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ab4eva · 2 years

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‘Tomorrow Will Be Too Late’

Part 4

Summary: Elvis Presley x Reader / For as long as you can remember, you’ve loved two things - Elvis Presley and time travel. After seeing the 1968 Comeback Special for the first time, you decide to try and get back to him for one incredible night, by any means necessary.

Author’s note: I’m not even sure if anyone is still interested in this story or not but the next part is finally here. It was an absolute nightmare to write, I was stuck for so long. I honestly didn’t even know if I was going to keep writing it but I surprised even myself. Very special thanks to Ally (@elvisabutler) who helped me get over the hump when I was incredibly blocked. You probably wouldn’t be reading this chapter if not for her. And my Lovely Ladies of Graceland for the encouragement, help, wisdom, friendship and motivation. The boot scene idea and one line is courtesy of the lovely Marina, so thank her for that hotness.

Warnings: NSFW - 18+ only. Language, infidelity, oral (f. receiving), boot riding (yes really), daddy kink, angst, mention of death, a scary episode that might be considered close to something like a seizure.

Word count: 7,401

TWBTL Masterlist

The thing no one ever mentions about time travel - in movies, in books - is just how lonely and isolating it really is. It doesn’t matter if you’re in a crowd of people, or one other person, you’re still alone. You can’t ever be your true self because who you are doesn’t exist in that world, in that particular time and place. You’ve come from your own time, where you belong, to another world entirely, where your existence is an anomaly. A disruption. Wrong. And you feel it. The wrongness of it all. It pushes on the back of your head and the sides of your temples and the backs of your knees. Almost like an invisible force is trying to knock you down. You feel off balance, as if you could fall into an abyss at any moment. It sets your teeth on edge and makes your bones ache. You didn’t think you’d feel a physical toll on your body but you do. The longer you stay, the stronger it becomes. You can no longer ignore the pull towards home, your own place in the universe.

The sharp ding of a text message startles you out of your reverie and you pull your eyes away from the window you’ve been staring out of. Looking down, you see it’s your mom…again. You really should give her a call but you just can’t manage to bring yourself to, not yet. You’ve been back home a week now and so far you’ve managed to shower, once. Order in groceries. Cry. Watch a little bit of TV. Cry. Stare out the window for long periods of time. Cry some more. You know your family is probably worried but you’ve been able to hold them off by telling them you’ve been sick and will call when you’re feeling up to it. You thought maybe you’d be in a little bit of a better place than you were a week ago, but no. You’re still just as destroyed as when you left 1968. When you left him. A fresh wave of tears crashes over you as you think about that last morning…

Scattered thoughts pull you from a peaceful slumber at Elvis’s side. You’re not ready to wake up, not yet, but before your eyes are even open they take hold like a wildfire burning through your brain and won’t let go. Not ready to contemplate everything but knowing you’ve already stayed here longer than you should. Your heart seizes at the thought of leaving Elvis and suddenly your body is ice, the blood running cold in your veins, and you lay there a moment, almost paralyzed. You look over at his still sleeping form and it gives you a moment to study him. Face relaxed in rest, all of the cares and worries he’s been holding onto this week have slipped away. He looks peaceful, like a little boy. No, not just any little boy, but the boy he was, the pictures you’ve seen of him from Humes Junior High School. You wonder at how this man before you can change so quickly from one thing to another, how he can hold both things in him at the same time. His face is leaner, baby fat gone from his cheeks and chin, nose ever so slightly thinner, but it’s the same face. Plush, pink lips curved gently into a smile, even now, long, dark eyelashes splayed across his cheeks, straight eyebrows framing it all. You're tempted to kiss him awake, to start a fire that can’t be quenched. But you stop yourself. If you start now, you’ll never stop. You’ll never leave. And you have to leave. It’s already breaking your heart but your time is up. You feel it in your bones, deep inside. That fragile line you followed all the way back here, to him, is now pulled taut, and it’s tugging you back, inch by inch. You think it might break if you’re not careful and then where would you be? No, you have to go. The sooner the better.

You carefully disentangle yourself from the sheets, mindful not to disturb Elvis, your eyes lingering a moment too long on his sleeping form, before you remind yourself why it is you’re leaving his bed in the first place. You’re doing it for him. You don’t belong here, in his life. You shouldn’t be here. You could fuck it all up and that terrifies you more than the thought of leaving him does. You float around the room, quiet as a mouse, retrieving the few things you have. You hope he doesn’t wake up, as painful as is it to slip away without another word. You just can’t bare the thought of looking into his eyes, hearing his voice, feeling his hands on you. Seeing him smile playfully, that pink tongue touching his top lip when he finds something amusing. Or whispering in your ear as his hand finds it’s way to your back as he leads you down the hallway. Not now, not today. It would you break you in half, and you can’t have that, not when you need every piece of you whole for what comes next. It’s better this way. This way, it’s just a fling, something passing and trivial. For him, anyway. For you it’s more than that, much more, but you can’t stop to give these thoughts any air to breathe, lest they pull you under and drown you. You dress quickly, quietly, running a comb through your hair and slipping on your shoes. Turning back around you’re nearly startled to death, jumping out of your skin as you see Elvis sitting up in bed, arms crossed, silently watching you, a look of barely contained fury on his handsome face. Shit. You stare at him, frozen in place and heart jackhammering in your chest, any words you think to utter die on your lips the longer this silent showdown continues. You open your mouth to say something, anything, to fill the void but he beats you to it.

“Save it honey,” he says through gritted teeth as he throws the covers back and stands up, long legs striding over to where you’re standing, pointing a finger in your face. “You could have told me if this was just s-s-some kind t-t-trophy for you. Something to brag about to your little friends? Who else have you f-f-fucked, huh? Mick Jagger? Robert Plant? You some s-s-sort of rock star w-w-whore?” He hurls this at you with venom, his emotions betrayed by that old stutter, intended to hurt. And it does. In more ways than one.

Your mouth drops open and you feel tears threaten your eyes. It feels as if he’s punched you in the gut, you’re so unable to breath or think beyond the pain his words have sliced through you. He’s towering over you, chest heaving, pulse beating wildly under his jaw, his silk pajama shirt open to the waist. You’re in agony, your hands itching to reach out and hold him, reassure him that he’s gotten it all wrong. You realize not only is he angry, he’s also hurt. Hurt by the fact you would just thoughtlessly walk out on him after the past two days. That you could. Your heart is already broken by the fact you have to leave him but to leave him knowing he feels more than just a fleeting passion for you is overwhelming. You shut your eyes as tears spill down your cheeks, your hands balled into fists at your side, trying to gain a bit of strength to do what must be done. You open your eyes, expecting to meet his fractured blue ones but he’s no longer standing in front of you. He’s sitting hunched over on the end of the bed, looking defeated and weary. Your heart shatters just a little bit more and despite your better judgement, you find yourself kneeling in-between his legs, an echo of last night, but this time no one’s having fun.

“Elvis,” you whisper, your hands hovering on either side of his cheeks, hesitating just a moment before taking his face in your hands, “look at me.” His eyes are downcast, refusing to meet your gaze. Stubborn, headstrong, impossible man. “I’m sorry. I…” you stop, unsure of what to say, how to make him understand all of the things you cannot say. “Listen, I thought this was just a fun little fling for you. I know…I know how these things work, I wasn’t born yesterday.” He does look up at you then, meeting your eyes briefly, a hint of embarrassment in them, before looking away again. “And - the truth is…” you swallow back the tears that are threatening to fall again. “The truth is…I like you. You have to know that, Elvis. I thought it would be easier - for me - if I just…slipped away. It’s a self-preservation thing. And I see now that I was wrong. I’m sorry. Really I am.”

He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, just stays where he is, refusing to look at you, silent. And then the tears you were holding back start to fall, and your hands on his face feel like they’re on fire and you drop them to your lap. Suddenly, it’s all too much to bear. You are overwhelmed and exhausted by the last 48 hours - the pleasure, the pain, the disorientation, the otherness of your situation. You crumple in on yourself, curling into a ball at his feet, letting the feelings crush you as sobs wrack your body. You don’t care what Elvis thinks of you - don’t care that he might think you’re crazy or emotional or complicated. All you want right now is for the pain to stop. You wish you’d never come. Wish you’d never known how his callused hands feel on your delicate skin, the way his mouth fits perfectly on yours, like two puzzle pieces slotting together. Wish you’d never known how his voice sounds first thing in the morning, all sleepy and raspy, his southern drawl that much stronger, before he became aware of himself, before he became the Elvis everyone expected him to be. Most of all, you wish you’d never known what it feels like to be loved, even for a brief moment, by Elvis Presley. Because now you know it feels like you can breathe again, for the first time in a long time, and you don’t even know when it was that you had ever stopped. It feels like coming home.

You’re dimly aware of his hands on you, of the shushing noises he is making as he runs his hands over your body, trying to get you to calm down. If you could see his face, you’d see regret and sadness there, the fact that he is apparently the cause of all your heartache, his own feelings forgotten for the moment. It broke something in him to see you like this, ripped his insides up just a little. He’s never met anyone so emotional, so prone to tears, and rather than anger or annoy him, it makes him want to take care of you, to stop those tears and never have to see them again.

“Come on now, honey…calm down. I’m sorry, I-I-I didn’t mean what I said before, I was angry. I shouldn’t have said those things.” There’s a desperation in his voice that makes you cry harder, because it means he cares, more than you thought possible. His hands are on your shoulders and suddenly he’s lifting you onto his lap, though when he sat down on the floor you don’t know. You resist at first, pushing against his chest like a petulant child, your arms and legs resistant to his touch. But he pays you no mind as he gathers you close to him once again, as if he knows exactly what you need, even when you don’t - he rubs your back and lets you cry, just as he did the first night you spent with him. You’re too tired to fight any more and slump against him, chest slightly heaving as you stare into the distance, numb. You’re silent now, the tears still falling, soaking his silk pajama shirt, but instead of the overwhelming storm of before, these are bitter tears of grief, crying for what is already lost. For he is lost to you, one way or another. You’re clinging to a ghost, the shadow of a man long gone and you shiver even though his warmth is seeping into every inch of your body.

“There now,” Elvis murmurs, “sweet lil girl. Lovely girl.” He smooths the hair back from your forehead as he leans you back in his arms, cradling you like a baby, and shushing you like one too. Your tears have subsided and only little hiccups stir you every now and again, the room silent and you shut your eyes against the early morning sun that pours through the curtains.

“Now, lil one, you’re gonna tell me what’s going on. And why ya tried to sneak out o’ here like ya did,” he says softly, turning your chin gently so your eyes meet his. You expect to see some of the anger from before, but instead you see only concern and…deep affection. You will yourself to keep the tears down, to make it through this next part. This is the last test, the one you have to pass. You steady your voice and pull yourself up to sitting, being able to face him head on somehow makes this a little bit easier.

“I am sorry, Elvis. The truth is, I have to go home. I have a job and a life and…these past two days have been the most incredible of my life. But I can’t stay here…much as I’d like to,” you end quietly, suddenly shy. “And…you have someone waiting for you. This was never…this was never going to be anything more than what it is.” He smiles at you, sweet and sad, a sigh escaping his pink lips.

“I know, honey,” he says, the internal struggle in his mind apparent on his face. Finally he makes up his mind, saying, “But will ya come visit me at Graceland? I can make arrangements for…for us to be alone.” You feel your heart speed up at the thought once again of what you were doing. But more than that, the only thing making it’s way to your mind now is that he wants to see you again. Your heart feels as if it might float out of your chest. Can you promise him that you’ll see him at Graceland? No, of course not. It didn’t work like that. You aren’t even sure if you can travel again. And if you can, what affect would it have you? On Elvis? But the pull is too strong - blue eyes pleading with you, begging you to say yes. How are you supposed to deny Elvis Presley anything?

“OK,” you breathe, unable to contain the smile spreading across your face.

“Yeah?” He’s looking at you like it’s Christmas morning and you’re just the thing he’s always wanted, his face all lit up and hopeful.

“Yeah,” you whisper, pulling his mouth down to yours, kissing him, hard. Like you’re trying to imprint the memory of his lips onto yours. Like you’re trying to melt yourself into him, so that you can stay with him forever. Like you’re trying to impress upon him the memory of you, so that in his weaker moments, his loneliness, he remembers you.

You had told Elvis you’d see him at Graceland in two weeks. The hardest part was convincing him that you wouldn’t have access to a phone for those two weeks. In the end, you made up some story about having to go overseas for work and wouldn’t be able to call long distance. He seemed slightly dubious but accepted it, as long as you promised to take the number to Graceland in case you needed anything. That was a week ago, one more left to go. You spend every waking moment, every sleeping one too, obsessed with the thought of going back. Worried it won’t work, worried you’ll never see him again. And when you’ve worried enough, that’s when the tears come. But you’ve only got a week left until you try and create lightning in a bottle for the second time, which means it’s time to get to work. You read up on any new information or theories that have popped up in the past few days. You type out your experience, all the details, everything you remember from you trip and save it to a Word document on your laptop labeled “Bill S. Preston, Esq.” You’re still able to make corny jokes, that had to be a good sign. You connected with your family, finally, who all agreed that you looked rather weak and pale after being sick. If they only knew. Your sister was the only one who was in on the secret and she fussed accordingly over you and made you promise to be careful, take every precaution. You promised. She could see the light in your eyes that had never been there before, and feel the lightness of your spirit, which she hadn’t seen in you for quite sometime. How could she be anything but happy for you when it made you this alive.

This time you drive yourself to Memphis, it’s only a few hours away, and you figure time in the car to think will do you good. It gives you time to run through the plan again, to run through every scenario you can think of, troubleshooting in your mind as you go. You’re as prepared as you’ll ever be by the time you reach your hotel, planning on getting a good nights rest before your first attempt tomorrow. This time you’ve packed a vintage suitcase with clothes, pajamas, money…whatever you might need for a few days. He asked you to come for the week and while it excites you, it also fills you with a bit of dread. You haven’t stayed in the past that long before, you aren't sure what might happen. But it’s a risk you’re willing to take, foolish as it may be. The way you feel right now has you floating on air, possible consequences be damned. If everything goes as planned, by this time tomorrow you’ll be back in Elvis’s arms.

The few times you’ve been to Graceland flash through your mind as your car pulls up outside the mansion. The most intense feeling of deja vu courses through you and you shudder. You’ve been here before…but not…you remember all the tours you took of the house - this house. But that’s not what’s giving you the feeling of deja vu. It’s like you’re remembering something that hasn’t happened yet. You distinctly remember pulling up the driveway in a car like this and stopping here, in front of the steps, just as you are now. But that’s impossible. You’ve never been to the mansion in a car before, only the shuttle bus that takes you from the main entrance annex at the Graceland compound, across Elvis Presley Boulevard, through the graffitied gates of Graceland and up the hill to the mansion. Your mind must be playing tricks on you, your brain a little scrambled from the back and forth between past and present. Before you can ruminate on it any further your eyes are drawn to the front door and you see something you’ve only dreamed about. Elvis Presley, opening wide the door of Graceland, a cheeky grin lighting up his handsome face as he saunters down the front steps to greet you. You’re so entranced by the image it’s almost as if you’re watching an old home movie taken by someone else, something you’ve seen a hundred times. You don’t realize you’re just sitting there, staring at him through the window, until he tries to open your door and it’s locked. He shakes his head with a smirk and taps on the window.

“I thought you weren’t gonna lock me out anymore, little girl. You’re not tryin’ to brat up on me again so soon, are ya?” The playfulness sparkles in his eyes and his smirk tells you he remembers quite vividly the last time you tried to lock him out of somewhere he wanted to be. Your face flushes at the memory and you see him notice, giving you a look so full of promise and desire it takes your breath away.

“I don’t know, maybe I am. What are you gonna do about it?” you say with a smile, opening the car door and stepping out as you eye each other timidly. It’s only been two weeks but in some ways it feels like an eternity since you last saw him. Then suddenly he’s pulling you into his arms and crushing you in a bear hug, squeezing so tightly you’re having trouble catching a breath. Your not complaining and hug him back almost as hard, earning a satisfied grunt from him. A Tracy Chapman lyric hovers in your thoughts, “It would feel so good to be, in your arms, where all my journeys end.” That isn’t right, can’t be right…he isn’t your destiny. This isn’t where your journey ends…it’s just one part of it. He has his life…had his life, you correct yourself, and not for the first time you feel a chill settle on your shoulders as you look into the eyes of a man gone from this world for almost fifty years. But he isn’t gone…not yet. He’s here, right now, flesh and blood - alive.

“Whadya think of it, Queenie?” he asks as he takes your hand and pulls you up the front steps, the pride apparent in his voice, his face beaming. You’re too charmed for a moment to register what he said until your brain catches up.

“Queenie?” you question as you draw your eyebrows together and give him a puzzling look. He stares at you expectantly and dips his head like a little kid, almost bashful. “Queenie,” you say again slowly, trying it out, seeing how it sounds on your tongue, rolling through your head, landing somewhere near your heart. A smile spreads across your face and something fragile perches in your soul. He named you. Claimed you as his own.

“Everyone insists on calling me the King…figure I should have a Queen.” He flashes that famous lopsided grin before gathering you in his arms and nuzzling his nose into your neck at the ticklish spot just below your ear and your shoulder lifts automatically in response as he plants soft kisses there, his lips dragging across the the sensitive flesh, his tongue darting out every now and again for a taste, making you shiver. You’re still planted firmly on the front porch of Graceland for all the world to see. You manage to reluctantly pull away, suddenly terrified someone will see the two of you.

“Show me the rest of it…please?” you say, like you haven’t already been inside his house many times, like you don’t remember exactly where each room is, like all of the little factoids you’ve ever heard aren’t running circles in your head. He’s pulling you inside by the hand and as soon as the front door is shut his arms are around your waist and his lips are crashing into yours with a desperation so fierce it engulfs you like a wildfire in mere seconds. He walks you backwards towards the staircase, never breaking the kiss, his hands in your hair, on your hips, fingertips brushing the bare skin of your thighs as he inches your skirt higher and higher. Your heel hits the bottom stair and you stumble a little and giggle into his mouth, your arms instinctively circling his neck to steady yourself as Elvis gently lowers you back onto the stairs. You barely realize what’s happening as he drops to his knees before you and pushes your skirt up to your waist, tugging your baby pink cotton panties down and off with a gentle force that has you grabbing onto the wooden stair rail to keep yourself from sliding off the stairs entirely. You gasp at the unexpected exposure and immediately close your legs and sit up. “Elvis!” you whisper, your heart banging in your chest and a deep blush staining your cheeks.

“Shh, baby, relax. Let me take care of you. Been thinkin’ ‘bout this for two long weeks.” He kisses you, almost chastely, and places a hand on your shoulder, firmly but slowly pushing you back down. Your eyes come to rest on the crystal chandelier sparkling above as you inhale a shaky breath, trying to steady your pounding heart. You jump as his cool hands grasp your knees to try and pry your legs apart and you shoot up again, quick as anything. He chuckles and shakes his head. “You sure are a skittish lil thing…I told you before honey, relax. Nothin’ to be scared of, let Daddy take care of ya. Be a good little girl for me, now.”

You watch as he places a kiss on each knee, his navy eyes never leaving yours. You’re fascinated by the way his pink lips look on your ivory skin as he peppers your legs with kisses, lightly squeezing your calves and you sigh deeply, sinking back to the carpet. You open your legs a little more, granting him access to your thighs as he continues his delicate assault upwards towards your core. Lifting one of your legs and placing it on his shoulder, his other hand strokes your mound before he spreads your lips gently and lowers his head, his breath hot on your sensitive flesh. He flattens his tongue and begins to lick long, slow stripes up your wet heat. A whine leaves your lips unbidden and you arch your back up and into him. His lips close over your sensitive bud as he begins to suck, his tongue massaging at the same time. You’re breath comes out in shallow gasps, and you’re grasping at anything you can to anchor you - one hand gripping the stair rail, the other finding it’s way to Elvis’s dark locks.

Two of his long, nimble fingers slip inside you and he fucks you with them, agonizingly slow, his tongue rubbing circles around your clit. The carpet underneath begins to burn your bare backside from the friction, but it only adds pleasure to your destruction. Your hands instinctively move to your breasts, teasing your peaked nipples through your dress. He can feel you trembling, hear your high-pitched keening and when he curls his fingers up to hit that spot and hums against your skin, you finally break, clenching fiercely as his name leaves your lips over and over again in a choked breath. Your thighs clamp around his head as you ride out your high, his arm around your thigh the only thing anchoring you now. The chandelier above your head swims into view as you open your eyes, trying to catch your breath. Elvis is practically laying on you now as he looks up at you, chin resting on your stomach - your hands tangle in his hair and he beams a self-satisfied little smile at you.

“Now that wasn’t so bad, was it honey?” he teases, blue eyes sparkling. “I love watching ya fall apart because of me, ‘cause of the things I’m doin’ to ya.” It’s too much, the way he’s looking at you, the things he’s saying - the things he just did. You cover your face with your hands, embarrassed, but he reaches up, moving them away and making you look at him. “I like knowing I took care of my baby, ain’t nothin to be shy about.” He rubs his thumb across your lips and you see a smile tug at the side of his mouth, a private joke only he knows the punchline to.

“Elvis…that was…” you’re at a loss for words, truly. This wasn’t what you had expected your first moments in Graceland to be like. “Thank you,” you say simply, the only thing that comes to your jumbled mind. He helps you up, helps you put yourself back together, helps you smooth your dress down. A private tour of Graceland by Elvis Presley himself was not something that has ever crossed your mind. So to find yourself here now, in the Jungle Room, with him was…surreal. The two of you passed the afternoon quite happily, exploring the grounds and just catching up, talking about one thing or another. Thankfully, Elvis had arranged for the both of you to use a friend’s house while you were in town, a cozy little bungalow he had bought for a member of his Memphis Mafia and who he had promptly kicked out for the week, sending the poor fellow off to Los Angeles in exchange. Secretly, you were glad. You wouldn’t have wanted to share Elvis’s bedroom at Graceland, and being the southern gentleman he was, he wouldn’t have wanted that either.

Elvis appears in the mirror behind you, and you have to stop yourself from gasping at how handsome he looks, how the very sight of him sends a well of desire bubbling up from deep within and threatens to overflow and choke you. You have to have him - now. This is the most inconvenient time. He’s on his way to a dinner with the heads of Memphis society, local government officials and various charity organizations. A dinner you’re not invited to, which means you’ll be spending your first evening back with him alone. A prospect you’re not too thrilled about, but he could make it better, leave you sated and satisfied instead of desperate and wanting.

“I need you, E,” you whine, the breathlessness of your voice surprising even you.

Elvis chuckles with amusement as you watch him drift closer and closer in the mirror. “I can see that, Queenie. You’re just gonna have to wait til I get home. Can’t have me turnin up in polite society all disheveled now, can we? Despite what we get up to when we’re alone, I am a respectable man.” The way he’s looking at you begs to differ, like he could devour you whole right this minute, the hunger in his eyes matching your own. His big, warm hands find their way to your bare shoulders and slip underneath the thin straps of your vintage nightgown. His thumbs rub slow circles in the dimples of your shoulders and your breathing slows and grows shallow. One of his hands slips beneath the neck of your nightgown, over your heart and into your bra. He pinches your nipple slowly, rolling it back and forth between his fingers. Gasping, your head falls back against his stomach and you reach a hand behind you to grab his thigh. He leans down and kisses your neck, sending shivers down your spine. The ring of the telephone jolts you both out of your reverie and he reluctantly releases you, with a final pinch to your nipple, to answer it. You follow after him, wrapping your arms around him from behind, loathe to be parted from him for even a few seconds. You can feel the same needy possessiveness creeping up, the feeling you had two weeks ago that led to you being bent over his leather-clad knee, getting the hell spanked out of you. You stand up on your tippy toes so you can reach his cheek, stroking his sideburn with your finger and tickling. He playfully ducks his head to try and dislodge you, tries to walk away, but you’re stuck to him like glue, moving in tandem wherever he goes.

“The car’ll be here in ten minutes, baby,” he says, hanging up the phone. “I gotta finish getting ready, can’t be late to this thing.” He gently but firmly disentangles you from him, sitting you on the bed where you cross your arms and glare at him while he finishes combing his hair.

“Don’t gimme that look, Queenie. I- you know I can’t take care of you right now. I would if I could but I can’t.” If looks could kill, he’d be a dead man just from the stare you're giving him from your perch on the bed. “Lord, woman, you're insatiable. Didn’t I just have you on the stairs this afternoon at my own damn house?” He shakes his head, amused and aroused and…proud. Your eyes travel down his body - the man is a vision in black: high-collared black shirt open at the neck just a respectable bit, fitted black pants hugging all the right places, right down to his smooth and shiny black Chelsea boots. Those boots are…hot. You remember seeing ones just like them, on display at Graceland. And the way he wears them…fucking hot.

“I could…polish your boots for you, Daddy. Make ‘em real shiny.” Your breathless words shock even you. “Every time you look down at ‘em tonight you’ll think of me and how you’re itchin’ to get back home to me. How I’ll be here on this bed, waiting for you to come and fill me up.” You drop to your knees in front of him, running your hands up and down his legs, thighs to boots and back again. You notice his pants are a little tighter then before in the crotch and you can see the outline of his hardening cock through the material. He’s never heard you talk like this, never heard you be so bold. He clenches his fists, you see his throat working and he grits his teeth, staring at the ceiling. You think you hear him mutter, “Lord, give me strength,” before he gently pulls you up by the shoulders and leads you to the bed. He sits on the edge and crosses one leg over the other as you quickly shuck your panties and sink to your knees again, straddling his foot. The smooth, cool leather of the boot on your already soaking heat is a new sensation. You move experimentally, one hand on his knee, the other on the bed beside him. It’s smooth, the usual kind of friction is absent and in its place a slick, burning heat. The more you move, the hotter the leather becomes.

“Go on, ride my boot honey, polish it on up,” he manages a shocked laugh, surprised by the turn of events but who is he to judge? You give him a withering look and he stops laughing once he sees the concentration on your face. He flex’s his foot up and down by the ankle, changing up your rhythm, bouncing you slightly. The movement jolts you a little and your grab onto his thighs to steady yourself. It hits a different spot, the pressure building, the burning sensation a mix of pleasure and pain. You’re holding on to his thighs now, looking up at him, desperate and so very close to the edge. He takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger and whispers filthy sweet words and praise to you.

“That’s my good little girl, doing so good polishing Daddy’s boots. Makin’ ‘em so shiny for me. My little one who can’t even wait three hours for me, gotta have me right now, any part she can get her hands on. Goddamn, I love you, honey.” You both freeze as your breath catches in your throat and you stare at him, the blood rushing in your ears, drowning out all other sound for a moment. You’re shocked, utterly and completely. Did he just….did he just say he loves you? Before you can respond he says it again.

“I love you. I know that’s crazy,” he whispers, brow furrowed and eyes piercing yours. “I know we haven’t known each other very long at all. I can’t explain it but…I feel as if I’ve loved you for a long, long time.” You don’t realize you’re crying until he gently wipes the tears from your cheeks with his thumb. He looks scared and nervous, like a little boy again. You lean up and kiss him - you can’t stop kissing him, breathing “I love you” in between each one, like a poem that only has three words. He flex’s his foot again, reminding you just how close you are to a sweet release. Slowly you drag your core up and down the slick top of his boot, your forehead pressed to his as you come, as he murmurs his love to you, over and over again.

—

While Elvis is at dinner you figure you might as well unpack a few things from your suitcase, no use in living out of it for the week if you didn’t have to. You take out another nightgown and place it in a dresser drawer in the guest room before removing a couple of dresses as well, shaking them out, trying to release some of the wrinkles that have settled in. Something white slips out from the folds and floats to the floor. You pick it up, turn it over. A receipt, from the vintage store where you acquired most of the things you brought with you. Your eyes run over the information before landing on the date of purchase - 07/07/2022. Suddenly the lights in the room start to flicker, off and on. Off and on. Your head feels heavy and as you fall you think, Is this what it feels like to die?

Your entire body is an earthquake. Something out of your control is happening, a frenetic vibrating that started in your core and is now radiating outwards. The adrenaline pumping through your veins is almost too much for your body to handle, your heart is beating out of sync and entirely too fast. Am I having a seizure, you wonder dimly, frozen where you lay, unable to move, your eyes refusing to open. If you could scream, you would, but you’re paralyzed, helpless to stop wave after wave crashing through your body. There’s a lightness in your head that’s clouding everything, scattering every thought, making it all hazy. It’s filling you up, every fiber, every cell, you’re more scared than you’ve ever been in your entire life. After what seems like an eternity, your body slowly comes down from the high and you stop shaking, eyes fluttering open, wiggling your fingers just to make sure you can move them.

You open your eyes to pale morning light and a cotton candy pink sky. The dewy warmth of the ground is already seeping into your clothes - your nightgown. How did you get outside? The last thing you remember is unpacking your clothes in the house you were staying in with Elvis. You feel…strange and weak. You lie there another couple of minutes, breathing and getting your bearings. The birds are chirping in the trees nearby and you can see some swooping and diving overhead as more light slowly fills the sky. You sit up shakily, and finally stand on unsteady feet. Like a punch to the gut, you realize that you’ve just been pulled away, unexpectedly, back to your own timeline. Away from Elvis, just when…oh god. Just when things were moving in a direction you hadn’t anticipated. He loves you. You double over in pain, almost falling to your knees again. You’ve got to get back to him, as soon as possible.

You walk through the trees, vision blurry from the tears you can’t seem to stop, unsure which direction you’re heading or where you even are but you can see fences in the distance, and horses. This looks like - are you at Graceland? How on earth did you end up here? You’re worried someone from the staff will see, worried you’ll get into trouble. You doubt they’ll take very kindly to a nightgown-clad woman wandering the private grounds in the early morning hours. You walk cautiously into the pasture where you see a lone figure standing at the fence, his back to you. Elvis. Oh…oh thank god. Thank heavens. Thank your lucky stars. You hadn’t gone anywhere, you’re still here. You feel as if you might sob uncontrollably but you hold it together as you break into a run, eager to explain, to tell him why you’d just disappeared like that, as if into thin air. He was so angry last time at the thought of you sneaking away, you’re unsure how he’ll react. The closer to him you get the more you slow your pace, catching your breath, preparing to beg, to plead, to do anything you can to make him understand you hadn’t wanted to leave him, hadn’t had a choice. Hell, maybe you’ll tell him the truth, let the chips fall where they may. What have you got to lose - it’s now or never, you won’t get another chance. Not with Elvis. Not after this. Almost there now, you’re so close, the peachy-pink early morning light envelopes his form and gives him an ethereal glow.

“Elvis.” Your voice is barely a whisper - a prayer, a plea, a vow. Your hand is reaching out for him, you can almost touch his white shirt, and he startles and turns around, spooked. You’ve scared him. You didn’t mean to. His face is pale and drawn, dark circles smudge the underneath of his eyes. The smile dies on your lips, you gasp and whip your hand back as if it’s been burned. Your mind struggles to keep up with what your eyes are seeing as they dart over his face, his body, taking in every detail, every nuance. Something isn’t right. His hair is shorter and his face…his face is full of promise and grief - so much sadness in his eyes. Tears stain his cheeks and he swipes at them hurriedly with the back of his hand, embarrassed, and gives you a wary look. You expect to see something in his face - happiness, surprise, anger…but…he doesn’t recognize you at all. That much is painfully clear. Your heart is beating too quickly, you can’t breathe. If you could only breathe a little easier. You sway a little, unsteady on your feet. His eyes are running over you, assessing you, assessing the situation. He reaches out a hand to steady you but you stumble backwards as tears sting your eyes. This isn’t your Elvis, the Elvis you left. The one standing before you is younger and beautiful, all chiseled features and swooping hair, lush full lips and smooth face. His clothes - his clothes are all wrong. Your eyes travel upwards as you take him in fully for the first time - white shoes on green grass, loose white slacks hang invitingly on his hips and a ruffled white shirt hugs his torso, short-sleeves exposing tan arms. You know this Elvis. Have seen those awful, heartbreaking photos of him and his father on the front steps of Graceland.

Just after his mother died…in 1958.

Oh. Oh no. This…this wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. Your breath leaves you altogether as you feel yourself start to spiral, darkness filling the edges of your vision. You remember the last time this happened, not so long ago, after meeting Elvis for the first time in 1968. You tilt backwards, sitting down hard just as he grabs your arms to break your fall. A wail leaves your lips as you realize you’ve lost your Elvis. If you’re here, in 1958, you don’t know if you’ll ever get back to him. Don’t know if you’ll ever get back home even. This Elvis is kneeling next to you, his mouth is moving but no words are coming out…and his eyes. Same shape, same vibrant blue color, same long eyelashes framing it all - but they’re no longer filled with love and longing and desire. Only grief and mild concern. As if of it’s own accord, your hand reaches out and gently cups his face, stroking his cheek, wanting to comfort him, knowing the pain he is in. Then the darkness engulfs you and you remember no more.

Tags: @meladollsims @godlypresley @jelliedonut @butlersxbirdy @precious-little-scoundrel @eliseinmemphis @powerofelvis

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hslllot · 2 years

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A Soft Place to Fall - Part I

Story List

Word count: 3.6k // Rated M // harry x reader

Note: Wowowow ok! So, here’s the first part of what will be a multi-part story. It is just a short lil introduction to our duo... The second part isn’t too far away either :) I want to thank my bullies motivating friends that encouraged me to write and share this! I love writing but am always painfully nervous about sharing. So please, if you like it, let me know! If you don’t like it you can also let me know but I will probably cry. OK ENJOY :)

Part I

In a cozy log cabin at the base of Mount Yamnuska, Harry found himself in a position he thought he’d never find himself in again.

He was hiding.

It was something he tended to do after a particularly difficult break up: Flee to a different country, alone, to write and sulk and ponder how he always managed to screw things up.

Jamaica. Japan. Italy.

Canada.

In the heart of the Canadian rockies, he sat by the fire in his lonely wooden home. There was a winter unlike anything he’d ever experienced outside his window and a mug filled with English tea in front of him. Next to his mug was his journal, open to an empty set of pages, words painfully unwritten.

He arrived in Calgary by plane this morning, peering out the window to see the bustling and bright landscapes of California transform into blankets of fresh white snow on barren acres of farmland. They flew over the Rocky Mountains and, despite having seen them from above before, he was transfixed by their beauty and size, and he wondered if anyone ever got tired of seeing something so majestic. He had never seen the mountains in the dead of winter, the trees, the ground, and the mountains themselves covered in white while the surrounding frozen glacier lakes remained a brilliant blue. He appreciated the beauty of it all, and under different circumstances he might have turned to the person sitting next to him and urged them to lean over and take a peek out the window too. But his mood soured when he remembered that the person sitting next to him was a stranger, and he was, again, on this trip alone.

Once the plane had landed he sent a quick text to his family group chat and Jeffrey to let them know he’d arrived in one piece. He scrolled through his emails to find all of the different reservations Jeffrey forwarded to him so he could pick up his rental vehicle and begin the 100 kilometre journey to the sleepy mountain town he would be calling home for the next three months.

The GPS in the rental guided him to the Bow Valley Parkway, the scenic highway that would lead him through Banff National Park and to his destination. As he entered the parkway, he pulled into a designated lookout just past a wooden gate that overhead read “WELCOME BIENVENUE”. Directly in front of him was a cerulean river, frozen over and backed by the most massive snow-capped mountain he had ever seen. He got out of his car, feeling the cold January air like pinpricks across his face, and quickly took a picture of the view. He sent it to his mother and promised to one day come back with her so she could see it for herself.

As he drove further down the Bow Valley, he felt kind of silly for pulling over at the sight of his first mountain when each mountain and lake he passed seemed to be bigger and more beautiful than the last. Eventually, he saw the signs for Mount Yamnuska and turned off the highway onto a long and winding road that would take him to his final destination. With nothing but tall lodgepole pine trees, grey skies, and the crooning voice of Billie Holiday to keep him company, he felt like he was on a different planet. A planet where the trees and the mountain air could filter out all of the negative voices, thoughts, and feelings he’d been privy to in the last few weeks. A planet where he might be able to clear his head long enough to find within it a melody or even a lyric or two.

Harry wasn’t entirely sure what was waiting for him at the end of the road, only having skimmed the AirBnB listing Jeffrey had emailed him. He called Jeff two days ago, insisting that he needed to get away, to disappear for a bit. Having been in this exact position before with his client/friend, Jeff knew what that meant. His manager remembered seeing videos of aesthetic mountain vacations with rocky lookouts and great big turquoise lakes on TikTok, so he suggested that Harry sequester himself in the mountains. After discussing and agreeing on the destination, Jeff had the trip planned and booked within hours.

Harry passed plenty of tiny cottages and cabins tucked away in the forest alongside the highway, but as it got darker he focused more on the road ahead and fixed his eyes to watch out for any wildlife (he heard mountain lions were a possibility in the Winter). When he finally made it to his landing place, he was at the end of a long driveway in front of a cabin carved into a landscape of endless conifer trees. The cabin looked small and simple on the outside, the entirety of its exterior made up of orange-tinted pine logs. There was a foot of snow covering everything in sight, save for the walking path from the driveway to a front porch that spanned the width of the cabin. On the porch sat two Muskoka chairs, red, to match the front door.

Sat in the two chairs waiting for him, unphased by the darkening skies and blowing snow, he presumed were his hosts.

He exited his car and zipped his jacket all the way past his chin, a lame attempt to shield his face from the wind. As he made his way toward the porch, the older man and woman stood to greet him. Both were dressed in black puffer jackets and knit beanies, perhaps in their mid-to-late fifties. They appeared friendly, wearing bright smiles as they welcomed him to their vacation home.

“You must be Harry”, the man said, reaching out to shake Harry’s hand.

Harry returned the gesture, “Hello, yes, I’m Harry.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Paul and this is my wife, Nancy.”

“We hope you found the place OK!” Nancy chippered.

“Thank you, I did.” He said, shaking Nancy’s hand next. “I appreciate you taking me in on such short notice.”

“Oh, it’s no problem. We actually just had a cancellation before your manager contacted us. Our daughter was supposed to stay here with her partner for the week but their plans changed. So everything was already set up for guests!”

“Lucky for me then.” He said with a smile as Paul took his bag and Nancy moved to open the door to lead them all inside.

Harry did a quick scan of the inside of the cabin from where he stood in the front entrance. He saw they’d already started a fire in the wood burning stove and spotted a cozy looking armchair where he knew he’d be curling up with his book. “The place looks great.”

“We’re glad you think so. Please, come in, get comfortable. This is your home now for a bit, after all!” Nancy insisted, fussing over him to take off his jacket and shoes. She reminded him a bit of his mother, something about her demeanor making him feel at ease. “You’ve had a long journey so we’ll leave you to get settled in and explore the place. Just a few things though…”

He kicked off his shoes by the door and followed behind the two as they led him past the living room and into the kitchen.

“We’re going to get more snow tonight and you’re probably tired from your travels,” Nancy opened the refrigerator. “We’ve already stocked the fridge with all of our daughter’s favourites so there’s plenty of food that you can have.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind getting my own.”

“Really, we’d rather it didn’t go to waste.” Paul chimed in. “But of course if there’s anything more you need, there’s some info in that binder on the table about going into town and grocery stores and restaurants and whatnot.”

“Alright, thank you. I really appreciate all this.”

“Of course!” He handed Harry a set of keys on what looked like a moose-head keychain. “Here’s the key. Our house is north of here, about 15 minutes away. So if you need anything just give us a call or text. Our address is in there too just in case.”

Harry bid goodnight to Paul and Nancy and once they were gone he took his bag and scoped out the cabin. It was a simple layout with two bedrooms just off the living room, a full bathroom between the two rooms and the open galley kitchen along the adjacent back wall, opposite the front door. There was a small kitchen island at the center in front of the red kitchen cupboards, and a wooden dining table for two in its own little nook off the kitchen. The cabin had a warm feel to it. The decor, you might say was quintessentially Canadian in the way they leaned into maple-scented candles, wood carvings of mountains hung on the walls, and no shortage of throw blankets and pillows adorned with buffalo plaid.

Harry dropped his bag into the bedroom closest to the kitchen and was about to start unpacking when his stomach growled. Grateful they had left food for him to eat, he made himself a sandwich and got acquainted with where everything was in the kitchen before unpacking his things. He decided then that after he unpacked he would settle in for the night by the fire, brew some tea and maybe take a stab at writing.

—————————

You hated driving in the winter.

Were you competent and experienced enough to deal with the blowing snow and the black ice under your tires? Sure. But that didn't mean you enjoyed it. A lifetime of driving down the Parkway didn’t stop you from gripping the steering wheel so hard your knuckles were white, or straining your eyes in the darkness to avoid missing any moose or elk that might emerge from the trees.

One thing you did like about road trips was that they were a great opportunity for reflection. You’d been driving for about 3 hours at this point, and had barely listened to the playlist you put on at the start of your journey. You were too busy keeping an eye on the road, or thinking about the last 72 hours, and playing out scenarios in your head where things had gone differently.

You were exhausted, physically and mentally. Was it really only 72 hours since everything went down?

You replayed your last conversation with Luke over and over again in your head, hoping that if you went over it enough you could better understand.

“I just can’t do it. Even if I came, I would have to bring work with me and I’d be working the whole time.”

You were incredulous. Confused. Borderline seething.

“This trip was supposed to happen last summer, Luke. We’ve postponed it twice already for your job.”

“I know and I said I’m sorry. I just can’t up and leave right now.”

“Did you not book off the vacation time? Your boss knows you're supposed to go away. It’s literally one week.”

“Yes, I booked off the vacation time but I-”

“Well if you’ve booked it off and they gave you the time off what’s the problem?”

“I just can’t go now, ok?”

“Is it that you can’t go, or that you don’t want to go?”

That question had been lingering in the back of your mind every time the trip had to be postponed, but you never asked because you were afraid of the answer. You hoped that work really was so busy that he couldn’t take a week off, even though he had the vacation time approved by his boss. You wanted to believe that this was just the reality of being in a relationship with a lawyer.

The trouble was that you’d been with Luke for two years and he had yet to meet your family. He seemed excited to visit the small mountain town where you grew up, citing that he’d always wanted to visit Banff and the Rocky Mountains. You met his parents and got on well with them and your relationship was moving forward, with talks of moving in together and maybe even a proposal on the horizon.

However, every time you brought up visiting your family, he put it off and said he was too busy. You would visit home and he would stay back in Vancouver. Eventually he agreed to join you and the trip was booked, but at the last minute he claimed to be in the middle of an important case and couldn’t leave. You rescheduled twice since, and it was looking like you’d be adding a third.

“Of course I want to go. It’s just not a great time right now.”

“Is there ever going to be a great time? At some point I’m going to need you to make time for it, Luke.”

You were beginning to think that he didn’t understand how important your family was to you. He didn’t understand that you needed to see how he fit into your family in order for the relationship to progress. Would he get along with your dad? Would he be kind to your mom? Could he be friends with your brother? You were realizing that maybe his lack of motivation to meet your family and see your home was all you needed to know.

Before he could respond, you added “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

Of course over the last 72 hours you doubted yourself constantly. Had you overreacted? Should you have been more understanding about his job? You went back and forth, reminding yourself that you had a job too, sure it wasn’t as demanding as that of a lawyer, but no matter what you always found the time for things that were important to you. You even took a week off to go on a ski trip with his parents a few weeks ago.

After the break up, you called your parents to let them know you weren’t coming anymore. You fully intended to wallow in your apartment for the week and mourn your dead relationship. The wallowing lasted less than 24 hours before you decided the best antidote for a broken heart was a hug from your mom and a beer with your dad.

That’s how you found yourself on the Bow Valley Parkway at 11pm in the middle of a snowstorm. You thought it would be fun to surprise your parents, but now you were regretting that decision. You weren’t sure that the rental vehicle was equipped to deal with a January snow storm in the mountains and if you ended up in a ditch or hit by a moose, no one knew where you were. Knowing your parents, they were probably already asleep, and you didn’t want to wake them. You decided to spend the night at their guest cabin you had initially booked, with plans to surprise them in the morning.

—————————

Harry knew that a few hours on a plane and an evening in a log cabin in the middle of the wilderness wasn’t going to instantly fix his writer’s block. But he did hope his new setting might be able to wiggle some ideas free.

As he sat with his tea and his journal open to an empty page, he begged the words to come to him. But he didn’t know what to say.

How could he write about a break up that he still didn’t even fully understand?

He was just short of banging his head against the table and throwing his journal in the fire when a light shone through the window.

A set of headlights turned onto the driveway, a small car bustling through the snow storm that had started raging outside. He looked to the door to make sure he’d locked it, in case someone was on their way to murder him in the middle of nowhere.

Maybe Paul or Nancy forgot something, he hoped to himself. It was nearly midnight, so he knew that wasn’t logical.

It was when you pulled up and parked next to his rental that he saw you in the driver’s seat. Your face was perplexed as you looked over at his vehicle and then to the log cabin. You awkwardly made eye contact through the window before you quickly looked away.

Maybe she’s lost, he thought to himself next.

He waited for you to come to the door, but you remained in your car. Eventually, thinking you looked harmless enough, Harry bundled up in his coat, slipped on his shoes, and went to meet you outside.

—-

You whipped your head towards the cabin door when you saw it open to reveal a strange man walking toward your vehicle.

Why is he coming out here? Oh god is he going to murder me? You thought.

Embarrassed you’d been caught outside the cabin, you rolled down your window, “I’m so sorry! I didn’t think anyone would be here! I’m just leaving!“

You were hit with the realization of who was walking toward you, followed by some confusion.

What the fuck…

And then panic when you realized he was walking up to your car.

“I really am sorry this is my parents cabin and I thought no one would be here!” You shouted as he approached your opened window. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your evening.”

Harry fucking Styles crouched down to look at you through the driver’s side window. In the darkness, you felt his eyes on you taking note of your black and yellow North Face puffer jacket and the knit beanie on your head. There was a look of recognition on his face, perhaps noticing some of your features were strikingly similar to those of a woman he’d met only a few hours ago.

“Ah, you’re Nancy and Paul’s daughter.”

“Yeah, I am…So I’ll just h-”

“They said you’d canceled.”

“Oh? Yea, I did… I, uh, changed my mind, I guess. I didn’t think they’d book someone so quickly.”

“It was good timing on my part, I guess.”

“Right, ok, I’m so sorry for interrupting your evening! I’ll just go to their house!” It was nearly pitch black outside, save for the light of your headlights shining on the cabin in front of you. The wind was violent, whipping snow around him, and you felt bad that he was standing outside in the cold. His arms were crossed and hugging his jacket closed, talking to you while not wearing nearly enough layers to be outside.

Harry pondered for a moment, sucking his lips into his mouth and turning to look at the snow coming down around him. He was sure being from here that you had experience driving in weather like this, but he could not in good conscience let you leave without offering.

“The snow’s coming down pretty hard. I was just having some tea before bed… Would you like to come in? At least until things calm down a bit.”

Harry felt bold asking you to come inside when you were strangers. He could tell you were mulling it over, maybe unsure if you could trust him or if it would be appropriate. He wasn’t sure if it was either, but he kind of hoped you agreed to it anyway. Jeffrey would yell at him for this.

“Are you sure?” You asked. Your first instinct was to outright decline the offer, but you knew the roads were treacherous and you were exhausted.

“Yes, I’m sure.” He insisted. “Selfishly, I would never forgive myself if I let you go and you got into an accident or something on the highway.”

“Okay,” you agreed reluctantly. “I’ll come in just for a bit.” You got out of the car and followed him back quickly through the blowing snow and up the path to the front door.

Once inside, he turned to you. “I apologize I didn’t even ask your name.”

You told him your name as you toed off your boots and took off your many layers of outdoor winter wear.

“Well it’s nice to meet you. I’m Harry.”

“Nice to meet you too, Harry. I know who you are, by the way. I’m a fan.” You paused and he noticed the way your face twisted, almost in embarrassment. “Ugh, sorry, is that weird to say?”

“Not weird.” He tried to reassure you. “Would be more awkward if you said you hated me or something.”

You took a seat on the sofa, grabbing the buffalo plaid pillow next to you and hugging it to your chest. You felt awkward. What was Harry Styles doing in your parents’ vacation rental? And what were you doing with him alone in the middle of the night? Were you going to sit here and chat with each other? Or would he carry on with his evening as if you weren’t here?

You spotted his open journal and a mug of tea abandoned on the side table near the fire. He did mention having tea before, which was confirmed by him now filling the kettle with water.

“Again, I’m sorry for interrupting. Really appreciate you letting me hang here for a bit.”

He grabbed a mug from the cabinet to the right of the sink. It was the green mug you painted for your mom for Mother’s Day in middle school.

“You’ve got to stop apologizing. Very Canadian of you though.”

“Right. Sorry. Shit.”

Harry laughed whilst shaking his head at your incessant apologies. You liked his laugh. And his dimples.

OK, he’s cute, you thought.

“Would you like a snack?” Harry called out, interrupting your wandering thoughts. “I’m pretty sure all of the food here was supposed to be for you anyways.”

— END OF PART 1 —

Thank you so much for reading! I am looking forward to diving into this story a bit more and would like to know what you think :)

TALK TO ME HERE

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing #harry styles fic #my writing #asptf

336 notes · View notes

kilvalir · 6 months

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kilvalir's choices works

Below the read more, you will find a compilation of all the choices content I've made so far. Beware of it lives within spoilers, not all the titles of the works ahead are spoiler-free.

Tags

These are the tags I normally use on my own creations.

Writing: #my writing Edits: #my edits Memes: #my memes Below are the tags I use for my own favourite it lives within main character, mr pink-hair up there, Vax Vũ-Verdant, and all content related to him, including those made by me, and those not made by me. Vax in general: #OC: Vax Vax with Lincoln: #Vaxlinc

Writing

A note on trigger warnings: all my writing lists any potential content warnings at the top of the work, with the work itself under a "read more" button.

1. Lincoln x MC angst fic - Heal what has been hurt (change the fate's design), part 1, part 2 2. Abel x MC ficlet - click 3. Excerpt of an unfinished Abel x MC angst - click 4. Abel x MC (ish) - a sinister Judas Kiss piece - click 5. Abel x MC joke fic - click 6. Pictures of You - ILW Main Cast Angst - click 7. In Progress Lincoln x MC Angst - part 1 8. Excerpt of a soft Lincoln x MC WIP - click 9. Little ILW MC Angst Piece - click

Edits

Another note on trigger warnings: warnings for edits are shown by caution emojis and what the warning is for, after the link. e.g ⚠️EXAMPLE ⚠️

Fake CGS and Book Covers:

1. Bashful Abel in a suit - click 2. Horror Abel - click⚠️GUNS ⚠️ 3. Horror Abel looming behind ILW MC - click ⚠️BODY HORROR ⚠️ 4. Suited Up Abel Leaning - click 5. ILW MC (Feens!) striding menacingly through an alley - click 6. Eiko x MOTY MC cover edit - click 7. Abel x ILW MC (Hilkka) reading by a tree - click 8. Blades MC (Raine) flying on a drake - click 9. Blades MC (Maiele), Tyril, and Imtura in battle - click

Sprite Edits (Part 1!):

1. Abel in Rowan's glasses - click 2. Sleeveless Abel with long hair - click 3. Long-hair Abel in a flower crown - click 4. ILW MC in Abel's sweater - click 5. Pirate Abel #1 - click 6. Pirate Abel #2 - click 7. Pirate Abel #3 - click 8. Horror Abel - click ⚠️BODY HORROR ⚠️ 9. Grandpa Abel - click 10. Crying Abel - click ⚠️DEATH AND ILW SPOILERS ⚠️ 11. Bearded Abel and beardless Lincoln - click 12. Merman Abel - click 13. Abel x ILW MC heist suits - click 14. Amalia dressed as her younger self - click 15. Lincoln dressed as his younger self - click 16. Beckett (TE) as a wood nymph - click 17. Lincoln as an elf - click 18. Tom as a mage - click 19. Jean Jacket Lincoln with his hair down - click 20. Nik Ryder if he was in ATV - click 21. ILW MC (Vax) lookbook - click ⚠️ILW SPOILERS ⚠️ 22. ILW MC (Vax) expressions - click 23. ILW MC (Vax) in the ILW ballroom dress - click 24. ILW MC (Vax) in an immortal desires dress - click ⚠️ILW SPOILERS ⚠️ 25. ILW MC (Rowan) as a snow queen - click 26. TE MC (Anitha) as a mermaid - click 27. Blades MC as a shadow court member - click 28. Desire and Decorum MC as a fairy - click 29. ILW MC (Vax) pride edits - click

Sprite Edits (Part 2!)

30. Lincoln x MC edits - click⚠️ILW SPOILERS ⚠️ 31. ILW MC's Goth Mom - click

Misc. Edits:

1. Rheya (BB) fragment piece, with the cracks removed - click ⚠️BLOOD AND BLOODBOUND B2 SPOILERS⚠️ 2. Abel Valentines Cards - click 3. Abel Moodboard - click 4. Gaius (BB) fragment piece, with the cracks removed - click ⚠️BLOOD, DEAD PEOPLE, AND BLOODBOUND B1 SPOILERS⚠️

Memes

1. Abel vs Horror Connor - click 2. Abel, Jocelyn, and ILW mc - someone will die... - click 3. Horror Connor when you flirt with more than one person - click 4. Abel, Annie, and mentioned MC - she thinks it's fancy? - click 5. Lincoln x MC - a smile might be nice... - click 6. Devon, Power MC - I'm literally shaking.. - click 7. Abel x MC - no principles - click 8. MC and most LIs - please sir, can I have some more? - click 9. Lincoln x MC - breakfast takes a turn - click 10. Abel and Lincoln - on the matter of sleep.. click 11. ILW MC - the key to happiness.. click 12. Abel & ILW MC - frown meme uno reverse (follow up to #5) - click

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mimiatmidnight · 1 year

Note

Hey! How are you? Would like to say that I LOVE your blog, and I was wondering if you would like to update your top 5 H&M moments, maybe add another 5??

Folks, if you've ever wondered what is the oldest message sitting in my inbox, it's this one. (Well, I'm pretty sure there are a couple others that are a touch older but every time I try to scroll back that far, my inbox just glitches. There are . . . a lot of messages sitting in there. Sorry about that 😬). So I just want to say thank you to this anon and everyone else who has sent me tens of messages over the years asking for this updated post (unless the messages were all from the same one person all this time, in which case, my god I'd feel even GUILTIER).

It's been two years since the original, but an even wilder FIVE years since Harry and Meghan wed in one of the most consequential events in modern cultural history. What a wonderful, special day to look back on their relationship, with even more of my favorite moments between these two unlikely lovers. While writing this post, I laughed, I swooned, I cried. And I, uh, REALLY went off the rails at the end. Content warning for just the sickest, sappiest philosophizing you've ever seen. I'd apologize, but I just can't help it. Harry and Meg just have that effect on me ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

So, with one more thank you to everyone who has been so patient and kind and loving to me these past few years, let's get into it! Five(-ish, lol) more of my favorite Harry and Meghan moments:

5. WE will not look a mess

I'd be remiss not to start this list of my personal favorite H&M moments with what is, judging by the numbers, arguably the entire WORLD'S favorite H&M moment. This iconic video by twitter user @/ddarveyy is perhaps the Sussex Squad's most viral fan tweet of all time? And if qualitative evidence is more convincing to you than quantitative, this video has been blessed with the mark of being liked by none other than Madame Rhianna herself. That's certified social media Diamond. The tweet also spawned some great jokes, ranging from Virgo Harry always making sure to keep his wife looking on point, to some people speculating about certain other, ah, intimate contexts where H might have developed this habit of putting his hands in her hair.

Ahem, either way, I've always seen this touching practice of his as being in the same vein of all those times he watches out for her footing on stairs or treacherous terrain. He's always on standby, always keeping an eye on her, never 100% focused on something else when she's near. You know, just in case she needs help. Or (more likely) just in case he has an excuse to fuss over her 😏 And you know what? Harry strikes me as the kind of man who has waited a long time to have someone to fuss over, someone to worry about and take care of outside of himself. And now that he has that someone . . . well, Captain Wales reporting for motherfucking duty 🫡

BONUS MAINTENANCE FASCINATION:

Yes we're doing bonus content again -- I did say "five(-ish)" moments! The "ish" was forewarned!!!

Anyways, while we're on the topic of sentimentally rhapsodizing about Harry keeping an eye on Meg and her hair, I want to sneak in a reboot of a discussion I had with an anon a few months ago after the Netflix documentary came out. These quiet, behind-the-scenes moments where Meg is getting her dress fitted or painting her nails, and there is Harry happily watching from behind. It's a small thing, I know, but it speaks volumes to me. The intimacy that comes with watching your partner prepare herself to face the world, the peaceful trust and unspoken support. And if you think THAT is me reading too much into it, scroll back to that original discussion and watch me make myself cry over picturing Harry as a kid watching his mom go through her similar glam routine. Y'all don't even KNOW the kinds of crazy parasocial assumptions I can lose my mind over!!!!!

And while we're here barely on topic talking about the intimacy of behind-the-scenes, let's move now from the "before" preparation, to the "after" unwinding (and undressing??). One of the most bittersweet moments from the doc for me was this picture, taken after one of Harry and Meg's final royal duty events. Away from the cameras, and the press, and the people, alone in their kitchen at last. I can think of no better representation of "Leaving the world behind."

4. Meghan "My Husband" Markle

There has been much discussion over Harry being the ultimate "wife guy," and deservedly so. If I tried to put in this post every moment the man has practically glowed with the pleasure of saying "my WIFE," I'm afraid this website would crash from server overload. But a less-discussed, yet equally sweet through line is Meghan being the ultimate "husband girl." And I think no single moment is a better demonstration of this phenomenon than her opening speech last year at Invictus 2022.

Introducing her husband to the crowd of his Invictus family, Meghan said, "I could not love and respect him more, and I know that all of you feel the same. He is your fellow veteran, he's the founder of the Invictus Games, and the father to our two little ones, Archie and Lili. Please welcome my incredible husband, Prince Harry, the Duke of Sussex." And then the crowd roared, and Harry and Meghan kissed, and we got all these ooey-gooey heart eyes.

And then as Harry took the stage, overwhelmed by the love of his wife and his community, he choked up.

"Thank you my love."

And I was never the same :')

BONUS "HUSBAND GIRL" SIMPING:

At the 2021 Salute to Freedom Gala, a reporter asking, "Meghan are you proud of your husband?" And Meghan bashfully turning back to answer, "I'm always proud of him." 🫠

And one even blushier, from the African tour documentary. Somebody come pick our girl up off the FLOOR!!!!

3. BAY. BEES.

Ok so I am REALLY gonna have to restrain myself for this section, cause if I put every single heart-bursting baby moment (especially after the FEAST we were delivered through the Netflix doc), I would never be able to finish this post. So I'm just gonna highlight a select few and keep my baby fever in check (and then mayhaps rewatch the entire documentary tonight lol whoops).

Our first real baby moment ever was Harry being so delirious with joy and nerves and just like, raw energy, after the birth of his first child (and then turning around after the big birthday media announcement to thank the horses in the stable behind him 😅).

A few days later, there was a particularly famous photo of Baby King Archie meeting some regal relatives or whatever, but in THIS photo, the two irrelevant old geezers are instead replaced by the new little prince's noble steeds, Guy and Pula. An iconic family photo. Outsold the original, if you ask me 😌

The news of their pregnancy with Lili was world-stopping for many reasons, but most famously it held a powerfully touching connection with the past. Apparently accidentally, Harry and Meghan announced they were expecting their second child exactly 37 years to the day after his mother, Diana, announced she was expecting him. Two extra-special Valentine's Days to remember.

And once again, as I said at the time, I am NOT someone who is particularly occupied with imagining the spirits of the departed watching over us, nor am I crazy about inserting the memory of Diana into discussions in which she has no agency. HOWEVER . . . who could stop the wave of emotions looking at this moment, as the grandbaby she never got to meet reaches out to her photo, through glass and time, trying to hold her hand. Bruv . . . 🥲 Even a motherfucking atheist can occasionally feel God in this Chili's tonight.

I don't even have anything to say about these next two, except to wonder with awe at the universal panacea that is baby snuggles. My absolute favorites:

And lastly, to wrap up this unbearably melty baby section, I have a moment that isn't really about the babies at all. In this video you can watch here, Easter 2021, we have Mama Doria, Meg (bursting at the seams with soon-to-be Lili), the little king himself, Sir Archie, his ever-loyal canine companions, and Harry -- who stands there, on the other side of surviving so, so much, and says almost under his breath, "Come on, family, let's go." And . . . yeah. That pretty much says it all 🥹

2. My Sussex Squad Origin Story

I'm going to keep this one short, cause I know what #1 is about to be and it's a doozy. But I wanted to briefly mention a moment in Harry and Meghan lore that will forever be the most special to me, because it is the one that sucked me into this here community I still haunt to this day.

October 2018. I have just recently managed to recover my old Tumblr password and logged into this site for the first time since middle school. I am scrolling the trending pages and see "Meghan Markle" listed among the top current tags. It says she's recently announced her first pregnancy. "Huh," I think. "I kinda remember hearing she got married." I've never willingly read or watched a single solitary piece of information about the royal family ever in my life. I don't even really know who's who, outside of the members immediately surrounding Diana. But I scroll through the Meghan tag, and I see she and her new prince are on tour. I see a photo. I read the headline attached.

Is that an actual tear spilling out from the corner of my eye? I stare at the tag for a few minutes more. What is wrong with me? Maybe I'll check this page again tomorrow, just to see what else they get up to on this tour. Couldn't hurt to learn a little bit more about this couple that literally stopped me in my tracks. I wipe the back of my hand across my burning eyes. "Well," I think as I try to bring myself back to what I was doing before. "That was weird."

Ha. Little did I freaking know :')

1. A Modern Fairy Tale

And now, to end this long-winded (and -awaited, sorry again >_<) journey, if you will allow me to get a little unbearably sappy.

When I set out to write this Part 2 post in 2023, I was doubtful. Could I even muster up that same enthusiasm, that same untrampled hope with which I beamed when I wrote the original? Harry, Meghan, the world, and I have all lived a thousand lives in these brief five years. There has been so, so, so much unspeakable pain. More than anyone has a right to suffer in a lifetime, let alone half a decade. "And for what?" I've sometimes asked myself. "What is the point in trying to love when there's all this pain that follows?"

This June, we will be coming up on the 10 year anniversary of my absolute favorite Internet meme of all time: Tim Kreider's legendary New York Times Op-Ed "I Know What You Think Of Me," which gifted human history with his startlingly sincere declaration, "If we want the rewards of being loved, we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known."

Well, there is perhaps no one on the planet who has submitted herself to a more painful ordeal of being known than Meghan. She has bared to the world her vulnerabilities, her quirks, her flaws, her losses, her pains. To think of the life she has lived thus far, and the life that she walked away from to be here . . . I can't pretend that I've always been certain of the righteousness of her choice. But as I was working through writing this post, I reached a point in my research where I landed back on the speech Meghan delivered on the night of her wedding, shared in their Netflix documentary. And she told, as she called it, "a modern fairy tale."

“Once upon a time, there was a girl from LA (some people called her an actress) and there was a guy from London (some people called him a prince). All those people didn’t fully get it. Because this is a love story of a boy and a girl who were meant to be together.

“Amidst whatever momentary worries that creep in, they look at each other and think, ‘Whatever world, we’re in.’

“They would love, and garden, and travel, and laugh, and rack up more air miles than any couple could have.

“And when the tides were rough, they squeezed each other tighter. ‘Nothing can break us,’ they’d say, ‘For this love, she was a fighter.’

“I appreciate, respect, and honor you, my treasure, for the family we will create . . .

“ . . . And our love story that will last forever.

“So I ask you to raise a glass to the astounding assurance that now life begins, and the everlasting knowing that, above all, love wins.”

And so, here I am once again, with real actual tears streaming down my face, listening to a woman who has crossed so many oceans and lost so much of herself to get to where she's sitting today, and yet still, STILL, speaks with the same determination and conviction in love that she had all the way back at the beginning. They have taken so much from that woman, but they have not taken this. And so if Meghan, of all people, can still believe that love is worth it all . . . well, then, how could I possibly disagree?

Happy 5th anniversary to the lovebirds, and my heartfelt wish to you all that you may find victory in joy, love, and peace, just like them.

L'chaim 🥂

#meghan markle #prince harry #harry and meghan #anniversaries #see you all again for year 10?#and to many many more 💞

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absurdthirst · 2 years

Text

Surprise!

Eight - Him

Letter 8 of the Surprise! Writing Game

Please check Surprise! masterlist for more information

Words: 602

Warnings: Fluff, suggestive mentions, hints of spiciness

Corazón,

I won’t go AWOL, the promise of being able to hold you is far too great to give up for a cold cell in Leavenworth. There wouldn’t be a pretty girl wearing my shirt and carrying my baby sleeping next to me.

I won’t lie, I cried when I saw the ultrasound. Thank God she has her mother’s nose. Mia will be as pretty as her mama, I just know it. And then I’m going to have to get out my shotgun. It’s strange to think about those kinds of things, that I’m going to be a father but it’s amazing.

Your pictures. God, Bubbles, you know don’t what they do to me. Let me just say that you should have no insecurities where your changing body is concerned. You are beautiful, even more so than that night. I proudly showed off the one with your bump showing (but not the one in my t-shirt, that’s for my eyes only 😉 ) and the guys are saying that they can’t wait to see what the belly looks like when we get home.

I hope you don’t mind, but the guys have kind of adopted the idea of having a niece, our little Mia won’t be lacking for love or support. Although I feel like we will have to make sure that Ben doesn’t sneak her extra candy when she is older.

I am glad Mama brought you the shirts and that she is going with you to the appointments. I wish I could be there. I would hold your hand and cry with you.

This is real, corazón. I know that it has started crazy and that some would say that we are moving too fast but I don’t care. Some days the idea of you and Bean safe at home are what gets me out of the rack and eager to tackle another day. I think I might be in love with you too. Yes, I held up the letter to the sun. You can’t tease a man like that.

We’ve had some issues lately, tough days and I re-read your letters everyday and smile. When I get home, I want to kiss you and if you haven’t had our daughter yet, take you out for a real date. Foot and backrub included. Maybe I should look into one of those spa packages for you? Do you go get your toes done like Will’s fiancée?

I know that there are a lot of things for us to learn about one another, but I think it will be fun. Send me a list of questions you have and I’ll answer them. Although, now that I think about it, I’m sure my mama has probably told you every embarrassing story she can about me when I was growing up. Please, please tell me she didn’t pull out the photo albums with the bathtub pictures. (I was two, okay?)

There are also a couple of serious things that I want to talk to you about when I get home as well. Nothing bad, I promise. I just want to make sure Bean gets added to my dependents list so she can get Tri-Care and BAH. (You can also be added on, but we’ll talk about that in person.)

Okay, I better stop talking before I scare you away or make an ass of myself. Just know that i am thinking about you and Bean everyday and I am counting down the days until I get to see you again.

Love, Frankie.

P.S. I’m not crossing it out again this time. I love you, Bubbles.

Thank you @sturkillerbase for the tag!

Tagging @quica-quica-quica for the next part!

Tag list: @boliv-jenta @scorpio-marionette @misspearly1 @supernaturalgirl20 @prolix-yuy @toomanystoriessolittletime @kybitchcrystal @meandorla @quica-quica-quica @absurdthirst @ilovemanypeople @thegreenkid @lowlights @littlemisspascal @ezrasbirdie @pedropascalito @mandoblowmybackout

Permanent tag list: @harriedandharassed

#surprise! writing game #frankie morales #triple frontier #frankie catfish morales x reader #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x reader

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starsuncounted · 6 months

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Writing Patterns

Tagged by @tortoisesshells—thank you! <3

Rules: List the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern.

Faramir watches as the sea draws back and the bays are scraped bare of water. (Like a Wave That Should Engulf the World, LOTR)

You and I are among the last remaining descendants of David Rittenhouse himself. (I've been putting sorrow on the farthest place on my shelf, Timeless)

When he first began hunting Rittenhouse, Flynn would see Lorena in his dreams, her face a picture of perfect sorrow as she stood silent before him; she didn’t need to speak to tell Flynn what she thought of who he was becoming—he could provide the words well enough himself, for they ran endlessly in his mind in the hours he lay awake, unable to sleep, haunted by the past and haunted by the present and everything in between. (All My Demons Greet Me As a Friend, Timeless)

Flynn pours himself a second drink and throws it back—not that he tastes it, but it numbs him better than anything else has so far and silences the faint whisper in his mind that Lorena wouldn’t have wanted him to become like this, numbing himself with alcohol and wondering idly how many more drinks it might take to tip him over into permanent oblivion. (The Bottom of Every Bottle, Timeless)

Caspian’s eyes still dance with laughter, his hair and shirt damp from where she splashed him with water, when Lucy takes his hand in hers, and he stills, reading in her gaze what she does not say with words—has no need to say with words, for they have each felt this thing unspooling between them, a hook in their hearts drawing them nearer, ever since the blissful days on the Silver Sea, when the feeling first tugged at their hearts—and he allows her to tug him out of the seafoam onto the beach, glimmering like a silver ribbon in the moonlight. (Like the Waves, Narnia)

A rustling sound came from the edge of the fighting-top, and Lucy did not need to look to know that it was Caspian, for he was the only person who ever joined her up here, far above the deck, where she was one with the wind. (Beneath the Milky Twilight, Narnia)

The Hunt passed over the plains and hills of Beleriand, roving far beneath shadow and starlight, and the sound of their approach was as thunder echoing in the deep hills, striking fear into the hearts of all who heard, and the cry of the Valaróma at their head was as lightning piercing the deeps of the night. (As Thunder Echoing in the Deep Hills, Silm)

The things of the forest and hills crept back to Nargothrond, in time, when the reek of the dragon had lessened and the horror of his memory had become a memory itself. (As Watchful As Any Living Thing, Silm)

Though the many towers of Ilmarin stood crowned with golden domes, catching the light of the rising sun on their facets, the Tower of Varda stood open to the sky. (Beneath the Innumerable Stars, Silm)

“Come, come!” Nessa cried to her maidens. (In a Noon of Gold, Silm)

I start out with a lot of scene setting and rumination, although that might be because most of these were written for the 3SF (also why some of these are egregiously long), and I don't tend to write much dialogue for 3SF ficlets. And, as per usual, the sea and stars feature heavily. It's what comes of writing so much Tolkien fic!

Tagging @bywayofmemory @sallysavestheday @thelordofgifs @thescrapwitch @searchingforserendipity25 if you want to participate!

#tag games

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ofbooksandteacups · 9 months

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I should have done this a long time ago but here's a small recap of one of the most surreal yet wonderful moments of 2023: meeting the most thoughtful person ever, mr Samuel Kindness Barnett. I actually wrote this after meeting him and it stayed in my drafts until now. That's how good I am at social media lmao.

I decided to get tickets to see Samuel Barnett in Feeling Afraid in September because I wanted to gift myself a holiday in London. No one at my workplace made it seem like it was an issue getting days off. It was my first ever holiday alone (I'm 26, I know) and I was already excited. I got front a row ticket and I managed not to cry of joy while buying it lol.

The time came and I left from Milan after seeing Madonna live. I was shaken from the day before but I managed to get to London and see another show (which I loved). I slept like a baby and the day of Feeling Afraid came. I was legit hyper excited. I'm a playwright but going to see a show always makes me feel like this. It doesn't matter if I'm on stage or I'm seated amongst the audience: the feeling is just the same❤️

The show was absolutely brilliant. Samuel is such a versatile actor, spanning from comedy to drama in little over an hour. I laughed continuously but still managed to feel raw emotions for the most emotional parts. Samuel should be regarded as a national treasure because he's just that good. He is flawless. There's no single thing I've seen of his that I didn't like. Plus, the playwright Marcelo Dos Santos is an amazing writer, I'm still puzzled by the play. I want to be able to write that well in the future. It was absolutely mesmerising.

After the show I waited for him to come out. I'm normally very shy and I never want to bother people when going home after shows or gigs. I was lying against a wall, far from the exit, just in case I had to leave. I really didn't want to be in the way. Yeah, I'm a paranoid. Also, I was perfectly content like that: my seat was next to the stage stairs at the Bush and he sat on the stairs during the show (which is part of the play). I was sitting right next to him while seeing him perform. Pinch me in the arm because I'm still not over it.

He quietly came out of the door like he was one of the audience members and not the star of the play (such a gem, I know). There was another person waiting and they were closest to him so they went first. He then raised his head and just smiled at me. A pure, happiness filled smile. I might just burst out crying remembering this.

After talking to this person (I'm not assuming anyone's gender but if you're on Tumblr and you were there on November 25th, that's you!) I shyly came to him with my copy of The History Boys. If you know me then you know how much I love The History Boys (and I'm sorry because you probably hear me rant about it non stop) and that Posner and Scripps are my comfort characters. He was so nice about it! I lent him the copy and a pen and he started signing it in a very professional way. He saw my tags and asked if I was reading it, which led me to tell him about myself, being a playwright and an acting teacher. I thanked him for playing Posner, which is a comfort character for me as a sapphic woman.

This led him to ask me questions about myself, my life and my safety in the country where I live (I'm Italian and I'm still closeted). This part of the conversation is and will stay private until I'm ready to unpack a series of issues I have (let's say that I'm not in the best space mentally at the moment because of my life aspirations and my sexuality) but I'll tell you that he's definitely one of the most supportive people I've had the chance to talk to. Only a few people know about me in that way: my close friends, a few acquaintances and well, him. He really knows to put you at ease. He then put his hand on my shoulder in the most reassuring way (and I managed not to cry!). We then took a picture and parted ways. I don't know whether to post the photo or not because well, I'm closeted. I'll simply tell you he has the most joyful smile ever.

Weeks later I also got told by an amazing girl I befriended thanks to him (if you're here: hi dear!) that he remembered me and mentioned me to her. I'm still overjoyed now. I can't even express how happy this made me feel. He's the best, we're so lucky we get to see how amazing he is.

As you can imagine: I'm now ready to travel to the UK at any given chance to see him perform on stage (and I'll be seeing Ben and Imo in February, I'M CRYING ALREADY).

#Samuel Barnett #Feeling afraid as if something terrible is going to happen #Bush theatre

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compo67 · 1 year

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struggle bus

this is a mental health/chronically ill post/personal info dump

cn for suicidal ideations, bipolar disorder, depression, mental health

my therapist is on leave for a month, so in the meantime, i'm meeting with my DBT group leader for therapy once a week

the mental health struggle has been real this past month. lots of depression, anxiety, and voices that get so loud that tell me what's even the point of living

i struggle a lot with managing my bipolar disorder and depression. i struggle with getting dressed and showered most days. even the stimulants i'm on don't help as much as they used to before. i spent all day last saturday asleep or crying. i lost a whole day of working on my big bang, something really important to me, because i just couldn't wrangle my brain into functioning in a positive or healthy way

i'm hopeful about sitting with my psychiatrist this thursday and talking about switching antidepressants and maybe upping either the mood stabilizer or the anti-psychotic

i'm also hopeful that he'll be on board with one of the two treatments my other providers have recommended: keta and TMS

both are concerning to me, but they're both recommended for treatment resistant depression

i can't hardly picture what it's like not to be depressed

i know this might be weird to read, because i write such happy/romantic stuff, but it has been a continuous struggle to deal with being so depressed, especially in the past 2 years

i can't keep up writing or my patreon as much as i want to because i'm either too depressed or in too much pain and i just... feel like i let people down because of it

i have been avoiding doing really important paperwork (applying for financial hardship assistance and LTD stuff)

now it *has* to be turned in and the deadline is looming

coming back to this post a few hours later and i feel a bit better sharing this. it's important to me that i share not just the happy stuff but the other stuff that's going on too

i know i will get out of this spiral/flare. it's going to take time and effort, but i *want* to do it

it just gets really hard sometimes

especially when i'm under so much pressure from financial stress

like, i am doing my best to take my benefits and dig myself out of debt while at the same time trying to stay afloat with things like my car payment, car insurance, gas, phone bill, groceries, medical/dental premiums, medical expenses, and everything else

i am hopeful that doing some light SP work will be another income stream and lessen the pressure, but i can't depend on that until you know... i actually start. and who knows how many hours or projects i'll be offered and can physically do?

this flare up has just been awful. i've been flared up since the end of march and prednisone is not doing the trick, which means it's not inflammation, it's probably just EDS

i say just EDS like it's a cold or something when it's a genetic debilitating disorder/syndrome

i think EDS is one of my biggest struggles. it just takes so much energy to keep my joints together

sigh

i just want to be back working full-time, thriving and surviving on my own

but it's not possible at the moment

if i go back to work too soon, i'm just going to wind up in the same place i was in 2021--a big mess

i've been on and am still on the struggle bus

even if it's a struggle bus, i still want to stay on a bus

i still want to be "here"

even if some voices get really loud and try to convince me otherwise

if you made it this far reading, please know i appreciate it

you didn't have to read this but you did and therefore, i <3 you

things will get better.

#compo67 #authorial rambles #personal #mental health #mental illness #bipolar disorder #ehlers danlos syndrome

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art-of-secret-dark-heart · 2 years

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Motivational quotes twisted by Yandere MBTI types

Note: The mbti types as Yanderes is done just for fun and I’m not an expert on MBTI. It’s all exaggerated so I hope this doesn’t offend anyone. Also, this is just me mostly writing on the fly to de-stress. DNI if you’re a minor.

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

Was thinking about how some of those short motivational quote posters might be used by some yandere MBTI types (the ones I had done posts for : ISTP, ENFP, ENFJ. Can find them here.), being used in a darker context or take on a twisted meaning. Sort of using the quote as a prompt. I’m just doing one quote for this post. (Not sure if I will make more)

I’m not completely sure why but I decided to write this as dialogues from the yanderes themselves. But here we go! :

“Hang in there”

ISTP:

"How are you liking your punishment, babe? *chuckle* ... Hmm... interesting... What if I moved this a bit higher and make this a little.. tighter? Hmm? Oh, come on, babe, I know you can bear this a little longer. Just hang in there~"

ENFP:

"Honey!~ What's up? You're calling rather late, but of course, I don't mind at all. 💖

Someone in your family has gone missing? Oh no...Please don't cry, honey... I don't want you to be sad... Shh..shh.. ok, ok, don't worry...Tell me what they look like. Huh-huh... Ohhh... uh, nothing, honey! Now! Don't you worry, I got this. Actually! I think I saw someone just like that, today! Yup. Ok, now, you get your beauty sleep, honey. I'll let you know right away when I find them. Good night, I love you..~

Hmm... *sigh* oh boy. Hey, you..... uh, my bad. I thought you were... someone else. You know! I gotta protect my honey from any baddies. Uh... whoa!! Hey, hang in there! Don’t die... I just want honey to be happy...."

ENFJ:

“Hey, how's work so far?... I'm sorry to hear that, honey. Want to tell me more about it? Mmm.. I see. Yes, you're right, your new manager does seem to have a mean streak to them.

Hmm? Cheer up, honey. I know you're joking, but I'm going to say it. Don't quit, don't give up your dream. You're the most amazing person that I know. I know you can do it.

That reminds me, I haven't met this manager of yours in town yet. Mr. Miller did say that someone moved into town about a week ago. And the way he described them, sounds like an identical match to your cranky pants manager.

Hmm...As mayor, I think I should meet them. Show them around. Help them understand how things are run around here. How we're supposed to treat each other around here... No, I don't think that's too much. I really do want everyone to get along... or at least understand something very important. I’m sure everyone in the community would agree with me...

But enough of that, you should relax and finish your lunch with the time remaining. Hang in there. Everything is going to be alright. I’ll make sure of it...”

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I know that INTJ is not here, but I couldn’t picture him usually saying that quote. I think I have one in mind now, but I don’t know if I will post it.

ENFJ had like three other versions. I think this version isn’t bad? I just hope it was all a good read and that I didn’t mess up much with how each mbti type talks/acts. ;;

interest check for commission/tips. Thank you and it’s much appreciated if you do check it out. ❤

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innitmarvellous · 9 months

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Well, they say writing down positive things and thoughts is supposed to boost your self-confidence, so...here's a list of the good things that happened to me in 2023, or also some little achievements I'm a bit proud of. It's definitely not much compared to everyone else, but...I'm not supposed to compare myself to others, right? So I won't do that. Well...at least I'll try ;)

- most important things first: somewhere around April I started watching HIGNFY and it sort of changed my life - I met nice people through the fandom (hello! :D), I got back into fic writing and my politics obsession came back in full force. Oh, and I finally got myself a new man crush <3 (and we all know who I'm talking about, even the non-HIGNFY followers because I haven't shut up about it since April)

- started doing the Welsh course on Duolingo and it's quite fun so far (& am doing some occasional French and Latin lessons too - I still remembered a lot of the French even after taking a break for a few months, which is nice)

- started doing exercise again after 4 years of laziness, and I'm still able to do 10 km on one of the higher settings of the exercise bike - yay

- read 80 books (might finish one or two more in December), which is about average for me looking at the last few years...at least there were quite a few non-fiction books and not as many shitty novels than a few years ago lol. My main goal for the next year(s) is to read even more classics...and buy fewer books. (Note to idiot self: read the hundreds of bloody ebooks you downloaded already...lol)

- finally started writing smutty fics - I don't think my writing style is very sexy though, but I couldn't say for sure...I kinda like it tho 💦 And I generally stopped worrying about whether my fics are too stupid for posting...well, maybe they are, but I'm trying to make that everyone else's problem haha

- dared to post selfies because I'm actually starting to kind of like the look of my face - pretty amazing because I used to think I'm the ugliest person in the world and I'm not even kidding here (although, looking at old pictures of me still make me want to cry and laugh at the same time - some people apparently really do get more attractive as they get older 🤔)

- I think I'm feeling a bit better about myself in general? Well, alright, no matter how I look at it: I'm still some badly educated & mostly unemployed loser with no hopes for a relationship, but...I don't seem to care about that as much anymore. Maybe something good did come from the fact that I basically abandoned all hope/expectations about my life when I turned 30...the last two years certainly felt sort of easier than everything before that? I definitely didn't beat myself up over some random shit as often as I did in other years. Hm. Maybe I can build on that in the future.

#personal #will add to this list if i remember something else but i think that was about all noteworthy stuff

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late-nite-scholar · 1 year

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Aug 11th (Day 7): Prompt- Profane / Sword

Day 7: Sword- Besharat finds the secret of something long lost to her people, and with it, a link to her culture that she sometimes feels she is losing by being the Dragonborn. A little off-canon but very much part of my personal story for her. For her, this is bigger than being the Dragonborn, because first and foremost, she is Yokudan. Prompts by @tes-summer-fest

Redguard LDB x Farkas

Warnings- None

Wordcount- ~1500

(I posted a picture of a mod that gave me the Book of Circles. This is what you make with it. Description in alt text)

***

I stared at the ancient page in front of me, dropping my quill onto the paper I’d brought to take notes. My hand shook as I brought it up to cover my mouth. I wanted to cry. I had jokingly grumbled to anyone who would listen about not actually being the first Redguard Harbinger of the Companions, but now I was infinitely grateful I wasn’t.

My predecessor had left me a gift more precious than gold, gems, or any kind treasure that could be had. He’d left a memoir, chronicling his leaving Hammerfell, his arrival at Jorrvaskr posing as a servant, to his time as a Shield-Brother, and then to Harbinger in his later years. But within those pages, I had just learned a life-altering secret.

He was a blademaster, but not just because he studied Hunding as I did. No, Cirroc the Lofty had been Ansei! And more than that, he’d written how to create a shehai, lamenting that the art was becoming lost even in his time!

I wrote down everything he had written on the subject, trying to keep my hand steady. I copied it verbatim, lest I miss something by taking a shortcut. My heart was beating so hard I thought it would burst from my chest. Could I use his writings to do this for myself? I could hardly dare hope that such a thing were possible, so far removed from the First Era when Cirroc had written this down.

There was only one way to find out.

***

Three days later I stood in the practice yard, ready to try. I’d studied Cirroc’s words, read Hunding, and meditated in the way of my people. I’d prepared as thoroughly as possible for this moment, ritually cleansing myself and giving offerings to my gods two hours ago in the early dawn. I had only a statue of Morwha here in Whiterun, but I appealed not only to her, but to all our gods; Leki, Tall Papa, Onsi, Tava, Diagna, The HoonDing, our ancestors, and the rest. Anyone who could help me achieve this feat, I prayed for their help. Never had I dreamed I would ever actually attempt this. Had these arts not been lost since the Second Age? But then again, had dragons not been as well? Perhaps nothing was truly lost forever?

The yard was empty at this hour, minus me and Farkas, who stood beside me with a frown deepening the crease between his brows. I knew he wasn’t quite sure what I was doing and that my explanations over the last few days had probably sounded like mad rambling. But he also wasn’t going to let me try some sort of new and powerful magic on my own. I knew he’d been talking to Orielle about what he could do if something went wrong and I was fairly certain the scroll sticking out of his pocket was a dispel magicka ward. But I knew he’d only use it if he absolutely thought he had to. He was still a bit wary of magicka, but he trusted me to know what I was doing.

But that thought couldn’t dispel the excitement bubbling up inside me. I tried to keep it in check; after all, this might not work. In fact, it was more than likely that it wouldn’t. But just the idea… I pushed it out of my mind. I needed concentration now, to focus on my lessons.

“I’m going to try it.” I said softly, taking a deep breath. “Leki show me how, as you did my ancestors. May The HoonDing make way for this art, long lost and now found. Ancestors, if I am worthy to walk beside you on this path, let me be successful. Mother Morwha, guide me as you always do. Tell Tall Papa that Besharat do Bergama comes to test her skill as a warrior of Yokuda!”

I reached deep into myself, into the core of my being. Into the deep and hidden parts that most people would never think to access. And I could feel something. I reached for it, my hand curling around it as I pulled it free. From deep within, white light poured out. I was holding it, I could feel it swirling around me. And then it coalesced into a solid grip in my hands, a long curved blade rising up before me. It pulsed with my life force, my soul; the two of us attuned to one another in a way no two other beings had been in millennia. At that moment I was no longer one being, part of me was now this sword made of light.

I swung it, gently at first but then in a practice routine I used every day. And it was absolutely perfect in every way; no better weapon could be made by human, mer, or beastfolk hands. Not to compare to this. Even my beloved Skyforge steel sword, made to my specifications by Eorlund himself, couldn't compare to this actual extension of my being.

“I did it. By all the gods and ancestors… I really did it. A shehai…” Everything blurred as tears streamed down my face, and I began to laugh and cry at the same time. “I made a shehai…”

I looked over at Farkas, whose eyes were wide enough to see the whites all the way around. He took this all in, whispering, “I’ve never seen anything like that. Not even those folks who use bound weapons. It’s not like that.”

“It’s not. This isn’t calling a blade from elsewhere to use. This is creating it from within, from yourself. It’s a piece of me. No one’s done this for thousands of years. There’s been no Ansei since the Second Era. But… but I could be one… a Sword Singer…”

The spell wavered, and the shehai dissipated back into me. But I still smiled. I hadn’t expected to hold the spell even that long on the first try. No matter what, this had been incredibly, wildly successful.

“If I did it once, I can do it again!” I laughed, throwing my arms around Farkas. But he didn’t hug me in return, and as I stepped back I saw a shadow in his eyes. I reached up to take hold of his face. “What’s wrong, my heart?”

“I’m glad it worked. But making this sword from yourself, from your soul, it’s not gonna hurt you, is it? Not gonna affect you somehow?”

“Not from what I’ve read. It’s like magicka, but it’s not. When it disappeared there it just went back into me. Long ago, the wielders of this ability were powerful beyond measure, they could do things far beyond regular mortals. It’s more like… it’s more like the thu’um, it’s part of you and you just have to learn how to use it properly. And like the thu’um, I’m sure you could hurt yourself if you were reckless, but I have trained my whole life and I will keep training to use this properly.”

“Okay. That makes it make a lot more sense. I just worry sometimes, love.” He kissed my forehead.

“I know. And I don’t like to worry you. But this is huge! For me, for my people…” My shoulders dropped a little. “All this Dragonborn stuff… I feel like an outsider to it. It’s not mine. It’s the history, the stories, the gods of others. I’ve felt a bit like I’m being pulled away from my self, from who I am. But this is mine, it’s in my blood and bones. I feel it inside and it’s right. It makes me feel like maybe I haven’t totally lost my Redguard self to the whims of a dragon god who probably should’ve picked a Nord instead.”

Farkas hugged me tightly. “There’s no one else that can do what you do, Eshi. Maybe that’s why he picked you. But I… I am glad you’ve got this if it helps you feel more like yourself. It was really impressive.” He admitted. “It’d be quite the thing in battle, I think.”

“I think so too! I can’t wait to test it out! And thank you, for understanding. Why don’t we go get some breakfast? Everyone will be getting up soon and I promised Orielle I’d let her know how things went. And I don’t know about you, but I’ve been fasting for this and I’m hungry.”

He slipped an arm around my waist. “Let’s go then, love. I think Tilma said the kitchen were making apple dumplings this morning. We can get some while they’re nice and hot.”

We walked back into the hall, and I felt like I was walking on air. No matter what destiny or fate or the gods threw at me, I was still Yokudan! My blood and my bones and my soul were still of Hammerfell, and of our lost home beyond the sea. And no matter where I went or what I did, they always would be.

#tesfest23 #tes fest 23 #tesfest23!#tes skyrim #the elder scrolls skyrim #tes v #skyrim #the companions #companions of jorrvaskr #farkas #farks x ldb #redguard ldb #oc: besharat #yokudan #tes fic

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