.”

Nesta couldn’t shake the smile from her face as she nodded her agreement. For several seconds, she stared down at the box, the gold foil of it glinting in the light. Cassian nudged her with his nose, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“Open it, Nes.”

“Be patient.”

But even as she said the words, she was pulling the ribbon free and lifting the cover off. Her eyes roved over the necklace that sat nestled on a pillow of velvet, and she went still, her throat tightening.

“Cass…”

It was a simple pendant, one that held two stones – their birthstones, to be exact, bound together by metal that had been shaped to look like a single golden thread. Lifting it out of the box, she assessed it closer, lips parted in shock.

“Turn it over.”

She obeyed him, surprised at the small engraving that had somehow fit on the back. Their initials were there, with a year. Next year, the one they were getting married in.

“It’s beautiful,” She said quietly, running her finger over the gems. "Where did you-?"

“I had it custom made from the woman you saw me speaking to. I was picking it up when you so sneakily almost caught me.”

Huffing a laugh, she smiled down at the piece. Simple, yet elegant. Exactly her taste.

“Put it on me?” She asked.

“Of course, sweetheart.”

His hands were soft. They always were, when he touched her. In one gentle movement, he swept her hair over her shoulder, and in the next, he brought the necklace around her throat, the pendant resting perfectly between her collarbones. He clasped it easily, letting his hands slide over her shoulders, his head dipping to kiss her neck.

“I knew it would look beautiful on you,” He murmured. “But I still wasn’t prepared. You’re so stunning, Nes.”

Nesta leaned back into his arms, which wrapped tightly around her, the warm spices and cedar she associated with his scent enveloping her senses. Tilting her head up, she caught his jaw in a kiss, grinning as he dipped his chin to meet her lips properly.

“Merry Christmas,” She whispered, lacing their fingers together where they rested on her stomach. "I love you."

Cassian all but melted at the words, squeezing her tight and settling back against the couch, just holding her.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart. I love you too.”

---

The next evening, when Nesta and Cassian arrived at Feyre and Rhysand’s house to celebrate, arms full of gifts, her family’s eyes caught immediately on the gold pendant around her neck. Mor and Feyre pestered Cassian for hours, wanting to know where, exactly, it had come from. Azriel had kissed her on the cheek, complimenting her politely as he always did, warm and protective of her as he was. Elain gushed, and Amren smiled approvingly, always appreciative of fine taste. Even Rhysand complimented it, clapping Cassian on the shoulder.

It was a soothing experience, a welcoming one. It filled her with the confidence she didn’t know she needed, to say without hesitation that she belonged here.

And as the family settled around the tree, anxious to pass out gifts, any lingering anxieties faded away to nothing. Nesta couldn’t deny it to herself any longer, nor to those around her. In that moment, she felt entirely complete, entirely content. Entirely sure that this was the life she was meant to live, here with these people.

Just as Cassian had promised, everything was entirely perfect.

--- End ---

[mdzs-fanon-exposed]

i think having someone who can read the original novel in chinese on this blog would be beneficial; there are several inaccurate posts here due to huge blunders with the english translations!

thank you for the ask! this actually gives me an opportunity to bring up something i've been thinking about for a while, if you'll excuse me using your ask in this way lol. i've actually begun to lose interest in running this blog for a few reasons, which is why i haven't been very active. one of the things i've been thinking about is whether i'm even the best person to be running this blog, given my inability to double-check my work from the original chinese. i started this as a fun project on the side, but given how much bigger this blog has gotten, it's only more evident that my (lack of) cultural perspective is a major hindrance. as you mention, bringing on another mod would be really helpful, but i've also been considering handing the blog over to another person entirely.

the simpler solution would be for anybody who is interested to just make their own blog, whether it follows this format or not. i don't need to be (and probably shouldn't be) the only mdzs blog like this to exist. if anyone was interested in being a mod for my blog, this is another option available to you!

i'm still considering the best way forward for this blog since i don't want to leave any loose threads hanging, so i haven't made any concrete decisions. i may continue to make the occasional post in the next few months but due to a couple factors i've been much more distanced from it as a whole. we'll see how it goes, and i hope y'all understand! and if anyone wants to make their own mdzs fanon-vs-canon blog, please go ahead ;)

in the meantime, if you've noticed any egregious errors, please let me know so i can go back and correct myself! thank you all very much ^-^

[storiesundercandlelight]

hii so it’s me again and i have a couple ideas i really love the upper hand fic u did so maybe you could do a pt.2 id love it tysm so much 🥰

The Upper Hand Pt 2

Ah so so happy you enjoyed the first part!!! Again (as always because I'm both lazy and too keen to post finished fics) I haven't checked this over for errors yet! NSFW+18

"We're running low, too low in fact - I know of at least two patients in Whitechapel that have been experiencing nausea and I don't have enough to make the tonics" You sighed at Jonathan's words, knowing full well that meant another trek out to one of the abandoned pharmacies in the city.

"Why don't you use the hospitals supplies? It seems rather stupid when we are quite literally here in the hospital"

"The hospital is short as well, I can't take their supplies when someone here may need it - the nearest pharmacy we can check isn't that far"

"No no, not that far, just around a few corners, through a pack of Skals and a bunch or two of Priwen's delightfully dull patrols" You sighed again, your arms flopping over your face as you laid across the small hospital bed Jonathan had in his office.

"So dramatic"

"I bet you any money there's enough in the supply room to make the tonics and leave the hospital enough"

"Oh? I wasn't aware of your new position as the inventory keeper" You rolled your eyes and shot up from the bed, grabbing Jonathan by the arm and pulling him with you towards the door. His arms were cold, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, exposing his skin to the warmth of your hand.

You made quick work of dragging Jonathan along with you to the supply room a few doors down, you stopped only once you were outside the door, an impatient look cast towards Jonathan as he reluctantly pulled his keys from his trouser pockets to unlock the door. "You are unbelievably stubborn"

"And you are unbelievably boring but we can't all win"

"You weren't saying that the other night" Jonathan muttered as he unlocked the door. The night in question came flooding back to you, the teasing between you turning into a rather heated night. The imagery your mind replayed had you heating up as Jonathan held the door open for you.

"I thought you'd given up that smug little look of yours"

"Of course not, I still have the upper hand remember?" You rolled your eyes as you looked over the small but cluttered supply room, a large shelf sat in the centre of the room, so full you couldn't see through it to the other side. Surely with all of these bottles and boxes Jonathan could take what was needed without venturing out into the city.

You almost said as much but Jonathan had already begun searching the shelves for what he needed. You watched and then followed him around the shelf as he searched. Your eyes wandering over his form, lingering on his exposed forearms as he reached up to inspect the label on a bottle on a higher shelf. "It's rude to stare"

You tried to suppress the heat you felt rising to your cheeks but you were sure if you looked in a mirror you'd be red. "No staring. Simply waiting with oh so much patience for you to hurry up"

"You're the one who wanted to get the supplies from in here, which by the way is stealing"

"You're everyone's favourite doctor, they wouldn't even suspect you"

"Hmm so I get to be someone else's downfall do I?"

You ignored him, allowing your eyes to venture once more, no point stopping now. You had to admit Jonathan was a fine sight, for a doctor especially. His hair was neatly slicked back, you remembered the feeling of the shorter hair at the back and sides against your fingers. The way he'd used his tongue, teased you, so confident in making a point.

Damn. You'd done a fine job of working yourself up now. Even the little lip bite Jonathan was subconsciously pulling off as he checked more labels had you wishing you were still in his office. Although...he had relocked the door hadn't he? You leant back just enough to see past the shelf, eyes flicking in the direction of the door briefly to check it was in fact closed. The keys in the lock confirming your suspicions.

You moved quickly then, pushing yourself rather elegantly between the shelf and Jonathan. "What are you doing?"

"Getting you back" you gave him no other notice as you dropped to your knees, hands already working his belt open and pulling at his trousers.

Jonathan's whole body tensed as he sucked in a breath he didn't need. "You can't be serious?! Here?!" His whispered yell would have made you laugh if you weren't so focused on pulling him out of his trousers.

In all fairness he could have stopped it, he could have pulled away and stopped you before you started. But he didn't. And he lost all thoughts of doing so when he felt the heat of your mouth wrap around him, working him up very quickly to full hardness. "God" He sighed, allowing himself to lean by the forearm against the shelf as you moved your mouth along the length of him.

He felt his legs twitch when you licked the tip of him, teasing him before taking his length again, moving with an admirable if not infuriating determination. Jonathan let his forehead drop, resting it on the arm against the shelf as soft moans started falling from his lips. He was sure the more sensible part of him was screaming at him to stop this madness, they were in the supply room for gods sake, anyone with a key could walk in.

He could feel his body tensing, that same coil he felt the other night tightening as he neared his release. But just as he thought the end was coming, you slowed down to a brutally slow pace. Jonathan groaned in both annoyance and lust as you leisurely teased your tongue long him, placing only gentle kisses to the tip of his length. He allowed himself to look down at you, you didn't meet his gaze, too fixed on your current task but he saw it...that little smirk. Well...he wasn't about to give up his hold on the lead just yet. Jonathan pulled away from you, startling you when his hands gripped onto your arms, pulling you up and turning you to face the shelf.

"I don't appreciate being teased"

"The feelings mutual my dear, but you deserve it after the other night" You felt Jonathan's hands at the fastenings of your trousers for only a second before he pulled them down, your exposed behind pressing against his length. "If I had known this is all it takes to make you snap I would have done this ages ago"

"I am going to fuck you so hard you won't be able to make your little jokes anymore" You gasped as Jonathan pressed you against the shelf harder, pulling your hips back against his with one hand while the other gripped the shelf your head was against.

"Such filthy words again doctor! You should really-" You words were cut off as Jonathan pushed into you, your body taking him so easily as he pressed in to the hilt. He gave you a moment, but that was all. Jonathan set an equally determined pace as he moved his hips against you, your grip on the shelves tightening as you tried to keep yourself upright against this delicious assault.

Moments that you wished would last forever passed as you moved against each other - mindful of the noise you were both making as Jonathan moved his hips. You almost didn't noticed the handle of the door jiggling as someone tried to open it. Jonathan's body went still as you both froze, he knew the keys in the lock should stop anyone from the outside being able to unlock the door but that wouldn't explain why he was in the supply room with you with the door locked, not to mention the state you would both be in.

"Blast it I forgot my keys!" Edgars voice sounded from the other side of the door, Jonathan cursed.

"Why am I always getting into trouble with you?" before you could answer Jonathan was moving again, this time as quickly as your position would allow him. You would have called him mad but you knew better than to test him at this point, so you simply held on for dear life as he pushed you both towards your ends.

He wasn't sure if it was the location, the fact that Edgar was likely on his way back or simply from having you again - especially like this, that had Jonathan slipping over the edge, gasping against your shoulder as he filled you. You followed as soon as the heat of him entered you, biting down on your hand to stop the moan that threatened to fall from your lips.

You wished you could have stayed like that for longer but Jonathan had already pulled away, gathering himself together before helping you do the same. You both rushed towards the door, Jonathan's hand quickly finding the keys in the lock and turning them.

It was almost comical how his head shot out, checking left and right to see if the coast was clear before he ushered you out and down the hallway to his office. "That is the last time I listen to one of your ideas"

"Don't even try to tell me you didn't enjoy that"

"I'm not, although I would prefer one of these days to do that with you in a location where we don't have to be quiet" You smirked, hands finding the now wrinkled collar of Jonathan's shirt.

"I'm sure that can be arranged"

"Hmm... so what are we even now?" Jonathan's look of disappointment wasn't easily missed as it crossed his features. "I was enjoying being in the lead"

"Well you'll just have to get back in front then wont you?"

"Hmm" Jonathan turned his head, frowning suddenly. "You do realise we didn't find the supplies we needed... we're going out for them" You groan of annoyance only caused him to chuckle as he reached for your coats. It seemed the night was very far from being over.

[firespirited]

Long post. Press j to skip.

I AM SICK OF THE STUPID AI DEBATES, does it imagine, is it based on copyrightable material, are my patterns in there?

That's not the point.

I briefly got into website design freelancing (less than 3 months) before burn out.

The main reason was that automation had begun for generating stylesheets in somewhat tasteful palettes, for automatically making html/xml (they really haven't learned to simplify and tidy code though, they just load 50 divs instead of one), for batch colourising design elements to match and savvy designers weren't building graphics from scratch and to spec unless it was their day job.

Custom php and database design died with the free bundled CMS packages that come with your host with massive mostly empty unused values.

No-one has talked about the previous waves of people automated out of work by website design generators, code generators, the fiverr atomisation of what would have been a designers job into 1 logo and a swatch inserted into a CMS by an unpaid intern. Reviews, tutorials, explanations and articles are generated by stealing youtube video captions, scraping fan sites and putting them on a webpage. Digitally processing images got automated with scripts stolen from fan creators who shared. Screencaps went from curated processed images made by a person to machine produced once half a second and uploaded indiscriminately. Media recaps get run into google translate and back which is why they often read as a little odd when you look up the first results.

This was people's work, some of it done out of love, some done for pay. It's all automated and any paid work is immediately copied/co-opted for 20 different half baked articles on sites with more traffic now. Another area of expertise I'd cultivated was deep dive research, poring over scans of magazines and analysing papers, fact checking. I manually checked people's code for errors or simplifications, you can get generators to do that too, even for php. I used to be an english-french translator.

The generators got renamed AI and slightly better at picture making and writing but it's the same concept.

The artists that designed the web templates are obscured, paid a flat fee by the CMS developpers, the CMS coders are obscured, paid for their code often in flat fees by a company that owns all copyright over the code and all the design elements that go with. That would have been me if I hadn't had further health issues, hiding a layer in one of the graphics or a joke in the code that may or may not make it through to the final product. Or I could be a proof reader and fact checker for articles that get barely enough traffic while they run as "multi snippets" in other publications.

The problem isn't that the machines got smarter, it's that they now encroach on a new much larger area of workers. I'd like to ask why the text to speech folks got a flat fee for their work for example: it's mass usage it should be residual based. So many coders and artists and writers got screwed into flat fee gigs instead of jobs that pay a minimum and more if it gets mass use.

The people willing to pay an artist for a rendition of their pet in the artist's style are the same willing to pay for me to rewrite a machine translation to have the same nuances as the original text. The same people who want free are going to push forward so they keep free if a little less special cats and translations. They're the same people who make clocks that last 5 years instead of the ones my great uncle made that outlived him. The same computer chips my aunt assembled in the UK for a basic wage are made with a lot more damaged tossed chips in a factory far away that you live in with suicide nets on the stairs.

There is so much more to 'AI' than the narrow snake oil you are being sold: it is the classic and ancient automation of work by replacing a human with a limited machine. Robot from serf (forced work for a small living)

It's a large scale generator just like ye olde glitter text generators except that threw a few pennies at the coders who made the generator and glitter text only matters when a human with a spark of imagination knows when to deploy it to funny effect. The issue is that artists and writers are being forced to gig already. We have already toppled into precariousness. We are already half way down the slippery slope if you can get paid a flat fee of $300 for something that could make 300k for the company. The generators are the big threat keeping folks afraid and looking at the *wrong* thing.

We need art and companies can afford to pay you for art. Gig work for artists isn't a safe stable living. The fact that they want to make machines to take that pittance isn't the point. There is money, lots of money. It's not being sent to the people who make art. It's not supporting artists to mess around and create something new. It's not a fight between you and a machine, it's a fight to have artists and artisans valued as deserving a living wage not surviving between gigs.

[zmediaoutlet]

//crashes through wall// mid-coffee bj in the bunker OR frottage (anywhere, anytime) OR plug + FBI suits OR 'Sam wants to wear a blindfold and Dean is kinda unsure'

(read on AO3)

Itwasn’t so much a problem getting Dean to go to a strip club. He’s usually goodto go as soon as the promise of cheap drinks and smiling women are on thehorizon, and really, Sam has never minded that. Well—okay, he doesn’t mindit now. It’s been a hard few weeks, a hard month. What monthisn’t, really. Now, though, with how hard Dean’s been taking everything, Samjust wants—

“Are youkidding me,” Dean says, eyes bright in the wash of neon lights. Sam shrugs,keeping his smile tucked into the corner of his mouth. “Sammy, areyou kidding me,” he says again, delight all through his voice,and he pushes open the ridiculous pleather doors and—yes, Sam looked on thewebsite ahead of time, and it is indeed Cowgirl Night at Cherry’s. Hefollows Dean into the dim interior, already rolling his eyes at the terriblepop country song that’s playing, but there’s a girl down to her assless chapsand a fringed bra on stage, bouncing around as someone urges her to save ahorse.

The guy at thedoor looks at their suits and waves them in and Dean makes a beeline for abooth, about halfway between the stage and the bar. Sam sits carefully on theother side of the table, content to look for now. The hunt wasn’t too bad andthey’re not going to drive back home to the bunker until the morning, so this—thisshould be good. A girl wearing a cowboy hat and not much else comes smiling upto the table and Dean gives her his biggest grin and says, “Howdy, ma’am,mighty fine place you got here,” and Sam just leans back into the booth andresigns himself to an evening of Dean’s charm.

The beer’scheap and the girls are—well, young, but they’re beautiful, too,and more importantly Dean’s smiling. He applauds when one of the girls finishesher dance, and cheerfully tucks a five into the sparkly western-themed bra ontheir waitress when she brings them a new round of drinks. One girl who can’tbe more than five feet trots over and offers both of them lapdances, and Samraises his eyebrows at Dean. He’ll do it, if Dean wants. Dean only laughs,though, and says, “Sorry, darlin’, you’ll have to ride some other cowboy,”but he sends her on her way with a twenty and she’s smiling genuinely when sheleaves. “Sam,” Dean says, watching her ass bounce away in its frame of pinkleather chaps, “this is the best idea you’ve ever had.”

“Yeah?” Samsays, and Dean turns his eyes fully on Sam’s. He’s flushed, his tie undone andhis eyes dark and dancing.

“Yeah,” Deansays, and clinks his bottle against Sam’s. Sam takes a swallow, and watches Deanwatch him, and smiles, thinking that Dean hasn’t seen anything yet.

The bathroom’sdim, kind of filthy. It has locks on both sides, but Sam knows his way around asimple deadbolt and jams his pick in deep enough that the pins won’t catch ifsomeone tries to unlock it. Dean’s tipsy at his back, laughing,saying, “Sammy, Sammy,” and Sam turns around and gathers his face in bothhands and kisses his grinning mouth, licking in and tasting beer, overlaid withthat sugary pink thing that the bartender had sent over, somewhere in themiddle of the dance that sent them in here. Dean leans into it, groans, hishands wrapping into the lapels of Sam’s jacket.

“You hard?” Samsays, pulling back for a second, and slides one hand down. “Oh, look atthat,” he says, mildly, and Dean groans and pushes into it, the line of himstraining against Sam’s palm through the fine material of his slacks. God, helooks good like this—flushed and ready and happy, half-undonealready in his suit. Sam walks him backward, kissing his temple and his cheekand his jaw while Dean breathes hard against his ear, until his ass fetches upagainst the cheap pedestal sink.

“There is noway in hell,” Dean starts—and interrupts himself with another groan when Sampalms again at the bulge of his dick and then starts undoing hisbelt. “Sam, you are not fucking me over a sink in a strip club.”

Sam smiles downat him, shrugging. “Wasn’t planning on it,” he says, and Dean looks downbetween them and then up at Sam again, eyebrows raised. The music changes, andSam tugs Dean’s belt open and then the slick button on the slacks, and tugsDean’s shirt out of the way, and then goes down to his knees in one move,ignoring the grit and nastiness of the floor in order to watch Dean’s mouthpart with surprise, the deep breath he takes. Sam leans in and kisses the softplace under Dean’s belly button, just above where the line of his boxer-briefscuts into his skin, and watches Dean’s hands curl tight over the lip of thesink out of the corner of his eye. “Can you be quiet?” Sam says, looking upagain.

Dean blinks athim, already breathing open-mouthed and heavy. “Don’t think I really needto, Sammy,” he says, and yeah, the music’s loud even in here, bass-heavy andtrembling the cheap lights.

“Well, try,”Sam says, and Dean rolls his eyes, and then Sam tugs his zip down and pullsdown his briefs and there’s his dick, full and heavy and straining after anight of watching girls he’ll never fuck, and Sam ducks his head and lips asoft kiss against the base, his mouth already wet and full in anticipation, andthen opens his mouth and sinks down on it, wide-open and eager.

“Oh, christalive,” Dean says, shocked like it’s something new, and then laughsbreathlessly. Sam closes his eyes, tries not to smile. He draws up slow, bobsdown again slower, savors the thickness of it. Dean’s not as big as him, butthat doesn’t matter—he loves it. Loves the weight, the shape, the perfect ridgeof the head he can lip over, the tender give of the crown that never stopsbeing soft, not even when Dean’s this hard. He tongues idly against the headfor a moment, just appreciating, and then screws down all the way to the base,ignores the threatening pressure at the back of his throat for the way Deangasps, one hand appearing at the back of Sam’s head and fisting into his hair,tugging. Another benefit, to be able to do this. Sam holds there, just for aminute, just to hear Dean say—”Oh my god, Sammy, your mouth, whatthe fuck,” and then he pulls back, gasping, to smile up into Dean’s face.

“Yeah, be moresmug,” Dean says, but he’s breathing hard and so it doesn’t really come off theway he thinks it does. He tucks Sam’s hair behind his ear while Sam fists thewet length of him, slowly, blinking the slight tears out of his eyes. Dean getsso slick, right away. He settles more comfortably on his knees, leans in andlicks a flat swipe over the head, and smiles again at Dean’s whole-bodyshiver. “Are you, like, deliberately messing with me,” Dean says, and ashe does there’s a rattle at the door, someone trying the handle. 

“Hey,” a guysays, muffled under the music, “stop jerkin’ off in there, I gotta piss,”and Sam snorts, has to bury his face against Dean’s hip to muffle it.

“Oh my god,”Dean whispers, “this was your idea, say something,” and Sam kisses theside of his dick and whispers back, “you say something, you’re the onegetting a happy ending,” and Dean says, “I hate you,” in a fiercerwhisper, and Sam smacks his belly with his free hand and says, then,loud, “Sorry, buddy, I—uh, I had bad shrimp, I’m puking in here,” and Deansays oh my god again, both hands covering his face, butapparently that works because the guy says, “Oh, nasty, why would you eatanything from a strip club buffet, dude!” and Sam slips his slick fingers downto Dean’s balls where they’re still half-trapped inside his briefs andhalf-shouts, “I know, I’m an idiot, it’s just—it’s gonna be a minute,”while Dean spreads his legs wider and gasps above his head, and the guysays, “Nasty,” again, like he’s disappointed, and Sam shrugs at Dean’sincredulous look and goes right back down, his free arm wrapped around Dean’slower back to hitch him closer, lips and tongue working, long sucks as he pullsup. Dean groans, his hips jerking into Sam’s mouth, and Sam goes with it,capably. This isn’t even the nastiest place they’ve done this, thoughadmittedly it’s been a while since Sam was on his knees on the hard ground. Hejust—he loves getting Dean like this, sex-drunk and glowing,groaning his name, the way he shudders and moans, all his worries falling away.Dean’s thighs are starting to tremble, his hips rocking in tight little motionsagainst Sam’s working mouth, and Sam breathes in deep through his nose andsucks harder, lets his tongue slip-slide over the underside as he goes backdown, and Dean puts both hands in his hair, slides his hands through it andgets a double grip at the back of his skull, pulling just enough that itprickles all the way down Sam’s back.

“Sammy,” Deanwhispers, and Sam pulls off his dick, gasping, and says soft into the dark warmspace between them, “Dean, I gotta tell you something,” and shifts hisweight on his knees again, groans. Oh, god, he’s hard—he’d been able to put itout of his mind, but the pulse of it is thick between his legs and for a secondhe doesn’t want anything but to flip Dean around against the sink and fuck him,watching his face in the mirror, protest be damned. But Dean’s leaking into hishand, and he wants— “I had a plan,” he says, “I wanted to give yousomething,” and when he looks up Dean’s watching him, face pink and his mouthbitten to red. Sam suckles once more against the pretty head of Dean’s dick,lets the salt of it fill up his mouth, and then he puts his hands on the sinkon either side of Dean’s hips and gets to his feet, knees cracking, and theshift as he stands is so intense that he groans, hips flinching forward intoDean’s.

“Sam,” Deansays, hands sliding over Sam’s shoulders, down his chest, and Sam leans in andknocks Dean’s mouth open, kisses him wide and open, lets Dean taste himself. Heunbuckles his own belt, Dean’s dick brushing against the back of his hands, andthen grabs one of Dean’s hands and pulls back from his mouth and watches hiseyes while he pushes Dean’s hand around his hip, under the waistband of hisbriefs, down and down until he can feel Dean’s fingers brush the plug. Deanfrowns, for a second, and then his eyes go wide and his expression almostblank, and Sam lets his grip on Dean’s hand loosen. He leans forward a little,free hand braced against the sink, and their faces are close together, they’re breathingthe same air, while Dean’s fingers slip around the lube-wet base of the thing,while he circles the silicone where it’s breaking Sam’s body open.

“What,” Deansays, blinking, and looking up into Sam’s eyes. His cheeks are brick-red, hisears and throat flushed dark. 

“If you want,”Sam says, and has to clear his throat. Dean presses his fingers flat againstthe plug and Sam closes his eyes, just for a second. It’s not—it’s not that hedoesn’t like it at all, but it’s usually not something he goes for, and thepressure is amazing even with this small thing, barely three inches, justsomething to hold him open, to make it easier if Dean wanted to—if he decidedto— “You want to fuck me, Dean?” he says, opening his eyes, and Dean leansup and crushes their mouths together, his arms wrapping around Sam’s neck, andSam grabs him by the waist and pushes his still-covered dick against Dean’sbare slick one, knows his slacks are getting stained and disgusting but itdoesn’t matter, not with the way Dean’s shaking in his arms.

“You—” Deansays, against Sam’s mouth, and then he breathes something, so quiet Sam can’thear it over his own breath and the thumping music, but he slips his hand downand closes it over Dean’s dick, jerks him long and slow all the way from rootto head, and Dean jerks in his arms and says, breathless, “I’m gonna come,Sam, I’m—” and Sam turns him around and crushes him in against the sink,says, “Come on, let me see,” into his hair, and in the mirror Dean’sbeautiful, suit wrecked, his face glowing pink and sweat gleaming at histhroat, lips as dark as his dick where Sam’s fisting it, quick and hard, andhis eyes are open and fixed on Sam’s in the mirror, right up until he has tosqueeze them closed and he arches his back, ass grinding back into Sam’s crotchright before he shoots, dirtying up the sink, groaning out so loud that someoneoutside the door really could hear them. Sam wraps his other arm around Dean’schest, works him softly, letting Dean shudder in the cage of his body, his lipspressed against the tender space under his ear, the one that only Sam touches.

Dean reachesdown and stills Sam’s hand, after a minute, and lays his other hand over Sam’sarm, circles his fingers around Sam’s wrist. It takes a minute for his eyes toopen, but when they do they find Sam’s, right away.

“You’re amenace,” Dean says, after a few seconds.

Sam shrugs. Helets his thumb stroke at the root of Dean’s dick, in the damp short hair, andDean bites his lip. God. Dean says enough when Sam’s mouth is on him that Samknows he doesn’t exactly dislike it, but Dean��he’s got no idea of his ownappeal, and that’s saying something for one of the most sexually smug peopleSam’s ever met. “What do you think?” Sam says. He’s—god, his dick’s almostpainful, and he feels—wetter, somehow, more open, just from Dean touching him.The plug’s unignorable now.

Dean takes adeep breath. “You’re gonna help me clean up, Sexzilla,” he says, “andthen we’re going to figure out a way to leave this place so we don’t get arrested,and then I’m gonna drive back to the motel.”

Sam lets go ofDean’s dick and turns his chin, carefully with his slick soiled hand, andkisses him, gentle and shallow. When he pulls back, Dean’s face is soft, open,his eyes heavy-lidded. “Then what,” Sam says.

“That’s for meto know, Agent Rose,” Dean says, turning in Sam’s arms and putting a soft handto his jaw, his smile relaxed and full of promise, “and for you to findout.”

[missmaywemeetagain]

Pink Scarf - PART 14 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)

Prompt: You are part of Elvis Presley's coveted inner circle, and the currently-disgruntled wife of one of the members of Elvis' famous entourage, the Memphis Mafia. After Elvis' dynamite first performance in Vegas, you find yourself in deep water when his magnetism finally gets to you after all these years.  [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: Blood. Assault in various forms. Miscarriage. Death/Mourning. Pregnancy. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.  

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)        ||     Word Count: 7.6k

A/N: I'm so sorry in advance, y'all, cuz this one might knock you on your ass with its dramatic angst and give you whiplash after the last few chapters. Honestly, I hurt myself a bit with this one! *sob* Needless to say, the tone is a bit different here. Please make sure you read the trigger warnings for this part because there are some sensitive topics!

While I hesitated to make a part all in flashback, I couldn't seem to avoid it without creating a ridiculously giant chapter, and I also didn't want to make you wait that long, so here it is, complete with a cliffhanger!

Speaking of that, thank you for being so patient while I got this out. Life is kicking my butt a bit, and I SO appreciate you hanging in there with me!

Also, look out for some fun 1960 Elvis posts/reblogs later so you can get the full visual of his March 1960 glory, in case I haven't described it well enough LOL. I included a Rollerdome pic at the end as well.

As always, to all my babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments you've given me have been a blessing beyond expression. You all are the best community a writer could ask for! Thank you so much for your support. I am loving getting to know y'all better! I love every reaction and comment and ask, and I'm sorry if I don't get back to them all as soon as I'd like but know that I love you all and am so excited to be making new friends! And a big "Hey, Y'all!" to Elvis Twitter, who stumbled into the Pink Scarf vortex and are now with us in the chokehold of '69 Pink Scarf Era Elvis and are supporting and sharing this lil' fic over there--I see you and appreciate you! 👀💋

If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks)! I think I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues or if I missed anyone. There seem to be some issues with tagging that I can't seem to fix, so please know I'm not leaving you out intentionally! Also, if you comment on a previous part that you want to be tagged, I might not always see it, so feel free to message me if I miss you!

I imagined this with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat! 

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch. 

(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my long-neglected AO3 account (which some of you already discovered!), so if you are so inclined, you can check it out over there, though it's not all updated yet!)

March 1960

You shouldn’t feel nervous. It’s just Elvis. But having not seen him in person in over 18 months, or even really being able to talk on the phone, you wonder if too much time has passed, if too much has changed, if the man who went into the Army two years ago is still the friend you cherished.

You wait in front of Graceland in the icy March air with Jack and a multitude of other close friends and relations for Elvis to arrive, shivering in your heavy coat. It’s a strange limbo you all are in, this energy of the end of one thing and the start of something new and unknown. You can’t help feeling that everything is different somehow, that a new era has begun.

This feeling is compounded by the secret you are keeping. You had been wary to accept that your greatest hope is finally coming true, but after your appointment yesterday afternoon, you are finally starting to settle into the fact that new life is growing inside you. You haven’t told anyone yet, not even Jack, since Elvis’ imminent arrival has taken over everyone’s minds. While you have no need to be the center of attention, you also know that the news would get lost in Elvis’ return. No one could compete with Elvis for any sort of attention. It would be a losing battle.

Honestly, you are glad to sit with the knowledge on your own for a moment, to give yourself a minute to adjust to your new reality. And part of you is still quite scared that this could all be over in a flash. It’s still early, the doctor said, even though you were further along than you’d originally thought. But after two years of nothing, there is a piece of you that doesn’t want to get your hopes up.

Perhaps that is truly why you’re feeling nervous and it’s nothing to do with Elvis at all.

Everyone around you starts to buzz, snapping you out of your thoughts, and you look up to see the police cruiser, lights and sirens and all, coming up the long drive. When it finally pulls up in front of the house and Elvis gets out, everyone explodes with liveliness.

It takes a moment for the small crowd to clear enough for you to see him fully. When his tall frame comes completely into view, you feel like all the air has been knocked out of your body. You have to stop yourself from gasping out loud.

He looks beyond incredible. So incredible, in fact, that your heart is suddenly fluttering in your chest like a schoolgirl’s. You have seen him in his uniform before, of course, but the last time, he was so miserable after the death of his mother that the uniform seemed like a prison, an unforgiving punishment almost. Of course, you’d also seen pictures for publicity and ones he sent home which would occasionally show him in his uniform. He always was handsome, to be sure, but now…now, something was different.

You try to put your finger on it because it really has thrown you for a loop. You aren’t some fawning, adoring fan, for god’s sake. But you cannot help but openly stare at the man in front of you. He positively glows. His blue eyes sparkle with the happiness of being home, but it’s not only that. Taking off his cap and tucking it under his arm, he surveys the small crowd and his home with joy. The blue of his dress uniform brings out the reddish-blonde of his natural hair color and the blush on his cheeks. His hair is long again on top, grown out and curled up and mussed from his hat. Compared to the Army buzz cut, it is more reminiscent of his signature coiffed 50’s style, but somehow more mature yet rebellious at the same time. It suits him very well, you think, highlighting high cheekbones, long face, and his now quite chiseled jaw.

Elvis’ whole face is lit up with happiness, that signature grin white and wide, as friends and family gather around him. You can’t help but feel warm and fuzzy to see that smile again in person. When you finally catch his eye, you feel like the whole world stops. It’s ridiculous really, the way your heart throbs in your ears, but you swear his face changes almost imperceptibly when he sees you. You’re not exactly sure how, but it softens somehow, imbued with just a little more warmth than he’s already exuding. His eyes travel over you only briefly before Jack reaches out to embrace him, but in that short moment, you suddenly feel self-conscious.

Once his eyes leave you, you let out a deep breath that you didn’t know you’d been holding. You look down, clasping your hands in front of you, but when you look up again, Elvis is looking at you from over Jack’s shoulder. You are absolutely caught in his blue-eyed gaze.

Stop being stupid, it’s just Elvis.

Perhaps your sudden intimidation by your dear friend is that he left Graceland a boy but has returned a man. Even though he’s thin, it’s in a leaner, more carved, more refined way than before. He still retains a bit of his baby face, but his countenance is different, settled, more worldly.

After exchanging words with Jack that you are too overcome to hear, Elvis steps around him and comes towards you, his attentions focused completely on you.

“Hey there, y/n darlin’,” he says gently, his voice still heavily accented, high and bright.

“Welcome home, Elvis,” you say. It barely sounds like you, you think, too quiet and soft and breathless. You ring your hands nervously.

He begins to open his arms and you know he means to embrace you, and all of a sudden, you are certain you are going to faint. It’s as if you know that if he touches you, right here and now, looking as he does and with the way his essence is radiating around you, something will be irrevocably changed. Your heart flutters and your breath rate increases, and you almost panic as he closes the gap, those eyes of his looking at you in such a way that you feel completely, utterly exposed. You want to run away, but you are frozen to the spot.

Just as he steps up to you, he’s attacked from the side by his young cousin. The moment between you is thankfully interrupted, and you instantly step back and behind Jack as the boy wrestles Elvis.

“Jesus, kid, a little warning next time!” he shouts playfully, putting the kid in a headlock and rubbing his knuckle into his head. He catches your eye for a fraction of a second, his face somewhere between regret and chagrin at not being able to hug you. You manage a small smile, but practically hide behind Jack, grabbing his hand as you warily look on.

The horde gratefully moves inside, out of the cold late winter chill. The look that flashes over Elvis’ face as he crosses the threshold is one of trepidation, grief. You realize being home must come with mixed emotions; after all, the last time he was here was when his dear mama passed, and this was the home he’d gotten for her.

You’re not sure that anyone else catches how his breath hitches and how those pretty eyes become anxious. In that moment, you forget all about the strange reaction you had to him not a minute ago and you ache to go to him, to pull him into your arms and tell him it’ll all be okay.

It seems like both forever and just yesterday that he wept in your arms on the stairs, bereft and inconsolable, as his mother lay in the other room in her casket. He had refused to leave her, petting her, and talking their baby talk to her for so long that they had finally placed glass over her to dissuade him. Even then, he had sat vigil by her side and as you all looked on in collective grief, as the concern for him and his deteriorating state was palpable. Almost no one was able to get him away for longer than a few minutes—first it was the Colonel near shoving him and Vernon out the door and into the arms of the vultures with the cameras outside. Then, Sam Phillips was able to console him for a bit. Jack and the boys and Anita all tried to pull him away, but they were only swept up by him to go see Gladys, and his tearful ramblings continued about how beautiful she looked and her tiny little “sooties,” and then his wailing and sobbing would commence once again.

His mama had always been more than kind to you, and you cried for her loss, but it was truly Elvis’ grief that had the tears rolling down your cheeks. But you hadn’t wanted to overstep your bounds. However, he’d stopped eating and drinking, and looked positively exhausted, eyes rimmed with dark circles. Eventually, you could stand it no more.

“Elvis, honey, I need you…” you’d said, putting your hand on his shoulder gently. He’d looked up at you sharply, eyes so bloodshot and filled with tears that the blue of his irises seemed unnaturally bright, his innocence and grief leeching out of them. You faltered then at the state of him, stumbling over your words, wanting to be as kind as possible. You cleared your throat, continuing, “I need you to come with me, sweetie.”

And somehow, against all odds, he listened to you, of all people. Wordlessly, he’d stood, drawing you tightly to him, his arm gripping your waist and his tall frame leaning on you for support, nearly knocking you over. You’d stumbled with him to the stairs, and he’d just collapsed into you, his head buried into your neck, clinging to you as if drowning in his grief and you were his life preserver. His heart wrenching sobs had silent tears flowing down your own cheeks, and you’d held him, petting him, cooing at him, your protective gaze shooing the onlookers away.

Eventually, after some time, he quieted. You could feel the heat of his head through the now-soaked top of your dress. “Oh, E, you’re burning up,” you’d said, feeling his face with your hands. He’d worked himself into such a state that his body was rebelling against him, and you’d whispered to someone nearby to call the doctor.

At that point, he’d had little fight left in him, and Jack and Sam had helped get him up to bed once the doctor had come. But he’d still clung to you, not letting you leave him once in his ornate, darkened cave of a bedroom. Elvis wouldn’t settle or let the doctor administer the much-needed sedative until you were in the huge bed with him and he was curled in your lap. You had looked to Jack wide-eyed for some sort of support, part of you feeling a little scandalized by being invited into Elvis’ bed, but none of the men knew what to do, and you were the only one so far that had been able to get him away from Gladys. You just got harried looks of bewilderment from everyone, and the doctor had just nodded to you, as if giving you permission to climb up in with him, doctor’s orders. Anything to calm Elvis down.

So you had, your heart breaking for him, confused as to why it was you who he needed, not Anita or Vernon or Jack. Regardless of how strange it was, you were his friend, and you’d do anything to help, no matter your own comfort. You’d stayed with him through the night, back leaning up against the headboard awkwardly, staying even after the sedative took hold because when you’d tried to leave, he’d still clung to you, heavy and feverish.

For hours you’d held vigil over him, hand rubbing soothing circles on his back, eventually drifting in and out of sleep, though any movement from him had you startling awake. And when you woke in the morning, stiff as hell, and Elvis blinked up at you with those huge, grieving puppy dog eyes, the pang in your heart was evident and confusing.

After those few horrid days, you never spoke of it again. You never asked him why it was you who’d been able to reach him through his grief, and beyond a whispered “thank you” in your ear before he left for Germany, he never mentioned it again. Not that you’d seen him for him to do so. Maybe that is why you are nervous, you think, because the last time you saw him, he was so utterly lost, and for whatever reason, you had been a lifeline in one of his worst moments. And that feels significant somehow, though you aren’t sure exactly how.

That look you see in his eyes now reminds you too much of that look from 18 months ago. But there are a bunch of family and friends between the two of you, crowded in the entryway, bustling with excitement, all seemingly oblivious to Elvis’ distress.

It angers you a bit, the way they all clamor over him without truly seeing him. You stand as rooted as he is, as if your being able to move is tied to him somehow. He looks at you then, sensing your gaze or your thoughts in that almost preternatural way of his, and you see the overwhelm in his eyes. The way the endless blue of them seems clouded over with pain and grief. The way they almost beg you to save him.

This, out of everything, gets you in motion, stepping towards him in the crowded space, but there are so many damn people that you can’t get to him. By the time you sidestep cousins and friends, you’ve watched as his face changes, a mask slipping over those handsome features so seamlessly that it takes you aback. You stop short, amazed at the way he now smiles and laughs at the antics around him, as if nothing happened.

You realize he must’ve had to do this to survive over there. There was no way he could show that kind of vulnerability during tank maneuvers or whatever they had him doing. He’s protecting himself, you think.

But it still rubs you the wrong way. The ease with which he switched emotions was disconcerting to you. Somewhat bitterly, you think that he certainly didn’t need your help through his pain this time.

Oh, stop, you chide yourself. He’s been home all of five minutes and first you wanted to run away from him and now you’re mad his grief isn’t crippling him? What’s wrong with you?

“Okay, okay, y’all, I need to go get changed! The press is gonna be here any minute,” Elvis chuckles and waves you all off, climbing the stairs. His eyes catch yours in the briefest of moments and you swear there is something unsaid in them. And then he’s gone, up into his room.

A shiver passes over you, your stomach flipping, and then a wave of nausea comes.

Jack sees you and comes over with concern in his eyes, cupping your cheek. “You alright, treasure? You look a little green in the gills,” he says.

“I…uh…my stomach is upset, sweetie. Excuse me,” you say quickly, the bile rising, and you make quickly for the bathroom down the hall. Once safely locked away, you rush to the toilet, sick. Luckily, once out, the queasiness passes quickly.

The doctor said this could happen, you think, looking at the reflection of your red face in the mirror. You rinse your mouth out and splash your face with cold water. It certainly has nothing to do with Elvis. That would be absurd.

It’s just the look in his eyes is haunting you and you don’t understand why. Maybe it’s just your hormones being in overdrive. Yes, that makes sense. You are on edge and not seeing things clearly. Or maybe too clearly.

After a multitude of deep breaths, you straighten your dress and hair, then head back out into the fray. You find yourself in an empty house. You wander about to find that most everyone has gone back outside to witness Elvis’ triumphant return to Graceland as procured by the press.

They have arrived, littering the snow-dusted lawn and taking photographs and recordings of Elvis as he sits in front of a huge guitar shaped cake. You peek over someone’s shoulder and your jaw nearly drops at the sight. Clad now in all black, his wool coat is appropriate for the chill, but his black shirt is open halfway down his torso, a large gold medallion resting on his bare chest. If he’d looked like the All-American boy getting out of that car not 30 minutes ago, now he looks like the perfect combination of sweet and sinful.

Oh, dear lord.

His chestnut hair is perfectly imperfect, a rogue lock falling over his forehead. You think perhaps he’s added a little shadow and mascara to his eyes, or maybe he’s just exhausted from the long journey home, but whichever it is, the slight darkness on his lids gives him a stunningly beautiful look, his blue eyes popping and dancing with a combination of mischievousness, aloofness, and candor. Somehow, he has retained the youthful swell of his cheeks while also now having a jawline that could cut glass.

As you watch Elvis pick at the cake, deftly putting pieces of it in his mouth with his fingers, the innocent gesture seems almost obscene and that lightheaded feeling comes over you again, this time with a swell of warmth.

You want to look away, you really do, but you’ve forgotten your friend’s natural charm, how his essence pulls even the most unwilling into his orbit. His beauty is one thing, but the feeling that surrounds him is another thing all together. It’s not just you caught in the pull, however. Friends and family gather around, too, though they are likely not experiencing the same type of reaction as you.

Oh, this is utterly ridiculous, you think. Elvis has always been pretty and alluring. Get ahold of yourself.

You think it must be the pregnancy hormones, the way your body flushes from head to toe just watching him eat his cake and play to the camera. You force yourself not to follow as they direct Elvis towards Vernon’s office for the press conference, his tall frame gliding across the lawn in the most confident and nonchalant of ways. He commands his audience as though he’d never left, born to be at the forefront of everything. Focused on the cameras, he does not see you, or so you think, until he catches you staring and quirks his brow.

This finally prompts you to move, turning away quickly and heading back into the warmth of the house. You are glad for the cold, as it gives a reason for your cheeks to be as red as they are, and it douses your heated body with a much-needed chill.

You are embarrassed by your behavior. Elvis is not some idol to be gawked at, not by you. Perhaps it is because you feel so removed from him in his absence, or it is the unasked questions that linger in your mind from before he’d left, but your nerves buzz annoyingly.

You manage to avoid him after the press conference, as he’s utterly exhausted from his trip back home and all it had entailed and sends everyone on their way with the promise of a party the next evening.

Later, lying in bed, you wonder what in the hell came over you. It’s got to be the nerves and excitement about the life growing inside you colliding with the trepidation of your friend’s return all at once. You also know that pregnant women have a multitude of strange physical symptoms, especially in the early days, which would explain nearly everything.

That must be it. It’s not about Elvis at all. It’s your body telling you that you are pregnant.

Finally.

The thought sends a flutter of a different kind through your chest. It’s one of excitement and hope and a little fear. You place your hands on your belly, imbued with a sense of motherly responsibility. You drift to sleep thinking of holding your child in your arms.

*

The party the next night has Graceland lit up in a way it hasn’t been in years. An air of celebration surrounds the place, chasing away any of the leftover morbidity from Gladys’ passing. You hold Jack’s hand tightly as you enter the mansion, that strange anxiousness from yesterday threatening to ruin your night.

Maybe you should have told Jack about the baby before you came, but no moment seemed quite right. Telling him before work would have distracted him and telling him before the party still seemed to be stepping on the toes of Elvis’ return. Tomorrow, I’ll tell him for sure tomorrow, you think pointedly.

The warm air of the house nearly overwhelms you, and the two of you strip your heavy coats and head towards the sound of Elvis’ boisterous laughter. Your dress is fitted only at the waist and not over the belly, which you are glad for, even though you are hardly showing yet.

You manage to find a seat in the corner with Jack far enough from Elvis that you can breathe, as the fact that he still looks incredible has not changed in the last 24 hours. Why you are so completely stuck on his shocking handsomeness and consumed by whatever prowess he is exuding, you still do not quite know, but it continues to affect you and keep you wary. Shaking off your unhelpful thoughts, you busy yourself talking with Anita, Pat, and the other girls as the men joke and play. After a while, this finally settles your nerves, but you are very conscious of not letting yourself get too close to Elvis as the night goes on, as if being too near will disrupt the tenuous equilibrium you are trying to maintain.

Later in the evening, you excuse yourself and head to the restroom. You can’t help but look in the mirror, rubbing your belly even though it’s impossible to tell yet. This puts a smile on your face, your sweet little secret. And this is how you exit, smiling, stepping into the dimly lit hallway.

“Hey, darlin’.”

“Shit!” you gasp, jumping out of your skin at Elvis leaning casually against the wall across from you. Your heart gallops against your ribcage, one hand flying to your heart and the other to your belly in a protective gesture. “Elvis, you scared the hell out of me!”

“Sorry, y/n,” he says, pushing off the wall, eyes remorseful but watching you carefully.

You find yourself barely able to look at him with him being this close. You will your heart to slow, will yourself to act normal, but it’s like you can’t. You can’t quite meet his eyes, you can’t quite breathe and escape is all you can think of. You awkwardly gesture to the bathroom, thinking that it’s why he’s lurking in the hallway, and then you step away from him without another word.

“Hey, now,” he says from behind you, perturbed, “You wait just a damn minute.”

Elvis’ long fingers circle around your wrist, grabbing you, and it feels like fire. Startled, you turn back and look down at how he holds you firm. You hardly have a moment to process that he’s touching you before he’s pulling you into a room across the hallway. Yelping, you have no choice but to follow—he’s much stronger than you—and he holds fast as flips on the lamp and then shuts the door behind the two of you. He releases you, then folds his arms over his chest with a scowl.

“Elvis…” you start, confused and shocked and trying to process whatever is going on.

“Did I make you mad or do something to offend you?” he interrupts, his voice laced with hurt. Those intense blue eyes of his lock you in place, betraying his churning emotions.

“What? No, what are you—?” you sputter out, faltering under his gaze and needing to look away.

“That! That right there. You can’t even hardly look at me!” he points, voice raising angrily. “You barely said three words to me since I been home!” He steps towards you and instinctually you step back, a hand flying to your belly, as the intensity of being this close to him has you completely overwhelmed.  

His eyes widen. “Look at you, you can’t even be in the same room as me without skittering away like a little bird. I thought I was imaginin’ it for a minute.” Elvis pauses, looking you over. “Are you afraid of me?” he asks quietly, the hurt palpable in both his body and voice.

Your heart aches at the sight of him like, forcing you to relax and be more mindful of your actions. “No, of course I’m not afraid of you, Elvis,” you breathe. You aren’t, truly.

“Then what did I do?” he asks with such childlike innocence, such hurt, that your heart breaks for causing it.

“Nothing, E, you didn’t do anything, I swear,” you insist, going to him, unable to bear the look on his cherubic face. You force yourself to get close, pushing through your silly fears.

“Why ya bein’ so strange then, baby?” Elvis asks, eyes scanning your face. This close, you realize you could fall and drown in their oceanic blue intensity.

How can you answer that? You certainly cannot say, “Yes, Elvis, I’m being strange because you came back too handsome and your charming presence overwhelms me, and I don’t know where I stand with you, and oh, by the way, I’m pregnant.”

Your brain scrambles for an answer as the tension between the two of you increases to a level that has you sweating, and you blink up at him, flustered. “I…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be like that…I guess I am afraid that you’re different, or that things have changed too much while you were gone, or that it’s been too long and that you might not, I don’t know, you might not see me as your friend anymore?” you prattle on, the honesty in your words surprising you. The idea and the truth of it brings tears to your eyes.

His beautiful face softens, his mouth popping open as emotions flash over his features so quickly that you cannot grasp them completely. You feel utterly caught up in him, the loss of control and your feelings frightening you.

“Never,” Elvis whispers finally, “Never in a million years could that happen, baby.” The way he looks down at you is charged, confusing, intense.

Your heart flips. A rogue tear slips down your cheek. Stupid hormones.

You are close enough now that you can feel the energy of him pulsate around you. It makes your breath catch when he brushes the tear off your cheeks with the backs of his fingers. You’re not sure if you can bear him touching you more than that because it sends a shockwave through your body.

“So, you missed me?” he asks, a sideways grin beginning to widen on his face.

“’Course I missed you, you idiot,” you sniffle.

“Some way of showin’ it,” he jokes now, breaking some of the tension.

“Well, I’ve had some things on my mind,” you say pointedly. “Life didn’t stop just cuz you were in Germany, ya know.”

You don’t realize that your arm has been wrapped over your belly all this time. Elvis narrows his eyes at you, steps back, and then looks you over very deliberately. Self-conscious and confused under the scrutiny, you blush.

“What?” you ask nervously. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

A huge smile spreads over his features and his eyes light up. “Congratulations, doll,” he grins at you.

He knows. Elvis, of all people, knows your secret after spending less than five minutes with you.

You are shocked enough that you don’t try to deny it. “I…How…?” you stutter out.

“You bein’ so skittish and protective, and the way you been holdin’ yourself this whole time is different. Explains that real pretty glow about ya, too,” he says, booping your nose playfully.

You blush harder. “Elvis, I just found out. No one knows yet, not even Jack, so don’t you dare go saying anything yet. It’s still real early,” you say in a warning tone.

Elvis nods, practically bouncing with excitement.

“Seriously, E, not a freakin’ word, promise me!” you say. He is a terrible secret keeper.

“Okay, okay, I promise!” he grins.

“Lord, with the way you’re buzzing, you’d think I was having your baby!” you laugh.

Something changes in his eyes, but it’s gone so quick that you can’t put your finger on it. He does still a bit, though, and you look at him quizzically. He doesn’t say anything and just looks at you openly. The air has shifted once again.

“Well, we should probably get back out there. Everybody must be missing the man of the hour,” you say, clearing your throat and turning to leave.

Before you can go far, Elvis’ fingers dance over yours, reaching, as if wanting to hold your hand and pull you back but hesitating as if he shouldn’t. Your breath catches, an odd feeling blooming in your chest, like you are falling. You look back and down, seeing and feeling his fingers graze yours in such a strangely much-too-intimate way. He doesn’t stop, fingers brushing and winding through yours. You can’t help the way yours start to move around his in the now heavy silence. Your eyes raise to meet his, heart racing.

“Y/n, I—” he starts to say, voice low and gaze intense.

“EP!! Where the hell you at, man?” Red shouts from the hallway, startling you both, causing you to drop your hands as though they were suddenly on fire. As if you were caught doing something you shouldn’t.

Elvis visibly shakes himself off and crosses in front of you to open the door. It opens a crack and then he stops, turning back to you quickly, mouth open as if he wants to finish what he was trying to say. He must think better of it, though, because he just shakes his head again and sucks in his cheeks before heading out the door without another word.

You pause, frozen to the spot, as your heart thunders in your ears. Befuddled, you try and process the last few minutes, try to piece out what the hell just happened. Your hand splays on your belly, your face hot and your body warm.

You were right, you think, a lot has changed. Everything and nothing, all at once.

*

After that, things move quickly. With Elvis’ new knowledge, you tell Jack immediately about the baby, pulling him aside at the party. He is thrilled.

A few blissful weeks pass. You’ve been feeling okay physically, just some nausea and lightheadedness, but your nerves are still a bit on edge. The strange moment between you and Elvis the night of the party lingers in your mind, just under the surface, and every time you see him, that odd falling feeling comes over you for a moment. It doesn’t help that when he sees you, something in him changes. It’s so subtle that you doubt anyone notices; in fact, you think you could be imagining it if not for the charged, unreadable look in his eyes. But to you he seems overly attentive to your every move, protective even.

You try and chalk this weird intuition and the way your body feels up to the pregnancy. Your body is changing a little each day, and maybe this is just a part of it.

Elvis has been enjoying his few weeks at home before everything starts up for him again, and consequently, so have all of you, finding yourselves pulled back into his orbit easily. He’s travelling down to Miami soon to be on Frank Sinatra’s show and then he starts filming his next movie in April. You have mixed feelings about this, dreading him leaving so soon again, but you also think perhaps it is a good thing to be away from him considering the tricks your mind seems to be playing on you.

Tonight, he rents out the Rainbow Rollerdome for an evening of what he dubs the “Roller Skating Wars.” You, of course, will not be skating in your condition, but that certainly doesn’t stop you from putting on a cute polka dotted dress and going to observe the chaos you know will ensue.

Jack, unfortunately, stays home, struck suddenly in the afternoon with a sore throat and fever. You tell him you will stay home and take care of him, but he brushes you off and tells you he’s just going to be sleeping anyway, that you should go and have fun. He practically pushes you out the door.

When you arrive at the Rollerdome, you quickly find the girls and plant yourself in one of the big booths with a coke, some popcorn, and some candy. Your cravings for sweets have been intense this last week, and you pick delightfully at the confections as you watch everyone skate around.

Elvis has a silly grin plastered on his face as he wheels up to your table, his hair so long and fluffy on top that it bounces with him, product keeping it standing nearly straight up. On anyone else, it would look absolutely ridiculous, but with Elvis being Elvis, it just seems to highlight how incredibly handsome he’s become. Honestly, he nearly takes your breath away in his dark polo with the popped collar, his eyes electric and dancing, his face long and jaw chiseled.

At least you know that you aren’t the only one noticing the change in his looks, because the other girls seem to blush and smile more as he looms over you all, the skates putting him nearly six and a half feet tall.

“Ladies, everybody got their skates?” he drawls charmingly.

Everyone giggles and there’s a chorus of “Yes, Elvis!” as they show off their skates. For a moment, you are a bit upset that you can’t skate, but that is quickly banished by the excitement of the life growing inside you.

“Well, go on then!” he motions, and the ladies scurry, happy to be summoned.

After they clamor out of the booth, Elvis looks at you more seriously.

“No skating for you tonight, right?” he asks protectively, cobalt eyes narrowing.

Your heart does that falling thing for a moment before you respond. “Nope, feet planted firmly on the ground, thank you very much!” you smile.

He nods, pleased by this. “Where’s Jack? I haven’t seen him,” he asks, looking around.

“Oh, he’s at home, sick. Booted me out of there. I think he was annoyed at me hovering, to be honest,” you chuckle.

“You gonna be okay over here? I don’t want you to be by yourself,” Elvis says, concerned.

“Oh, I’ll come and watch you all here in a minute. My back’s bothering me a bit, so I’m fine to sit for a spell.”

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks again, brow furrowing, as if sensing something about you that you couldn’t sense yourself.

“Yes, E, I’m fine. Don’t you worry about me. Now, shoo, and go have some fun, but for god’s sake don’t go killin’ yourself or anyone else out there!” you laugh.

Elvis looks at you in that unreadable way of his for a moment, then a wide grin spreads across his face. “No promises!” he shouts as he skates away.

You let out a breath after he leaves. His presence is still overwhelming to you, no matter how much you try to logic it away, so for now you are just accepting it. Such is living a life with Elvis in it.

Your back really is starting to bother you, which you attribute to the obvious, and after a few minutes alone, you realize you would rather be around people than not. You get up from the booth, then a wave of dizziness overtakes you and you grab the edge of the table for support as you blink away the spots in your eyes.

You wonder for a moment if you might be coming down with whatever Jack has, but your throat is fine. After a moment, the wave mostly passes, so you make your way to the skating rink to watch the group from the sidelines. There are a few people on the sidelines, and you have fun making small talk and watching the antics in the rink. After a bit, most of the girls come back out as Elvis and the boys are getting pretty rough, and part of you is a little glad Jack isn’t here to get injured.

You ignore the ache in your back (it’s just something you’ll have to get used to, after all) and another wave of lightheadedness hits you as you all head back to the table. You are starting to feel distracted, your stomach churning now a bit, too, and you remind yourself that being pregnant isn’t necessarily a picnic. You feel a bit claustrophobic now, shoved in the booth with the other ladies, and excuse yourself to the restroom, thinking it might be time to go home.

Something’s wrong, you think, a feeling of dread coming over you. Forcing yourself to breathe, you remind yourself again and again that you are just pregnant and these are symptoms of that. You pause at the water fountain to drink, hoping the water might settle your stomach.

As you are bent over, someone zips behind you on skates, then suddenly you feel a hand groping your backside.

Yelping, you choke on the water and jump, turning around.

“Hey there, pretty girl,” a man you don’t recognize leers at you, way too close for comfort.

“Excuse me,” you say haughtily, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest, making your lightheadedness even worse. “I think you have me confused with someone else.”

“Naw, you’re the prettiest girl in here. Why ya all by your lonesome?” he purrs at you, the sound setting off every warning bell in your body, adrenaline clashing with your dizziness and churning stomach. He leans down, as if to try and kiss you and you push him back.

“Leave me alone!” you say, your voice raising in both volume and pitch. You try to sidestep him, but he grabs you hard and presses you into the wall. You think you might vomit all over him.

“Don’t be like that! All I want is a little kiss,” he says, one wandering hand groping your chest as his lips come at you.

“Don’t touch me! Stop it!” you shriek, trying to squirm out of his grasp as his disgusting mouth roams over your face and neck. Your body betrays you, though, your back throbbing, weakness overcoming your limbs, and you can’t fight him off. You curse the fact that the bathrooms are so far back from the rest of the group, and you pray that someone hears you.

“Get off of me!” you try to scream, but he’s trying to silence you with his hand. Panic overtakes you now as you realize this man is going to hurt you, but in your current state, you are unable to fight.

“What the fuck are you doin’?!” You hear the low growl before the horrible man boxing you in is yanked backwards and sideways, his eyes bulging in surprise. You gasp as you watch Elvis collide with the man, his momentum from how fast he must have been skating sending the man flying.

The man stumbles and rolls, flailing and falling, and Elvis looks like you’ve never seen him before as he spins around. His eyes are dark and lethal, his jaw clenching and unclenching as his chest heaves with his breath. He looks terrifying, his focus singular, and you are almost afraid for the man. Almost.

“I asked you a fucking question,” Elvis growls again, pulling the dazed man upright by his shirt. “What the fuck were you doin’ to her?!” he yells, pulling back his arm and then socking the man in the jaw so hard you can hear the crack. The man is stunned for a moment, blood beginning to seep from the corner of his mouth, but he recovers, taking a swing at Elvis.

It barely grazes him and doesn’t even phase Elvis, who seems possessed. “Don’t you ever fuckin’ touch her!” Elvis shouts, then punches the man in the face again, hard, sending him flying.

Things are happening so fast, you can barely process it. You can hardly breathe, the waves of dizziness pouring over you, making it hard to focus.

Elvis goes for the man again, and suddenly you are fearful he might kill him because he seems so blacked out with rage. Elvis hits him again and the man falls to the floor in a heap, bloody and bruised.

“Elvis, Elvis, stop!” you try to call out, but your voice is too quiet, wavering, and he is too far gone. You need to stop him before he does something he cannot take back, and you know something is wrong with you because you can’t get your body to move the way you need it to.

It’s then that a sharp, searing pain burns in your abdomen, and a primal scream bursts from your lungs. A shockwave of agony rolls through you, knocking the breath from your body. It’s so sudden and all-encompassing that you see red, and you clutch at your belly, your head spinning, fearing the worst.

The baby.

Your cry finally snaps Elvis back to reality because he’s with you in a flash, fear and concern flashing over his features, replacing the fury that was there mere seconds ago.

“Y/n! Y/n, what is it? Did he hurt you?” he gasps, looking you over as tears stream down your cheeks.

You can’t catch your breath, and your heart is beating too fast. Then, you feel hot liquid spread from your belly downwards, life spilling out of you, running down your legs. You feel sick as you look down, Elvis’ gaze following your own. That’s when you see the dark red begin to stain your dress and your stockings.

It’s over, it’s over, the baby, oh god, runs through your head, a dismal chant in your mind. You look at Elvis with resigned horror, but you are feeling so lightheaded, you can barely focus on anything. Even the pain starts to wane and feel distant. You know this isn’t normal, even for a miscarriage. Something is terribly wrong.

“No, no, no, no, no,” you hear him beg, his hands on your face, your shoulders, his eyes wild with terror now. “We need help over here!” he bellows, never taking his eyes off you.

They are so beautiful, those crystalline eyes, those dark lashes, you think absently as you begin to slump over.

You are somewhat aware of his strong arms catching you as he slides down with you to the floor. They feel so warm and comforting, you think. You blink up at him, your vision starting to dim.

“Y/n, no, don’t you dare, you stay w-w-with me, b-baby,” Elvis says in a panic, shaking you, pulling you into his lap. A sharp metallic smell permeates the air. “Somebody c-call a damn ambulance!” you hear him shout. You can hear the terror in his voice, in his stutter, and you wonder why he’s so scared. You’ve never heard him this scared.

“Elvis?” you whisper. You try to keep your eyes open, but it’s so hard.

“Yeah, b-b-baby?” his voice shudders. You can feel his chest heaving as he presses you into him, rocking you, tucking your head under his. He always has to be moving, his energy always vibrating around him.

“I feel so strange…” you say, and you do. You’re aware of the pain but it feels so far away. Everything feels far away except for the heat of Elvis, which feels like a blanket around you. With the warmth pouring out of you, you start to feel cold.

“I-I-I know, baby. Come on, you stay awake, now,” he says in your ear as your eyes start to close. He shakes you again. You force them to flutter open. You think whatever is happening must be really bad if he’s so scared.

“Tell Jack I…I love him,” you breathe quietly, just in case.

“You tell him yourself, damnit,” Elvis chokes out, pulling you in closer.

“Thanks for…being…my friend…so good to me,” you say, but it’s not enough. You can’t seem to get the right words out, your mouth filling with cotton. You bring your shaking fingers up to his cheek, your face is buried in his neck, his smell surrounding you. He smells so nice. He feels so good wrapped around you. You’re not nervous to be near him anymore, all of that seems so silly now. Your hand drifts and you feel his full lips under your fingertips. They really are as soft as they look.

You can’t keep your eyes open anymore and blackness starts to swallow you, your hand falling onto his chest, but you feel unusually calm.

“No, no, no! Oh, God, don’t—please don’t go. I-I love you, y/n, please, I love y…” Elvis whispers pleadingly in your ear.

His quiet, startling confession fades away and is the last thing you hear before the world goes completely dark and silent.

*

Elvis at the Rainbow Rollerdome, March 19th, 1960

Taglist:

@atombombbibunny @yesimwriting @uselessbutinteresting @mirandastuckinthe80s @dark-as-love

@domaniquessidehoe @im-lame-irl @allybrooke05 @hangmanswhore

@jazmin2211  @kvcssghbjbcd @coldonexx @dudinhahoff @whatstruthgottodowithit @tiredbuthappy  @amiets2  @saintmagx

@kvcssghbjbcd @butlersluvbot @babydollie43 @vainbimbo @meladollsims @wstelandbaby @dre6ming @normatural @ash-omalley @xcallmetaniax @galvz-42 @thejezebel @fullmetal-falcon @robinismywife @dre6ming @seaweedbrain00 @amiets2 @mslizziesblog @heisatroubleinapinksuit @calusussss @dont-feel-so-good-peter @rainydayz101 @pizzaisrelationshipgoals  

@liaaacantwrite @kittenlittle24 @kaitaesupremacy @butler-trouble @eliseinmemphis @russian-soft-bitch  @tattywood 

@sassanoe @re3kin @thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle @carolinesbookworld 

Reblogs, likes, comments + feedback are extremely appreciated! Please help support your content creators!

[goldenempyrean]

Burning Up - Woah, that's one high fever. Please with sick Lizzie or Scarlett

Ooh! I haven't written a sick Lizzie fic yet, hopefully, this lives up! Tysm Anon for the request! Also please send in some more requests, I have so much fun doing them. Please also let me know what you think of this fic too! :)

Summary: Being both girlfriends and colleagues had its advantages, but when Lizzie starts lying about her health something was bound to go wrong...

Note! Excuse any spelling/grammar errors as usual ;)

Warnings: Fainting, (Idk if this needs a warning but just incase!)

Wordcount:1,136

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"Hey Y/N." Your director spoke happily "Ready for another productive day?"

"Yep!" You answered cheerily, as you pulled out your script to re-familiarise yourself with the lines. You knew them off by heart already but it wouldn't hurt just to remind yourself. "Have you seen Lizzie anywhere? She left early this morning." You asked as you skimmed over your next scene.  

Your director thought for a moment before replying, "I haven't unfortunately, she can't be far though." He punctuated his sentence with a slight shrug as you hopped from your seat, stating you were going to find her.

As you wandered around the set, your thoughts felt like they were racing around your mind at 90m/ph. It wasn't often Lizzie woke up before you, never mind went to set by herself. Yet somehow, she had managed to do both before sneaking out of your shared trailer without waking you. It didn't take you long to check around the rest of the set, you even checked the room where the extras usually sat in. How strange. By pure chance, your eyes glanced at the small room marked 'Female Actor Bathroom'. Huh. Well, it wouldn't hurt to check right?  

Pushing open the door you were shocked to see Lizzie stood over the sink, her hands on the counter and her head looking down towards the basin. "Lizzie?" She jumped a little at the sudden sound of your voice and she instantly changed her slouched appearance to one of alertness, a small smile tugging at her lips.

"Woah Y/N. You scared me for a moment there." There was something off about her voice. It lacked her usual energetic attitude; she had the type of voice which could instantly motivate somebody and brighten their day. However today was different, she sounded tired, even somewhat annoyed.

You weren't sure whether to verbally question her unusual behaviour, usually, whenever Lizzie was having a bad day, she would tell you. Ultimately you decided not to say anything as you held out your hand to her, "Sorry about that. I've been looking for you all day, you all ready to shoot?"

She seemed to almost hesitate for a moment before accepting your outstretched hand. You did note the strange clamminess of her hand however. But it was a hot day, people are bound to sweat, right? On your journey to the main set, you noticed the slight sniffling coming from the woman on your left.  

"You, okay?" You queried her, stopping in your tracks and pulling your hand away from hers.  

She stopped beside you, reaching back out for your hand before responding, "I'm fine. What scene are we shooting next by the way?" She responded, hastily changing the subject.

“I'm serious-” You began but stopped as you observed your girlfriend, who had begun swaying slightly.

“S-Spinning.” She had managed to splutter out before falling numbly against you. You almost went into shock as she fell against you, supporting her weight in your arms, you yelled out in a fury for somebody to help.

Hearing your cries, one of your managers came running over before calling for a medic on her radio. Being a high-budget production, it didn’t take long for two medics to come rushing over to where you held her upper body in your arms. You had started to recite what had happened in the last few minutes when a slurred murmur came from the woman in your arms.

“W-woah.” Her eyes fluttered open slowly as Lizzie came round.

“Jesus Christ.” You sighed in relief. “You scared the shit out of me Liz.”

Both yourself and Lizzie spoke to the medics for the next 10 minutes, Lizzie was forced to open up about how she felt and you listened intently as she listed the symptoms she was experiencing. Why hadn't she told you. Both medics spoke for a moment before stating that Lizzie probably just had a bad cold and she had fainted from exhaustion and dehydration. She had been ordered to take a week from work and drink plenty of fluids.  

By this point your executive producer had given you the greenlight to also take this time off. You were given the role of nursing your girlfriend back to full health. After a further 15 minutes you were both given the all-clear to make your way back to your shared trailer. You briefly thanked the medics and other staff before carefully helping Lizzie off the floor and the pair of you made your way out the building.

You held tightly onto Lizzie as you both walked slowly back to your trailer, slightly out of fear she would stumble and hurt herself. Once out of earshot of your crew, you questioned her.

“Why didn’t you tell me darling? You can tell me anything, I promise.” Your words were soaked with concern for her well-being.

Lizzie leant her head against your shoulder, “I didn’t want to worry you sweetie. I didn’t think it would get this bad.” She spoke honestly as you helped her up the steps to your trailer.  

You assisted her to the bed before rushing off to grab a cool bottle of water from the small fridge at the opposite side of your accommodation. When you returned you saw Lizzie curled atop of the duvet. You suddenly felt sorry for her as you observed her exhausted body led limply on the bed. 

  Sitting down next to her you offered out the water, “You should try to drink this.”   A small mumble came in reply, prompting you to gently lay your hand across her forehead... Fuck.

“Jeez Elizabeth.”

The mention of her full name caused Lizzies head to look up at you through her feverish eyes.  

“You're really burning up.” You continued, almost talking to yourself in some futile attempt to ward off the growing worry forming inside your chest. Thinking quickly, you swiftly swiped a towel from under the sink in your bathroom, running it under the tap. You wringed it out carefully, making sure to keep some of the cold water inside. Sitting back down aside your girlfriend you gently rested the towel across her head, a small sigh of relief leaving her body. You saw her once-tense shoulders begin to relax as she finally closed her eyes.

  “Y/N?”

“Get some sleep honey.” You shushed her quietly, pulling a small blanket over her, not wanting to risk overheating her by using the thick duvet.

“Y/N?” Lizzie repeated again, reopening her hazy eyes to stare up at you.

“Yes?”

“Thanks for taking care of me. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that I didn’t feel good.”

You kissed her head softly and whispered, “Its ok, I'm not mad. I just want to look after you. Now seriously, get some sleep sweetheart. I’ll be here for you when you wake up.”

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[elizabethh1125]

{Eye for an Eye} William Afton x reader (apocalypse AU) -

An: (EDIT: I decided to repost this because I found a bunch of things wrong with it so sorry about that they should be fixed now!!!)

Yo guys! Welcome to my first multi part series!

I know it has taken a few weeks for me finish writing the prologue, but it's long as hell and I have been delayed by hefty school work along with my spring break vacation, so pardon that! Anyways hopefully I can get a schedule going here, so you guys don't have to be left waiting all the time. The prologue will be posted on both my ao3 account and also my tumblr, but the rest of the chapters will exclusively be on my ao3 account, just because it's easier to upload my long fics on one single site. Ty so much for understanding! I love y'all so much.

PS: keep a look out for the next 2 chapters soon, hopefully they should be posted in the next few days since I've had alot of downtime on my vacation!

As always reader is over 18-

Minors dni please!

(Please let me know of any grammar errors! There might be alot since I'm using my phone to write until I get home, so I haven't been able to use my usual spelling check!!!"

Anyways ty for reading, I hope you enjoy!

And have a wonderful morning/day/night!

(oh and one last thing! I apologise for no continue reading- I will add it when I can get back to writing on my computer)

You can read this fic in my ao3 account here:

https://href.li/?https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizaSunshine

This work is Inspired by Adoste's- The silver state: it can be read here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36634924/chapters/91379950

-Eli <3

----------------

Prologue.

A wasteland,

That's all that was left.

Life before the sickness wasn't always cut and dry, but now… you were lucky to even find a place to sleep, let alone survive.

When the first few people died of it, nobody really thought anything of the illness. Just another flu or cold that would blow off by the end of the winter. But when folks began to drop in waves, the government knew something was wrong. Albeit, they tried there best to persuade the public into believing that nothing was wrong. They broadcasted all over that all we needed to do was quarantine for a few days to let the sickness run its course though the already infected.

What they didn't tell the country is that the sick never really died…

They just…

Changed.

Everything happened so fast that nobody really knew the exact story of how things spread so fast. But in the short time they had warned everyone to huddle inside for a few days, more than half of the population had already been infected.

Nobody knew how it was spreading so fast, and the CDC rushed to twitter and other social media sites to try and spread information as fast as possible.

But it was already too late.

You had to learn how it happened yourself.

When things had begun to look really bad, your roommate suggested that the two of you flee to a safezone in Atlanta before the sickness reached your town.

So, the two of you packed all of your shit into a little 2012 honda civic, and busted the fuck out of there.

Only hours into the drive the two of you came upon a blockage in the road.

“Woah, what the hell?” Your roommate stops the car and turns to you, but you're looking out the window at a fence topped with barbed wire wrapping all the way across the highway and into the tree line. It goes as far as the two of you can see.

“What should we do?” You turn to her.

Something isn't right here.

While sitting and trying to come up with a solution to get around and into the city, a group of people from the otherside arrived.

The man of the group seemed angry, kicking the fence and shouting curses. The woman, holding a small child, possibly only two or three years old, called for you to come over to the fence.

“What's going on? Why is there a huge fence blocking the way?” your roommate spoke to the woman as she wandered around the area.

“The military… They are locking us in the city.” a tear fell from her eye despite her straight face.

“What happened to the safe zone?” you questioned,

“There is no safe zone… they said that to lour all the surrounding cities into atlanta so they could lock us all in. we tried to leave when we found out, but clearly… we are too late.” the husband spoke as he eyed your roommate.

she had begun to mess with the bottom of the fence.

“We tried to leave by car, but they- were everywhere, we had to go on foot. But he's right… we are too late, there's no way out for us now…” her curly brown hair covered her eyes as she looked down to the pavement.

Her husband shook his head and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“No this can't be it honey, we at least need to get Ray out of here.” with his words your roommate pulled harder at the bottom until a small gap opened. Quickly you spoke.

“Quick! He can come under the fence!”

The dad jumped to help hold it up, but the mother hesitated. You looked at her with sympathy and pleaded with your eyes.

“I know you don't trust us, but I promise we will find a way to get you out-”

“Come on Maria! Give him to them! We don't have much time! This isn't going to hold for much longer.” the man called for his wife,

With his words she looked up to you, hot streams of tears falling down her sepia cheeks.

She turned to her child and gave him a tight squeeze and kiss on the face before rushing to the opening and passing the kid into your arms.

You used your hand to shelter his soft chubby cheeks from the ground as the mother pushed him under.

He began to cry as he left her arms and you held him to your chest to try and calm him.

“Its okay baby-” the mother cooed through the fence, trying to muffle her sobs. “Mommy is gonna find you, okay baby? You be good for your aunties.” your roommate and the father drop the fence when he makes it all the way under. The man is going to join his wife on the other side of the fence. “ Mommy and Daddy love you so, so much!” she fell into his arms, and he nodded with her words.

You brought the child up to hold its parents' hands though the fence.

“Please,” the father whispered slightly under his breath so Ray wouldn't be able to hear.

“Take care of him…”

You nodded and softly spoke,

“I promise I will keep him safe.”

The father swallowed as a tear fell down his cheek.

“Thank you.”

The three of you packed into your car again. Heading west, as the couple had suggested you go. Hopefully you could find an empty town or small refuge in the mountains, but it would take at least 2 days, or maybe even weeks if you had to go by foot, to reach Colorado.

They decided they would try to find a way around the fence somewhere else, hopefully trying to meet back up with the three of you out west, but when you had begun to drive, your roommate spoke,

“They are never going to make it.”

You wanted to retaliate.

You wanted to at least have a little hope for the toddler sleeping in your lap as you rode.

But you knew better.

Even the survival chances of the three of you were low.

“I know.”

The rest of the drive for that day was in almost dead silence, only broken by the shuffling of Ray in sleep, or by small conversation. Your mind was full of thoughts of what's next? Carefully plotting how you were going to navigate through the country with a child, with an illness you knew almost nothing about nonetheless.

As you drove you finally encountered your first sight of the infected.

They seemed to mostly consist of small trios or groups, and they mindlessly walked around in the road.

Some almost looked alive, although they were all easily identifiable by the fast growing fungus spouting from their bodys.

Some had large wounds, but you couldn't see what caused it due to the fungi pooling out from the openings.

Everytime you passed around a bunch of them you cringed.

“Don't stop. Whatever you do dont stop.” you begged your roommate.

“No way in hell… at first I was tempted, just to see what the hell is going on with them. But after getting a closer look as we passed… im to freaked the fuck out to even get close.”

“Plus-” you butted in. “ we have no idea how they actually got infected. What if its by air or something?”

“Oh gosh, don't say that.” your roommate shivered. “Lets just keep going.”

After the sun had gone down you and your roommate decided it would be a good idea to try and find a safe place to spend the night, and eventually pulled over into a rest stop.

You had made it a good 9 hours of driving, only stopping a few times to use the bathroom outside of the car while watching for the infected. But you at least had another 12 hours ahead before you reached colorado. And all you and your roommate had packed was a backpack full to the brim with clothing, a refillable water bottle, a few cans of food and snacks, flashlights, and toiletries. You had also packed your small battery powered walkman, along with a few extra batteries and cassettes. but other than that, you had no weapons, and not nearly enough food or water to keep a kid alive for more than a week.

You needed supplies.

And fast.

“Potty…” Ray mumbled into your shirt.

You hummed and turned to your roomie as you stepped out of the car.

“I'm going to take him to use the bathroom, I might even try and clean the dirt off him in the sinks.” you pondered outloud.

“Okay, I'm going to try and find a map. That would definitely help us tomorrow. After that-” she points to a glowing area of the stop filled with vending machines. “ We should eat, and take the rest for tomorrow.”

You nodded, but wondered,

“How are we going to break the glass?”

She chuckled and moved to the back of the car.

“Sorry , I forgot to mention earlier.” She opened the trunk and pulled out a crow-bar. “ I put this in our trunk before we had left along with one more thing.”

With that she reached inside and pulled out a wooden baseball bat. Tossing it to you.

You caught it with one hand and smiled brightly at her,

“Where the hell did you get this?”

“You know, around~” she closed the trunk and pointed to the bathroom side of the rest area. “ Go ahead and get cleaned up, I'll meet back up with you guys once I find a map.”

With that she headed off to the backmost building in the little rest stop marked ‘visitors center’ and you took little jay into the bathroom areas.

You had barely taken a step inside when you froze.

The lights had mostly gone out, and only one remained in the corner of the room.

But that's not what scared you.

What was under it did.

A woman,

Probably in her late 50’s,

Standing under the light,

Clawing at it.

The telltale signs of infection raked her form.

She was covered in fungi, and her shoulder poured blood where the mushrooms seemed to origin.

She turned as she noticed the light of your flashlight.

Shit.

You threw the light at her face and slapped your hand over Ray's mouth before he could begin to cry, harshly slamming the door and clamoring back away from the building.

You expect her to chase you, but through the window you can see her shuffle back with the impact of your light, then moving to try and attack the light coming from it as it rolls away.

You were confused, but not willing to stick around an experiment, especially since you had left the bat that was tossed to you leaning on the car.

Never again.

You sputtered to sit Ray in the car.

“Potty…” he cried again, tears welting in his eyes.

You shushed him and whispered.

“I know, I know, keep holding it bud. Stay here for just a moment.”

With that you shut the door and locked it, grabbing the bat and running after where your roommate had entered.

But you were halted by a horrid display.

Painted in blood?

Over the entrance to the visitors center.

It read.

“Do not enter! Infected inside! Don't let them bite you! Deaf and blind, but react strongly to-” the last few words are cut off by large splatters of blood.

Is she a fucking idoit!? Who the hell would walk into a building that says don't enter!?

You don't have time to think though,

Screams abruptly from inside the hall, and you rush with your bat inside the building.

Guess you just sound hypocritical now.

Inside you see your roommate running from the far side of the room. She is still holding her flashlight, and blood is pouring out of her arm. A map is clutched in her uninjured hand along with her bloody crowbar, and almost 7 infected are chasing her towards the door

She screams for you to run.

But you pause for just a moment as the puzzle pieces fit together.

Deaf and blind-

That's why the lady in the bathroom didn't chase after you. It's because she couldn't see, or hear you.

But, she was clawing at the light.

And then chased after you when you had the light, until you threw it at her of course.

Your eyes drifted down to her wounded arm.

She's holding her light

Blind and deaf, but react strongly to-

LIGHT.

“Drop your light! You scream at her mere seconds before she reaches the door.”

She does as you ask, tossing it to the side.

It diverts the attention of the infected and they clamor over to it.

You take your chance to grab her and slam the door behind you.

Fear turns to anger as you point to her arm and then the blood warning.

“Are you stupid?! Look at your arm! Do you know how to read?!”

She begins to cry,

“I know! I'm sorry god!” snot pours from her nose and her wound begins to sprout small mushrooms.

“Fuck!” you turn around and try to stop yourself from beginning to cry too.

As you slam the bat on the wall beside you in anger, she falls to the concrete.

You swiftly turn to look at her, dropping your bat on the ground and rushing over to her.

“I'm going to die.” she looks up to you, the dying sunset casting a soft glow over her face.

“No you're not!” you choke out, “ i'm not going to let you die! You can't die! Please!”

You bring your hands to her face, but your eyes are drawn to the bite.

Fungus crawls its way up her arms and out of the wound.

The infection is moving so fast, you know she doesn't have long left,

But what sense goes first?

“I don't have long left, please y/n. Listen to me.” she speaks softly as her eyes begin to cloud. “ take the bat, and smash my head in-”

“What!” you shout.

“Listen to me y/n! I killed one of them while I was inside. It's the only way for them to die. You have to destroy the brain. Don't wait for me to turn, y/n. You have to kill me and get the hell out of here.” she felt around for the bat and threw it at you.

“I- I can't do this! Please don't make me do this!” you shout but she stops you again.

“ Kill me, and Take the kid y/n! Take him and LEAVE! I'm not asking you again!”

You pause and sob for a few moments, trying to build up the courage to fulfill her wish.

But you can't.

You just can't.

“I can't do this. Can't there be another way?”

But she doesn't answer.

You look down to hope and see her alright,

But the fungus has spread to her ears, and she's struggling to breathe.

“Please” she whispers. “I don't want to turn…”

With that you bring the bat down on her head.

The first hit isn't enough.

So you bring it up again.

And again.

Squeezing your eyes shut, and white knuckling the bat.

“I'm sorry. God I'm so sorry..” you sob when you feel like enough is enough, not taking the time to open your eyes, but grabbing the map and bat, before heading back over to the car.

You throw the bat and crowbar in the trunk,

And Pausing before you get in the car to throw up on the grass beside where you stand.

You have until nothing's left.

Reaching back to take your water from your bag, opening the cap, and washing the horrid taste of acid from your mouth.

After Standing and taking a moment to catch your breath, you open the door to the passenger side of the car.

Jay is sitting in the seat, pants soaked.

“Shit.” You mutter softly

“I couldn't hold it.” He tilted his head down in shame, but you couldn't stay mad.

“It's alright. Stay here for just a moment, I'll be right back to get you cleaned.”

Shutting the door behind you again, you grabbed the bat and walked over to the bathroom.

Now that you knew how to get rid of them, your master plan was to take out the one in the bathroom, clean up Jay, spend the night in the car, and leave in the morning after looting the vending machines.

You wanted to stay for longer so you could give your friend a proper burial, but you weren't sure you could stomach seeing her.

It also wasn't safe to linger in the area for too long.

You had a kid to look after now.

And you were not going to let what happened to her happen to Jay.

When you entered the bathroom for the second time, the infected lady you had seen previously was still scrambling at your dropped flashlight.

She was facing away from the door and you took the chance to wipe your sweaty palms against your shirt. Taking the bat, and aiming it high over your head. being careful to not alert it of your presence.

You knew she couldn't hear you, but you still walked dead silent behind her.

You swallowed, and then before hesitating, brought the bat as hard as you could down onto her head.

The first hit was enough to do some real damage, but it still tried to turn around to defend itself. you swung the bat straight back over your shoulder and around again, this time smashing her skull enough that she went limp on the floor.

You did it.

she was dead.

You dragged the body out into a patch of grass outside, and then checked the rest of the building for any remaining infected.

Luckily she was the only one, so you rushed back to the car and pulled Ray out. Apologizing to him for taking so long, you took him inside of the building and washed him and his clothes in a sink.

After you had cleaned the two of you up, you brought Ray back out to the car, settling him in the back seat and pulling a jacket over his tiny form.

“Try and get a little sleep, bud okay? I'm going to run and get cleaned up, then I'll come right back, I promise.” you sat the map in the front, took some spare clothing from your bag, and hung Rays rinsed pants to dry.

You felt bad for leaving him once again, but you needed to rid yourself of the blood now drying and cracking on your skin.

You headed into the bathroom,trying not to look in the direction of the lady in the bush. It's deftly too dark to see that far, but the thought still sends shivers down your spine.

When you made sure the door was closed behind you, you began to walk over to a shower used for truckers that you had found earlier.

“Perfect.”

You striped yourself from all your clothing and started the water.

It was far from hot, but at least not cold enough to be uncomfortable. So you relished in what little time you had to clean yourself, before having to quickly dry yourself, and change.

When you had finished with your shower, you quickly brushed your teeth, and ran back out to the car.

The door handle was cold, and a sad sigh left your mouth knowing that tomorrow you would have to leave your roommate's body behind.

You promised yourself you would come back one day to properly bury her.

You gently opened the door, and closed it. Now sitting in the driver's seat, you made sure to lock the car doors before leaning back the chair and closing your eyes.

Your thoughts pushed to keep you awake, but the adrenaline keeping you awake was beginning to wear off, and the wave of exhaustion was steadily pulling at the lids of your eyes.

And eventually, you succumbed to the weight.

Falling into a deep slumber.

And for just a while,

You could forget the horrors of your reality.

The next morning was quiet.

The sunrise cast an orange glow over the horizon.

When you stepped out of the car you could hear the soft sounds of insects in the grass, and birds calling in the trees.

On a normal day, people would call today beautiful.

But it was a living hell for you.

You rushed and woke the kid so you could get him dressed and fed.

then looting the vending machines and using the bathroom, just like you had planned.

When all was done, you strapped the kid into the seat, and drove off.

For the next few hours you drove along the cross country highway, using the map to avoid large cities or blockades.

You gave the kid your walkman to keep him entertained for a while. And when that wasn't enough, you began to tell him stories, and sing songs.

When you decided it would be a good time to pull over and take a quick food and bathroom break, you checked the map and noticed that Colorado was only about an hour away now.

Your plan was to find a small town, hopefully not overrun by infected, and loot from a store.

Find stuff for you, the kid, and most of all , food for the both of you.

After that you would try and find a house to stay in, and try to find a way to contact other survivors.

So you did just that,

Funnily enough,

Finding survivors wasn't as hard as you thought it would be.

When you had found a store to get supplies from, a large group was already there.

They saw you had a child with you, and told you that they had a safe zone not too far away from where they were.

So you went with them,

And stayed.

At least for a while.

You see,

The first few months were fine.

You were safe,

The kid was safe,

You decided it would be best to give Ray to a mother who had lost her child. And being a kid yourself, you really felt like you couldn't take care of him the way she could.

You spend most of your time scavenging anyway, and learning how to defend yourself.

Your bat hat got a few upgrades along the way, and you had picked up a pretty sick knife to strap to your leg as well.

Most importantly though, you were taught how to shoot guns from a few of the adults in the community.

It took weeks to get the idea down, but eventually you began to pick up on it. You might even brag that you have quite a nasty aim.

When they felt like you were ready, you were gifted your very own revolver, adding to your array of wepons.

Things were nice for a while.

You made a few friends and really began to feel comfortable again.

You had even planned to go back and bury your friend.

That was, until they began to show up.

Not infected.

Worse.

The community began to call them “the ravagers”

When they first started to pop up around camp, only a few of them came at a time. They would try and steal our shit, or kill our people.

And of course,

That shit wasn't going to slide.

So you began to defend the community along with others who wanted to protect the people.

That's how the cycle began.

More and more kept flooding,

Until one day.

You were overrun.

The majority of the group had been out on a scavenge, so all that was left to defend was you and a few others.

To be fair, you held them off for a while. At least making it so families could hide the children.

But when they began to shoot machine guns at you,

You gave up on fighting back.

It was time to get the hell out.

They came in so fast,

Set the whole place of fire.

The holes in the walls began to be flooded by the infected but ravagers didn't seem to be scared at all.

And that scared you.

Before you knew it

They began to loot almost everything.

You weren't going to wait around for them to show up at your place. So you packed all of your essentials again, and left.

You were so scared, all you could do was run, and pray you wouldn't get shot.

You tried to leave from the south west, hiding behind trees and ducking in between houses. If you could reach your car you could just drive away. At least you would have a place to sleep-

“HEY!” your heart jumped to your throat.

“gwen!Come get a look at this sick ride!”

“Please dont let that be my car” You screamed internally as you peeked your head out to see a tall girl with bright red hair break into a car, YOUR car- fuck! turning on the engine like a pro thief. She waved the other girl, Gwen over to her, before hopping into the driver seat and honking the horn.

The other girl walked over, and tilted her head when she saw your car. You noticed she was shorter than the redhead, with thick black hair.

They were both covered in ash and blood, and you noticed a rife in the smaller girl's arms.

“bitch , that is the ugliest car I've ever seen. Get out and let's go shoot up some of these pussys, maybe take some shit while we are at it.” She paused to point her gun in the air and fire a few rounds. You flinched and steaded yourself quickly not to be caught. “if we are lucky, hopefully one of these fuckers will have some bleach to sniff. Or at least some licor.”

The two of them ditched your car and went back to doing whatever they please

You wait a few moments before dashing to your car. But the coast seems to be clear enough and you feel a wash of relief.

You hop into your car and lock the door, going to put your keys in the ignition.

“phew, maybe it will be easier to get out of here than I thought.”

They seemed to be so preoccupied in looting the place that they would be distracted long enough for you to get out-

“Who the fuck told you that?”

Your thoughts were interrupted by a mal voice, and the cock of a gun at your head.

Shit.

“Wow, you should see the look on your face doll. It's hilarious!” you could see him out of the corner of your eye.

Blond, missing a tooth, old. Ew.

You would usualy tell someone like him not to call you that, and to fuck off- but the gun against your temple made you feel like that probably wasnt the best idea.

How the hell did he even get in here?

Your fight or flight response began to kick in. and the adrenaline was making it hard to see or speak.

“What do you want?” your voice croaked out, a little shakier than you had meant it to be. Still you kept your face firm and looking ahead.

“Well darling~ boss told me to keep my eyes peeled for something interesting, and at first, I was going to snag this sick car. But when i saw you headed from the trees, I knew that this must be your car! And I though, HELL! Might as well get two portions tonight. So doll, you are going to put your hands behind your back, and shut the hell up. Because I don't want to have to lose my double portion- but, I might have to put a bullet in your pretty little head if you become a bother.” he smiled brightly and your stomach twisted.

He seemed two crazy to bargain with. So you complied, as much as you could.

Even if he was crazy. Or his boss was too. You aren't going to escape, or even get anywhere if you're dead.

The man hops from the car, introducing you to do so.

After you get you he waves his gun in a ‘turn around’ manor. So you slowly turn around.

Your hands are tied, and then he throws you into the passenger seat.

The next few minutes are a blur, but soon enough you find yourself back at the front gate of the safe haven. Over-run by the ravagers and infected.

The car comes to a halt and your yanked out from the car. Your sneakers drag on the rocky pathway as your bought through hordes of people to the top of the lookout tower.

On your way up the two of you are stopped by two men.

A shorter, slim redhead, with long hair and green eyes, a peice of his hair seems to be braided and anointed with ribbon, and a scar runs along the side of his left cheek. He has some type of small gun on his belt, but the rest of his body is anointed in massive daggers,blades, and knives. He’s scary, but not as scary as the man next to him.

The other man is much, much taller, with short blond hair and brown eyes. He's wearing a shark tooth necklace and what you assume is casual attire underneath all of his guns.

Even though the man is covered in weapons, it's not what haunts you. It's the fact that under all of his weapons you can make out the text on his shirt.

“World's best dad.”

With the photo of a girl peeking out underneath

The buff, tall man standing in front of you has a child.

And something about that makes you ill.

You wish you had time to wonder if he was just trying to provide for the girl, or if she might even be alive- but the smaller one speaks to the man holding you before you can analyze too hard.

“Hey, who the hell said you have permission to see the boss eh?” He had a thick Brooklyn accent as he spoke.

The blond man held his hand out to block the old man holding you and nodded his head towards me.

“Who's she?” his voice on the other hand was thick and dark, like warm chocolate on a cold day.

The shorter guy looked over in your direction and squinted at you.

The man holding you began to seem nervous and pulled you forward, slightly ripping your shirt.

“I got this girl and a nice car.” his sweat began to pool at his neck as he tossed you over to them.

They looked you over once before shrugging. The tall one motioned for the inside, and the small one rolled his eyes.

“Fine. double portions for you tonight. Now fuck off. I'll take her to the boss.`` The redhead grabs you by the arms, pushing you in front of him and guiding you up the stairs, and past 3 more men, and a woman sitting on the steps.

When you worked your way to the top another door stood in the way, and the man behind you paused to knock a few times on the covered glass, waiting for a firm ‘come in.’ before opening the door and pushing you inside.

Once inside you fell to your knees, and looked up to a group of six or so men, all dressed the same. They surrounded a man sitting in a chair, holding a cigar.

The room smelt like ash and whisky and it almost felt like a 1920s mafia movie.

A few more men stood on the side, held on the ground by gunpoint.

You could see they were the leaders of the sanctuary.

A few of the men spoke, but you couldn't seem to take your eyes off of one individual.

In one hand he held a glass of alcohol. In the other he held his cigar.

While the rest of his men wore all black. He wore a purple tie, and spoke with a thick, and eloquent british accent.

His mid length brown hair was perfectly fluffy, and pulled back half way to stay out of his face.

His eyes were a deep silver, and his skin lay pale as a ghost.

His presence was domantiang.

And you were sure that if this wasn't the apocalypse, he would have probably owned some large company. He was definitely that type.

The men seemed to be bargaining but stopped when the two of you entered the room.

Your heartbeat in your throat as the man looked down at you, meeting your eyes and taking a long drag of his cigar.

He paused for only a moment.

“Dagger. I'm in a meeting, who's this? And why is she interrupting us.?”

Dagger.

Fitting name.

“Don't ask me boss. Crazy Jim found her while snaggin a car. Came to us spouting some bullshit about giving her to you and getting second portion.” dagger pulled a toothpick from his pocket and placed it in his mouth, giving you a light kick.

Something clicked inside of you the moment daggers foot collided with your back.

Boss.

He was the boss.

This man is sitting in front of you.

it's as if he noticed you knew who he was.

His aura seemed to grow in that instant. And the room began to grow tight.

You are nervous now.

He seemed to scan your body for a moment, letting out a soft ‘hmm’ as he did so.

And when he seemed satisfied he looked up at dagger again and spoke,

“I think I'll keep her.”

And with that he waved his hand,

You were then dragged to the side of the boss by dagger, where he left you and headed to exit the smoky meeting room.

Oh hell no.

You began to shake and try to escape.

You refused to be taken by these people.

Lucky you managed to snag one of daggers small knives while he was pulling you around.

How he didn't notice was miraculous, but you didn't have time to celebrate.

You quickly slit the duct tape holding your arms together.

You would have no time to plan, no strategy.

You would have to just run as far and as fast as you could.

So you took off.

Surprisingly it took a moment before anyone noticed, and you actually managed to get to the door before a man in the shadows,

One you had not seen,

Grabbed your arm and threw you back across the room to the boss.

You grunt as you impact the ground.

Lucky nothing was broken, but your body would be sore for days.

A dark chuckle came from behind you, and suddenly dagger was back on your side, dragging you over to the boss, closer this time.

“You're a slippery one, aren't you darling?”

He laughs again,

“Tie her up, and you may leave.”

You try to continue to fight, but the redhead is much stronger, and he binds your hands with rope this time. It's tighter and you shuffle your hands in discomfort.

When dagger seems like it is satisfactory tight enough, he leaves you and goes to exit again.

But just before dagger exited, the boss called out,

“oh and that will be enough. Burn this place to the ground, I got what I want.”

Burn this place?

There are children and families here!

You've seen them, running around the safe haven.

Even seen a few babies be born.

And on top of that, so many innocent lives.

You spoke before you meant to.

“Wait.”

The boss and dagger both stopped for a moment before resuming.

Fire burned in your blood.

You should have stopped there but you couldn't let this happen.

“Wait!” You shouted this time.

In an instant the boss sat down his glass of whisky and grabbed your hair pulling you up to face him,

You rose to your feet and stood between his large slender legs.

From afar he seemed smaller,

But now that you were close he actually overtook you in size.

He looked down at your face with his silver eyes, shooting warnings down your spine.

“Please-” your voice shook.

You prayed you could seem brave enough to convince him.

“Don't do this to them. They have children and families here, please!” You try not to seem like your begging.

The bosses lips pull back into a twisted smile as he takes his cigar hand and sets it aside.

He brings his now free hand up to twirl his finger in your hair.

“What's your name?” He asks you softly.

“Y/n” you practically are whispering now.

“Y/n” he tastes your name as he speaks. “Darling y/n. Your so brave to stand up to the big bad wolf. Look at you~” he coos. “Do you think your going to stop me by trying to make me feel guilty?” He laughs again, this time dark and evil. “Oh sweetheart. I could care less about this place. Your heroic words are mere entertainment for me. Although your escape attempt was not appreciated. In fact, maybe I would have listened if you were a good girl~” he released your hair and went back to his cigar.

“Please.” Tears begin to fall down your cheek and he freezes.

“I'll do anything…” You mumble between sobs.

The bosses eyes widen and he sets his cigar down again.

His foot taps to get your attention, and when you look up teary eyed, you swear he looks insane. But when you blink he's back to just looking at you.

“You'll do anything?” He tilts his head at you.

And as much as it pains you.

“Yes” you nod.

“Good~” he purrs and forces you to stand all the way up again, holding your arm.

“I'll be honest with you. I like you. So, I'll make a deal with you. But-” he continued before you could say anything. “ If you don't like the conditions, i’ll burn this place to the ground, no second chances,” he paused to tilt your chin up at him. His smile dropped.“No negotiating.”

You're willing to take that risk.

You nod and he hums in satisfaction.

“Good~ I'll leave these people alone, I'll even leave all of their stuff. Well… Most if it at least” his grin returning. “ All you have to do is come with me. Just you. But, no fighting, no running away.”

Seems easy enough.

“Oh and-”

You should have known.

“You will stay by my side. Until I say otherwise.”

What?!

Was that like his weird way of asking you to marry him?

You don't even know this guy's name!

“make your choice. And quickly darling I don't have all night. You see, I'm losing a whole lot of good loot for you sweetheart, but an eye for an eye right?.”

Your stomach dropped.

Screw it.

“Fine”. You agree, and the boss clicks his tounge.

“Tsk- that wasn't a polite answer, try okay sir~”

You tried not to roll your eyes.

The hell was this guy's problem?

All sense of your pride was gone, but it still made your face burn in embarrassment as you spoke,

“Okay sir.”

He seemed pleased.

“Good girl."