#this was basically confirmation....right?

[covetyou]

🥺 I hope you had tissues. can confirm I have teared up a little bit with basically the last 4 things I have written, and this was no exception, so I'm right there with you with the sniffles. sending you many comforting snuggles.

solstice

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader  rating: Explicit (18+ only!)  warnings: smut (PiV), competency kink, grumpy/sunshine, he falls first, yearning, angst, almost enemies to lovers, Tommy being a little shit, no use of y/n, Jackson!Joel word count: 4k  summary: Three little words. Joel heard those same three words damn near every day for the last seven months. Most days, they were the only words you said to him. Sometimes, if he was lucky, you'd say them more than once. Other days, you didn't say anything to him at all. He liked those days least of all.

A/N: happy holidays @trulybetty! thank you for being so lovely about this being a little late. I was only going to go for one or two of your prompts for the @pedrostories secret santa, but then my brain went why not all of them, and now here we are. 

divider by @saradika-graphics

follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future fics

Three little words.

"I got it."

Joel heard those same three words damn near every day for the last seven months. Most days, they were the only words you said to him. Sometimes, if he was lucky, you'd say them more than once. Other days, you didn't say anything to him at all. He liked those days the least.

You said other things too, of course. He heard you speak to other people. Not always nicely, but he heard you. You said more to him on occasion too. Out my way or put it down were some particular favorites, but none said more so than those three, tiny, little words.

I got it.

Because you did. He had never met a woman who had got it more than you. Strong, capable, and everything he ever tried to be. He watched every day how you'd got it. Climbing up ladders with tiles stacked on your shoulder, hauling wheelbarrows full of gravel, chopping wood in bitter wind and cold. You had it, and he watched, wanting it too.

The only problem was, he wasn't too sure what it was.

To begin with, it was the respect you commanded that he yearned for. He had that, once. Not here. Fuck, never here. The people here would barely look at him for the first few weeks. But you? They listened to you. If you said move they listened, even if it was with a roll of their eyes. If you told someone to fuck off to medical, they went without a grumble. They trusted you. Even if you weren't particularly generous with your smiles.

You were the exact opposite of what Joel was finding he had to be.

In Boston, people feared him, and that kept him, and Tess, safe. It was for the best. The people here feared him too, at first. Maybe even still now, if he was to be honest with himself, but he'd worked hard to change that. He met the mumbled good mornings with as much of a smile as he could muster. He went for drinks with his brother, made small talk with the locals even when he didn't want to. He tried to get into Maria's good graces, but never quite succeeded.

And he worked. With you mostly. Jackson didn't have much use for hired muscle or someone who could smuggle shit discreetly - not outside of the daily patrol shifts they wouldn't let him on yet, anyway - but they did have use for contractors. Plumbers, electricians, carpenters, anyone who was good at doing shit with their hands. Those were things that had value behind these walls and, luckily for him, that meant he had value too. For the first time in a long time, he meant something to people.

Just not to you.

As much as he smiled, and made small talk, and helped out fixing shit in this place that was now his home, he could never get through to you. He'd try to help you out, only to be knocked aside - sometimes literally. You barely looked at him. Spoke only when necessary. Once, you'd even told him to fuck off.

He did.

At first he took it all personally. He moped, and kept his sour mood hidden from his brother and Ellie. Then, he saw how you were with, well, just about everyone else, and that lessened the sting.

But, as time wore on, Joel saw other things too. Where at first you'd seemed rude and abrasive, he now saw the kindness and compassion you treated everyone with. If you told someone to go the fuck home, it wasn't because you wanted them gone it was because you wanted them rested. If you let people struggle, strike their thumbs with a badly aimed hit of a hammer, it was to help them learn. You never did let anyone make the same mistake twice. And, because of you, no one did.

It was with the waning of spring that his desire to be you changed into something different and entirely more confusing.

As the gardens and trees exploded in the frenzy of summer, you shed your layers. Literally, not figuratively. You still stayed firmly closed up as your jacket disappeared and made way for a shirt hung loosely about your shoulders. Then, even that found its way around your waist and Joel had to come face to face with the bare, strong expanse of your back while you worked in nothing but a tank top, the patch of sweat at the small of your back blooming while he watched.

It was for the best that he didn't think about what you looked like walking towards him during those relentlessly hot months, with nothing but a thin tank top pulled across your chest. It wasn't something he should think about in public, anyway. It was something he kept for late at night, when those three little words echoed around his head and you showed him just how much you really, truly got it.

By October, Tommy had caught on. Your jacket was fastened back around you, and you were as hostile as ever. You breezed past him one morning, hooking a ladder over one shoulder, toolbag gripped in your other hand.

"I got it."

By now, Joel knew you did.

By now, he wanted to come with you anyway.

So he did, grabbing his own set of salvaged tools and heading up to the latest reno with you, only to have you square up to him the second you saw him.

"I said, I got it."

Five words. It was a good day.

So good, that he couldn't keep his eyes off you in the Tipsy Bison that night. You weren't in here often - from what he could tell, you didn't do much outside of work - but the people who shared your company seemed to enjoy it. You sat soft and quiet in the corner, listening in to their conversation more often than you contributed. But, when you did, they laughed, and Joel caught himself smiling, and Tommy caught him too.

"Never thought you'd be more of a ray of fuckin' sunshine than anyone else, but there's a first for everythin', I guess," he'd said, tilting his glass to the table in the corner where you sat. 

Joel took a swig of the last fresh cider of the season and shrugged.

"You got an eye for her."  

He sputtered, choking on the tart, sweet liquid. "No I ain't."

"Well you got somethin'," said Tommy, clinking his glass against Joel's own. "If it ain't an eye it's your-" 

A harsh kick, and a grunt loud enough to turn every head in the bar later, and Tommy dropped it entirely.

For about a week.

Tommy ribbed him at dinner, drinks, lunch and just about every time in between. Called Joel 'Sunshine' even as he scowled. Asked about his girl as if you were anything other than a person who hated him. Slung his arm around Joel's shoulder and told him all about the birds and the bees, as if he'd ever forgotten.

He couldn't forget. Not with you running around barking at him and keeping him in a seemingly permanent state of arousal. If it wasn't your voice and that angry way you talked at him, it was just about anything else. He couldn't escape it.

It was how you did everything he could do, and more. What he had in strength, you had in technique. Your hands - fuck, did he watch your hands - were rarely unblemished with dirt or scrapes, but they were adept at everything you put them to. He couldn't look away, even if he knew each minute he looked was a minute quicker he'd be when he touched himself to the thought of you later that night.

The taunts stopped with the first snowfall.

"If you're really that interested, should talk to her," Tommy said instead. "Bark's worse than her bite."

"You're still sayin' she bites, though."

"Sure she would if you asked nice enough, brother."

Joel didn't ask.

He didn't ask the morning he woke up early to see the town blanketed in thick snow either. He simply went out, picked up a snow shovel and began working until the sun came up. He didn't expect to find you at his door that evening, or for you to grab him and throw him outside, pushing him up against the side of his own house.

"What do you think you're playing at, Miller?" you growled up at him, pushing him firmly against the siding.

Joel stared, dumb-founded, your hands curled in the front of his shirt - touching him - and blinked down at you.

"I don't give a shit who you are or what you've done out there. I am not scared of you and I am not having you take my job."

You ignored him more after that. Days went by with barely a word to him - not even a scowl thrown his way if he made too much noise or offered to help someone out on a job.

As for him, he couldn't stop thinking about it. Every day for weeks that night played through his head, memory of the feel of your hands on his chest and your face so close he could feel your breath, until Christmas was on the horizon and a pit of fear began stirring in his stomach. You were a balm to it, somehow. Something to focus on when the fear got too much and kept him inside, away from the crowds of happy people.

Every single I got it was more of a comfort than the last. It could have been the familiarity of it, or the way those words came softer and softer as the season wore on. Sometimes he'd head by the workshop to ask if you needed a hand, just to hear that soft rejection one more time.

Until late one cold afternoon, it didn't come. You were alone, blowing warm air onto gloved hands, and when he asked you simply nodded, and he followed.

You worked together in silence until the sun set, when you turned to him as you parted ways.

"S'hard this time of year, but joy and grief can exist at the same time, y'know."

He didn't go to the Bison that night. Or the next. He let the grief crack open his chest instead, and let it pour out over his bedroom floor for two whole days.

On the third, he let the joy back in. Ellie reeled off new jokes from a book she found in the Jackson library. He held his nephew and rocked the teething babe to sleep. He went back to the Bison - you weren't there - and celebrated the impending holiday.

Seven months, three days, and about as many hourssince he stepped foot back in Jackson. Damn near every day he's heard those three little words, and he'll be damned if he goes another without them.

With the day as short as it could ever be, the sun tracking low in the sky, he finds you.

"I got it," you say softly, when he asks you that very same question he always does.

"I know."

He doesn't know how your lips end up on his - because it is you who kisses him. He doesn't know how his fingers find themselves under your shirt either, the coldness of them making you gasp into his mouth until you're pulling apart, both wide eyed.

He does know you taste like fruit, even in the dead of winter. He always suspected it - knew your sweet tooth by the berries you couldn't resist and the sweet treats gifted to you. He knows your fingers are as cold as his when you hand him a shovel.

He does know, even though you got it, you let him help anyway.

You clear streets and roofs of snow together until the sun goes down. He follows at your heel in the dark, cold biting through your layers as you both stomp the snow off your boots, shovels thrown down, workshop locked up. You barely even look at each other until you're staring through the fog of your own heavy breaths on Joel's front porch. He doesn't know how to welcome you in - he never was too good with words - so he simply unlocks the door and pushes it open.

You step inside.

Layers are shed before the door even closes. Heavy coats dumped on the couch, boots toed off and left this way and that. The hat on your head stuffed in a pocket - he can't remember which.

You move upstairs - worked on this house, you say - and pull him into his own bedroom before his lips even touch yours again. But when they do, they do. Joel's frantic with it, feeling the softness of you so close to the hardness of him. His hands hold your waist, rooting you to him, but then you're moving them up and under your shirt to the flair of your ribcage. The curve of your breasts fit perfectly against the cradle of his thumb and forefinger, and he thinks of everything his hands have done, this is what they were made for.

It must be. When you whine at the feel of this thumb stroking across your pebbled nipple, he thinks for the first time in a long time that maybe his hands aren't so monstrous if they can pull such pretty noises from you.

In fact, the things they've done don't seem to matter at all when he gets to touch you, to pull sounds from you so sweet he'll be tasting you on his tongue all over again just from the memory of them. For all the harm these hands have done, they could never hurt you. You would never let them. You'd tear him apart first.

And he'd let you.

You swallow his groan when you palm his length over his jeans. He stiffens beneath your touch, warm and firm, and grinds into your hand. It's been so long since he's felt the touch of anyone other than himself. He could come just grinding himself against the firm press of your hand against him, if he thought about it too hard.

So he doesn't. He focuses instead on the soft plink plink plink as you run a nail up his ice cold zipper, the way you bite his lip, tangle your fingers in his hair.

He tries to take off his own belt, cold fingers fumbling against even colder metal, but you mumble I got it into his mouth, and his knees quiver.

You do. You always do.

His belt is pulled off and you're tugging him by the loops of his pants and pushing him against his own bed, the sheets still rumpled from the morning. You slip off your own and toss it to the side too, tangling it with his on his bedroom floor. Then, you're so very close to him again, his thigh between your legs as you nip and suckle on his bottom lip. He holds you close - one hand finding its way under your shirt again, cupping your breast fully this time, and the other pulling you firmly against his strong thigh.

You warm his thigh with the burning heat between your legs, grinding yourself against him, the seam of your jeans pulling tight against you. Moans you were pulling from him a moment ago are silenced by your own, your nails digging crescents into his arm as you burrow your face into his neck in an attempt to stifle them.

You're better than he ever dreamed. Softer. Warmer. Stronger. The sounds you make so much prettier than he ever thought. Those three little words so much sweeter within these walls than any other.

Even when you strip off layer after layer, it's better than he dreamed. Summer was barely a taste of you, he realises, when your shirt, your tank, your soft bra, all tumble to the floor and you climb onto the bed behind him.

You kick your jeans off, and he pulls his down too. He can't get his shirt off quick enough, the scars on his body forgotten as he strips bare for you as you watch, lust barely turning to curiousity as you take in the sight of his body.

"Come here," you tell him, and he obeys. You're softer with him when he lies beside you then. Grasping hands turn to gentle strokes, his own hands on your bare flesh mimicking your gentle movements across his skin.

When your hand trails down to his cock, squeezing once again when you feel him throb in your palm, he has to pinch his eyes closed and pretend he's anywhere but here.

"Been a long time," he says through gritted teeth. "Long, long time."

Me too, he thinks he hears you whisper before your lips latch to his again and his soft, worn boxers are slipped down his legs, kicked to the side, forgotten.

You don't look at him, and for that he's grateful. He's less grateful when you start to play with your own nipples and toy with the edge of your panties. He presses a kiss to your shoulder instead, hiding his face against you and breathing you in.

When he opens his eyes again, your panties are off, thighs spread, one hooked lazily over his own, the other stretched out on his sheets.

"Don't have to," you mumble, when he looks down at you, stunned look obvious on his face.

"I want to."

He touches you and you let him. His hands run all over your body, rough, calloused palms dragging across your soft belly, your hips, your thighs. He's dreamed of this, and still it's better than his wildest fantasies.

When your hand wraps around his bare cock, pumping his length once, twice, he thinks that's better than any fantasy too. You practically drag him by the cock, tugging gently to pull him towards you until he's kneeling between your thighs. You lazily stroke him, swiping precum across his tip and making him jerk in your grip. His own hands play with your thighs, massaging and squeezing them, drawing his fingers closer and closer to your apex.

Seven months, three days, and twenty-something hours since he stepped back into Jackson, he slips into you for the first time.

And, fuck, is it divine.

You're slick, and wet, his cock gliding across your skin before he pushes into you, and you both gasp.

He's slow. He trembles. His fingers make dents in your thighs as he grips them. You shuffle your hips, make yourself comfortable, and he holds steady while you adjust to the intrusion. Then, you pull him in, grabbing him by the neck to steal a kiss while he makes space for himself deep inside you, rocking each tentative inch into you until he's rooted inside.

You adjust - let the tenseness in your core release - and he barely holds on. And, just when he thinks he's got a hold of himself and begins fucking you in slow, languid movements, your hand moves and you say those three little words.

"I got it."

For the first ever time, he stops you. His hand pins yours to your hip, his movements stilling as you frown up at him, a threat on the tip of your tongue. So, he begs.

"Let me. Please."

And you do. He slowly swipes a spit slicked thumb against your clit, and watches as you melt into his sheets. By the look of you, the pure relief on your face, he thinks this could be the first time you've ever truly let go, and his ego soars.

It soars again when your legs tremble, rocking his thick cock in you as his thumb works slowly over your clit. You moan his name, and he groans too. He can't keep it back. It's the first time he's ever heard you say it, and he doesn't think it could sound better. Your eyes find his when you say his name again, testing him, only to pull another groan deep from his chest.

A small nod is all you give him as a sign you want more. His thumb moves quicker, popped into his mouth to taste you just for a moment before it swipes around your cunt where you grip him, and back up to your clit.

You come on him, face turned into his sheets, brow furrowed, mouth open as you moan and shake, trembling and pulsating on his cock as you come.

For you, he keeps going. Let's you ride out the waves, fluttering against him, as he barely holds back from the brink himself.

If this is all he gets - if you push him off and walk away now - it would be a good day, he thinks. But you don't. He doesn't even get chance to ask if you want him gone when you're pulling him down, kissing him, rocking your hips against him and murmuring against his throat for him to fuck you.

So, he does.

It feels sloppy, and awkward, his hips not quite knowing how to move any more as he snaps them against yours.

"Don't stop," you whisper to him with a scrape of your teeth against his shoulder. "Don't stop."

He's never been able to disobey you, he realizes. He's never had reason let alone want to. Even now, he does as he's told, keeps fucking forward into you, mattress squeaking and bed rocking as he finally, finally, finds his rhythm.

It's easy then. You spur him on, grip him tight, wrap your legs around his waist. He grunts, growls, can barely stop himself from panting, looking down at you and how you stare back at him and he thinks fuck, this is what it's like to be trusted by you.

With a sudden gasp, he pulls out, slipping from your wet heat to rut against your sopping cunt until he's spurting ropes of come against your mound and belly.

He apologizes, tries to admonish himself for being so quick. You tell him to shut up, hitting his shoulder. He does.

You both sigh in the afterglow. Even in the before, he never had times like this, he doesn't think. It was always frantic, too quick, too drunk, too fumbling. In the after, he could never quite relax enough to enjoy it fully. In the now, it's just about the best he's ever had.

You're still covered in him. Your fingers play idly in it on your belly, and he glows. He'd trace patterns with it over your skin, if only you'd let him. But then, you're up and gone, and he fears you're gone for good until you waltz back in and throw yourself next to him, mess cleaned from your skin as you stretch and yawn beside him.

"I aint tryin' to take your job, y'know," Joel tells you some time later, when the afterglow wanes and sleep pulls at him.

"Right."

He looks to you, the roll of your eyes and tug of a disbelieving smile on your lips visible in the glow of the bedside lamp.

"I promise. I'm just tryin' to... be some place."

You're still. And silent. He thinks he's fucked up for all of one second, until you're smiling sadly up at the ceiling.

"I get that," you say softly. "This is a nice place to be, all things considered."

And, though he thinks he knows what you mean, Yes, he thinks, this is a nice place to be.

This is a good day.

follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future fics

taglist: @jupiter-soups @wannab-urs @bean-is-reading @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @youandmeand5bucks-blog @bbyanarchist @vickywallace @kamcrazy123 @valkyreally @ashhlsstuff @a-literal-goblin @ariundercovers @iluvurfather @stevie75 @toxicanonymity @thesevi0lentdelights @sp00kymulderr @joelsdagger @titlee78

[beuxwhoyouare]

Escaping Holiday Responsibilities

You know Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and all the boys. And who can forget about singing Hanerot Halalu after lighting the menorah. There’s symbols and entities representing all of the holidays. But outside of the season we enjoy our peace and quiet. Sometimes though a season is so rough you can’t really blame an entity for wanting to get away.

I may or may not be Santa Claus. I’d say the best perk about the gig is that when the time comes you’re almost guided to your successor who then dons the classic look. So it’s a give and take. I mean having the power to fulfill lists of gifts you desire is great, but acquiring the look of a tubby bearded old man isn’t all that. The coolest thing though is you may not know it, but just because you don’t write a list doesn’t mean you don’t have holiday desires. I can still deliver gifts based on the list you make in your hearts. Cute as hell right? I’m basically a mind reader!

Before all this Claus business, I was unemployed and recently divorced when I received the call to step into the good ol boots. So a gig is a gig. I took it and ran, but that was like 30 years ago. So now once I retire I’m actually gonna look old and ragged.

So there I was last night delivering gifts at this random place in Chicago. Doing my best to stay quiet, delivering gifts as low key as possible when CRAAAAAACK! I stepped on a large glass ornament I somehow missed. I thought I was in the clear after no one came to check what happened and as I headed on my way out a baseball bat swung at my head.

I took the hit like a champ but when I turned around to see I saw a man standing there in black sweatpants and a sleeveless shirt with the bat ready to swing again.

“Ho ho hey hey wait. I’m literally Santa.” I whisper yelled while showing snowy crystals come out of my glove.

Right as he began to swing again I pulled more tricks out of my hat.

“I know your name is Russell O’Connor. You got a gunmetal tricycle as a 4 year old because you thought the red ones the store had were tacky and wanted to look tough!”

That’s when he stopped mid-swing.

“How-how did you know that pervert? Have you been watching me for years?”

I began to hear his inner list….a young man now in his mid-20s regretting his life decisions to get a girl knocked up as a teen? Interesting. He desires to get away from the so-called mess he made.

“I can offer you a way out of the mess you made. If that’s what your true hearts wish is this Christmas?!” I pleaded to not be beaten once again.

“How do you know what I want freak?”

“Bro I’m Santa, I know when you’ve been like bad or good and whatever. Listen do you want to get away from the mess you made or what?”

“Yes okay but like how are you going to do it? You’re not going to kill me or anything?”

“Honestly no one’s really ever wished for this so I gotta be able to do it somehow. That’s the Santa magic!”

“Okay let’s go for it. Do it! Get me out of here!”

I closed my eyes and rubbed my gloved hands together and then pulled them apart. As I pulled them apart a spark started forming but I wasn’t sure what to do with it. I tried to hold it steady but before I knew it, the spark grew too wild to control. The energy then turned white and exploded.

There was a ringing and we both yelled but then black.

When I woke up I found myself pushing up from a bed? That’s weird I don’t remember finishing all my deliveries. I reached up to scratch my beard but instead of my long luscious white beard a more close shaved beard grazed my hand. Wait where are my gloves? And my beard?

I looked down at the bed I didn’t recognize before looking back up to walk over to a nearby restroom with the night light on. The dim glow painted a picture I couldn’t believe. Surely I’m dreaming?

I fumbled around the foreign room before locating the light switch, only to have the bright lights confirm what I was seeing. I raised both arms and posed….

“No fucking way!?” The cursing surprised me, being a Claus the job prevents your mouth from ever even forming a curse word.

I’m Russell? But the Santa step down process just returns you to your normal self not swaps you with someone? How did this? Could my desires have matched with his conflicting my magics intent?

I lifted the shirt barely hiding anything of my new body I now resided in. Woah…I wasn’t much of a gym person in my former life but maybe there’s reason to be. I mean look at this beef? I reached my muscular hand up to my new proud chest and squeezed. Ahhh grazing my new nipple I revealed a new found sensitivity I never previously had. Looks like that’s going to be fun, I nearly salivated.

I can do adult things again and live a life again! No more having to spend months working to achieve someone else’s dreams. Or maybe I’ll fulfill other dirtiest dreams. I mean this body should go to work somehow.

I’m sure OnlyFans would love to see how thick I am everywhere. It’s time to be a family man settle down the right way and make a good living by selling the best gift I’ve ever given myself.

My new tool hardening nearly pulling down my sweatpants waistband itself. I grabbed it before taking a peak at my new equipment. Ohhhhh looks like I’ll still be delivering gifts to quite a few people in different ways with this beer can.

[strwberri-milk]

same anon who asked whether or not I can request for two characters from different fandoms. Since you’ve confirmed that I can, I’d like to request for Wriothesley + Sylus

This is something I suffer with personally, so that explains why I wanted to see what you think they’d do. Basically, reader has severe separation anxiety and abandonment issues. They think it’s just ‘clinginess’ at first but then they start realising how abnormal this ‘clinginess’ is when they have to leave reader to attend something important and reader desperately clinging onto them. They quickly realise what’s actually going on and it gets to a point where they’re scared of leaving reader alone at home because they’re worried she might end up hurting herself.

Sorry if I was too detailed. You can skip over the details and just write them with a GN or fem reader that has separation anxiety. Thank youu! 💕

i get this bc i also have bad abandonment issues but also i do reccoemend that you try to talk to people you're worried about leaving you more transparently and seeing if you can get some more security in your relationships/try to untrain yourself from the assumption that you'll be left because as im sure you know this constant dread is very exhausting but i promise you people arent going to abandon you that easily - i didnt want to go into details about reader hurting themseleves bc once things get to that point relationships can become toxic and im not a big fan of stuff like that at the moment!!

Sylus doesn't realise just how clingy you are until the twins and Mephisto report it to him when he goes on his business trip. You had a hard time letting him go but he thought that was you playing with him and being dramatic so he brushed it off. You're grown, and he knows that despite how needy you are you'd be fine by yourself. Or at least he thought you would be.

When he comes home you refuse to let him out of your sight, or if he does need to leave you're blowing up his phone. He doesn't mind showering you in attention but he's also worried for you, not wanting to make you feel as though he's going to randomly just leave you one day.

He spends his days subtly implying to you that he isn't leaving you that easily. He doesn't say anything to you about how he suspects you're having some problems with abandonment, simply deciding to make it so that you don't have to doubt his feelings for you. He never ends a conversation without reminding you how much he loves you, texts you whenever he's going to be running late, and makes an effort to reach out whenever he's thinking about you (which is pretty much all the time). Slowly but surely you gain confidence in him at the very least, making it a little easier for you to let him leave for longer periods of time.

Wriothesley clocks it pretty quickly, noting how you can't handle it when he tries to go on patrols and with help from Sigewinne who points it out when he's trying to figure out what's wrong with you. Rather than taking a passive approach he "confronts" you head on, telling you what he thinks and asking if he's right. It takes you a second but you decide to nod, admitting that his assumption is indeed correct.

He takes the information in slowly, mind beginning to come up with ways he can try and help alleviate this burden you feel. He asks you what the best ways to assuage your doubt would be, what sorts of things he can do to make you feel less anxious when he's gone. He knows he could be better at communicating with you when he's off on longer jobs, trying to find some middle ground for the two of you to sit on so he can both get work done and keep you happy.

You aren't sure what to make of it at first, finding things a little overwhelming with how anxious you are. However, thanks to his consistency you can feel yourself relaxing, the fear of separation and abandonment no longer hanging over your head as heavily.

[poetry-protest-pornography]

Talking with @respectthepetty about the finale, and I think I've figured out my biggest sticking point.

We see the incredible care and love that Kan shows his patients, and Tew's mom in particular. We see him ask her for confirmation multiple times. He brushes her hair, asks her if she has any worries, promises to take care of Tew for her.

He calls her Mom. She cradles his cheek. He sits with her while she falls asleep.

We see this scene play out, we feel Kan's compassion for her, we feel his need to help.

And when he and Tew have their confrontation, he says all of this. He talks about how much it hurts to see people struggle with unbearable pain, how the system doesn't care about how well or how poorly people are living, doesn't care about what people want for their life. He gives an impassioned defense of the need for euthanasia to be made legal.

He tells Tew that his mother died the way she wanted to, that she passed peacefully and on her terms. He tells him that she wanted him to be happy.

And we don't see Tew truly understand any of that. We don't get to see him even really process any of it.

I didn't need or expect Tew to become a supporter of euthanasia, or to even fully forgive and understand what Kan did and why he did it. But it seems like what we got instead was Tew accepting his feelings for Kan, and acknowledging that.

So that "I love you" felt... Misplaced.

What good does a confession do when you've got the man you're in love with handcuffed, on your way to turn him into the police.

(The confrontation itself was beautifully done and it hurt all my feelings. But I'm not sure it was in the right place? There was no room to see them struggling with and processing it. Kan's sad nod of acknowledgement and no response was the correct response, but it was also mine, quick I think is not the desired effect.)

Also, Kan volunteerimg to turn himself in, without arguing for his patients who need him -- in his hospital that is desperately short staffed, in which he is the only palliative care doctor; a point that has been made over and over in the series -- also felt off.

I would've been happier with an ambiguous ending, maybe even the exact same one, where we didn't see the cuffs, and weren't sure what was next for them.

(from my understanding, this is basically the opposite of the source material? There's also the comments from the screenwriter that have kind of left an annoyed filter over all my thoughts about the show, but I digress)

Honestly, I may have been okay(er) with the outcome if we had had more of their relationship development on screen, more of them trying to understand each other (that felt very one sided in the end).

Idk.

The show was beautiful, beautifully acted, and had some very important things to say, and it made its arguments well considering the lines they had to tow. But the politics and the moral struggle of the show were embodied in Kan and Tew, and the culmination of that struggle feels like it wasn't given enough space.

[vintageshanny]

Christmas Kisses - Part 2 - Start the New Year Off Right

Content: Takes place in December of 1976 and mentions Elvis’ loneliness at that time. A little bit of angst, some smut, and a lot of fluff. This is basically my Christmas gift to Elvis, telling him how wonderful he is. ❤️ 18+

Read part one here: Christmas Kisses

Josephine gave herself one last look in the mirror as she heard a pounding at the door.

“Coming!” she called out as she grabbed her purse and keys. A man with brown hair graying around the temples opened the door. He didn’t even bother to introduce himself but just gave her a slight nod and motioned for her to follow.

The man finally spoke when they turned onto Elvis Presley Boulevard. “So how’d you and the boss meet?” Josephine detected a hint of something in his tone...animosity maybe?

“Oh, well, we, uh, we both just happened to be looking for company on Christmas Eve.” Josephine tried to select her words carefully but realized she had made herself sound like a hooker. “I mean, not company like that, but um, just someone to talk to.” She could feel herself turning red as the man beside her chuckled. “He’s just a very nice man,” she finished with a whisper.

“Hmm. He can be,” the man muttered, almost to himself, as they pulled up the drive to Graceland.

Josephine got out and steadied herself on the rhinestone heels she had picked out to wear. Elvis had called her just once since last week, to confirm that she still wanted to come to his party. He gave no indication of how fancy it was going to be, and she was too nervous to ask. They’d had such a great connection in person, but on the phone he almost sounded like he was embarrassed that he’d let himself get so vulnerable. She decided it would be better to be dressed up than to be looking too casual at a fancy party.

Elvis nervously paced the living room, trying to be attentive to his friends and their families as his mind drifted to Josephine. She would be here any minute, and he felt strangely nervous. After she’d went back home on Christmas, he had replayed their conversation in his head, wondering what on God’s green Earth had possessed him to open up so much to a woman he’d just met. Some of the things he’d shared had been downright embarrassing. She must think he’s a complete fool, asking if it’s okay that he couldn’t get it up all the time.

Josephine walked through the doorway and instantly spotted Elvis, dressed in a light blue suit. Their eyes locked and she saw his jaw go a little slack as he approached her.

“I’m sorry, I might be a little overdressed. I wasn’t sure what to wear,” Joesphine murmured as he grabbed her hand and looked her up and down, his eyes sparkling with delight at her curve-hugging black sequined jumpsuit.

“Naw honey, ya look perfect, jus’ beautiful,” he murmured as he pulled her in for a hug. “I mean, wow,” he exclaimed as he pulled back and looked again.

“Now you’re gonna make me blush,” Josephine smiled. “You look pretty ‘wow’ yourself,” she added, her eyes roaming over his physique.

Elvis just laughed a little and looked nervously at the ground, not sure if she was just being nice.

He pulled her into the living room and started introducing her to his friends, his hand gently caressing the small of her back. His hands pretty much stayed on her all evening, wrapped around her waist, rubbing her shoulder, playfully pinching her side. Josephine reveled in the affection after such a dry spell.

“So,” Elvis whispered in her ear as they sat snuggled up on the couch together. “Are ya gonna give me a kiss at midnight?”

Feeling somewhat emboldened by the tender look in his eyes, Josephine leaned over close and whispered back. “I’ll give you anything you want at midnight.” She let her hand squeeze his thigh ever so slightly, and she could hear his breath hitch in response.

Elvis looked into Josephine’s eyes, his heart racing a little bit at what she’d whispered. He usually felt a little apprehensive about a woman being so forward, but he could see the tenderness in her eyes, and he knew this offer was from her heart. He wanted to kiss her so badly right here on this couch, company be damned, but he knew that if he got aroused, the opportunity to take advantage of it might be limited.

“Honey,” Elvis said lowly, glancing around to make sure everyone was preoccupied with their own conversations, “can I-I-I, uh, show ya somethin’ upstairs?”

“Absolutely,” Josephine responded, nerves and excitement making her body tingle. Elvis grabbed her hand and led her through the kitchen and up the back staircase as discreetly as possible.

“What did you want to show me?” Josephine asked with an innocent smile as Elvis locked the door to his bedroom behind them.

“Honey I jus’ needed ta do this without all them nosy sets of eyes watchin.’” Elvis grabbed her waist and pulled her in close to him, his soft lips crashing into hers. He took his time kissing her, his hands rubbing her back. He reached down and gave her ample bottom a squeeze as his tongue slipped into her mouth. “Can I see more of ya, baby?” Elvis murmured as he reached for the zipper on the back of her jumpsuit.

“Mmm-hmm,” Josephine tingled with anticipation as he slowly pulled the zipper down. She leaned slightly forward and let the jumpsuit slip down, the fabric pooling around her ankles. She carefully stepped out of it, now standing before him in just her heels and a pale pink bra and panties.

“Goddamn,” Elvis breathed out as he took in the sight of her. He reached out and squeezed one of her breasts, seeing the way her nipple hardened through the thin fabric. He let his hand trail down her stomach, his fingertips brushing over the waistband of her panties, sliding down over the silky material and settling in between her thighs, feeling the warmth and dampness that awaited him there. With his other hand, he pulled down each bra strap, one at a time, letting the material fall and expose her soft, round breasts to him, both nipples now begging to be licked.

“Ohhhhh,” Josephine let out a guttural moan as Elvis leaned down and caught one of her nipples in between his teeth, tugging ever so gently. As he sucked on her, his hand down below slipped inside of her panties and continued its rubbing there. His fingers explored every part, tracing through her little mound of hair, rubbing her soft lips, sliding through the wetness, pushing gently inside of her. As Elvis switched his mouth to her other nipple, Josephine continued to let out soft moans, unable to control herself.

“Ya like that baby?” Elvis asked in a low gravelly voice, his lips tracing up over her collarbone and attaching to her neck. His fingers continued their intricate dance inside of her panties.

“Oh God, yes,” Josephine groaned, her eyes fluttering down to see that he seemed to be enjoying it very much as well. She reached out and started to unbuckle his pants. She noticed that he tensed up ever so slightly, but he let her continue, removing his hand from her panties so he could help undress himself.

As he slid his pants off and removed his jacket and shirt, Josephine felt her heart racing at the sight of his body, that broad hairy chest now on full display. She couldn’t help but notice that he looked a little bit shy standing before her in just his white briefs, and she wondered if he knew how sexy he was.

“Elvis,” she whispered, stepping forward, letting her hand run down his chest and over his stomach. She grabbed his hand and put it back inside her panties, missing the feeling of him touching her. “It feels so good to have your hands on me.”

Elvis smiled that cute little crooked grin and let his fingers play with her again. “Is that right, baby? What else do ya think would feel good?”

Josephine could see from the bulge in his underwear that he still seemed to be enjoying himself, so she decided to encourage him. She reached out and pulled on the waistband of his underwear, peeking down at his thick hard dick that looked like it was aching to be set free. It looked so good. “I would love to feel this inside of me,” she whispered, barely able to think straight from the feeling of his fingers massaging her most intimate parts.

“I would love that too, honey.” Elvis slid her panties down her legs and helped her onto the bed, leaning her back against the pillows. He slipped off his own underwear, letting himself spring free, and laid between her legs. “Lemme jus’ make sure you’re good and ready for me first.” He really needed to make sure that he was good and ready, but she didn’t need to know all that.

As he lapped at her soft folds with his tongue, he could feel his dick growing harder and harder until he knew it was now or never. He quickly pulled himself up and lined up with her soaking wet entrance, sliding in, feeling the way her opening gripped him so tightly. A couple of pumps and he’d probably be done for. Lucky for him, it seemed like she was almost ready, too.

“Ohhh, God, Elvis!” Josephine wailed out as he pushed all the way inside of her, beads of sweat forming at the gray hair on his temples. “Oh, that feels so good,” she whimpered, feeling him thrust in and out. He knew he was about to explode and needed to make sure she was satisfied. He reached down and rubbed her little nub as he continued thrusting, and it sent her over the edge. As she moaned his name and clenched around him, her legs shaking, he thrust one last time, feeling himself cum deep inside of her.

Josephine loved the feeling as he lowered his body onto hers, pinning her against the mattress, his softening dick still inside of her. As they lay there in a state of bliss, the clock struck midnight.

“Baby, where’s my midnight kiss?” Elvis laughed as he lifted his head and planted one on her.

“I think I gave you a lot better than just a kiss,” Josephine giggled, hugging his body tightly against her own. She didn’t want him to leave her ever.

“Ya sure did, honey. Hmm, I don’ think I’ve ever been inside of someone at midnight on New Year’s Eve. Gotta start the year off right, I s’pose.”

“Do you think they’re wondering where we are?” Josephine asked as Elvis finally slid out of her and rolled to the edge of the bed, pulling his underwear back on.

“Nah, they probably jus’ figure the old man has gone to bed early,” Elvis said in that self-deprecating way.

“Elvis, you’re not old!” Josephine insisted.

“I don’ know, baby, I think ya jus’ bring somethin’ outta me. I’ll tell ya honey, I ain’t been this aroused in a long time.”

“Well, I hope you know that even if you hadn’t been so, um, aroused, I still would’ve had a great time with you.” Josephine moved over behind him and wrapped her arms around him, leaning her head on the back of his shoulder.

Elvis turned and kissed the top of her head. “That’s sweet of ya, honey. I gotta use the bathroom. There’s some pajamas in the drawer there if ya wanna wear some.” He nodded toward the dresser and headed for the bathroom.

As Josephine pulled herself up and slipped into a navy blue nightshirt, realizing for the first time that he was expecting her to spend the night, she noticed a partially crumpled piece of paper on the floor next to the garbage can. She picked it up to throw it away, but a couple words jumped out at her. She smoothed the paper out and her heart sank into her stomach as she read the note that was written.

“Help me Lord to get through all of this. I am so tired of it. I think I would like to sleep forever but rest does not come easy for me. Show me a way out from these problems.”

Just as she was about to put the note back, Elvis emerged from the bathroom in his robe and saw it in her hand. She could see the immediate flush of anger spread over his face.

“What the hell do ya think you’re doin’? Pickin’ through my garbage? Ya gonna sell that to the press like those damn vultures who used ta call themselves my friends?”

Josephine tried to keep her voice calm as she responded to his rage. “Elvis, I’m sorry. I found it on the floor, and -”

“Like hell!” Elvis continued to explode with anger. “Why don’t ya jus’ get the hell outta my house! Come over here and seduce me jus’ ta betray me like this!”

“Elvis, I’m not going to leave with you this upset. I need to make sure you’re okay. You can keep yelling, but I’m going to stay here with you.”

The fire still burned in Elvis’ eyes. He picked up the only thing that was within reach, a book, and flung it against the wall. Then he turned and headed back in the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

Josephine sighed and sat down next to the bathroom door, her back leaned against the wall. “Elvis, can you hear me?” No response. “Elvis, I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to pry. It was an honest mistake.” At this she heard a low grunt, but no movement to come back out. “Look, I don’t know if you’re just mad or if you’re embarrassed or feeling vulnerable, but I want you to know that I understand. To be honest, I’ve said a lot of prayers that sound just like this. Life is hard sometimes, y’know? And I can’t even imagine the kind of pressure you must face.” The lock turned and the door opened. Elvis shuffled back out and sat on the edge of the bed, looking a little sheepish at his angry outburst.

“I’m sorry I screamed at ya honey, I know ya weren’t tryin’ ta snoop.”

“Elvis, you don’t have to hide from me. I want to be here for you.”

“I’m supposed to be the strong one. I have to take care of everyone, I don’t know any other way.” Elvis’ head dropped down, and it broke Josephine’s heart to see him look so defeated.

“It’s okay to let someone take care of you sometimes, too. You don’t deserve to have the weight of the world on your shoulders. Let me take care of you,” Josephine implored, rising and joining him on the bed.

“Honey, I think you’re real sweet, but ya don’t know what you’re gettin’ into. I mean, I’d love ta see ya some more, but I can’t ask ya ta take care of me.”

Josephine reached over and grabbed Elvis’ face, turning it toward her own. “Elvis, look, we don’t have to talk about a future together this early. But I see how strong you are, how brave you are, and how tired you look. You said yourself, ‘start the new year off right.’ Let me take care of you tonight. At least this once. Let your guard down and just let me love you.”

“What are ya gonna do?” Elvis asked, trying to blink back the tears that had formed at her kind words.

“I’m going to give you a nice bath, tuck you into bed, and just hold you in my arms. Can we do that?”

Elvis nodded and let her lead him back into the bathroom. He sat on his chair and watched as she drew the bath, testing the water temperature with her wrist. She helped him up from the chair and untied his robe, slipping it off of his shoulders. She could see him blush a little bit as she slid his underwear down his legs, but he didn’t resist. She tried not to stare at his soft chubby penis dangling between his legs as she helped him into the bath, but she must have been unsuccessful.

Elvis smiled a little bit as he asked, “Why are ya blushin’, honey? I’m the one who’s standin’ here naked as the day I was born.”

“I’m sorry,” Josephine whispered, feeling the blush grow deeper. “I just want you to relax and be taken care of, but you have a very sexy body. It’s hard not to notice it.”

The smile spread across Elvis’ face as he lowered himself into the water. “You’re a real sweetheart, honey.” He lay back against the tub as Josephine found some soap and a washcloth and got to work. She gently scrubbed every part of his body – his chest, his back, his pubic area, even in between his toes. “That all feels real nice, honey.”

“I told you, it’s okay to just relax and let someone take care of you sometimes.” She swallowed nervously before continuing. “About the note I found, I know it’s personal, but please know you can always talk to me. Okay?”

Elvis just nodded but didn’t say anything more about it.

Josephine helped him out of the bath and grabbed a clean towel to dry him with. She started with his shoulders and worked her way down, kneeling to get everything from the waist down. As she gingerly dried his private area, he looked down and smiled.

“Are ya lookin’ at my sexy body again?”

Josephine laughed and nodded. “Well, there’s a big hunk of sexiness in front of my face right now.”

Elvis chuckled at that description. “Hmm, I’ve never thought of him as bein’ particularly sexy lookin.’”

“Are you crazy?” Josephine asked, looking up in surprise. “He, I mean it,” she laughed, “is very sexy.” To drive home her point, she leaned in and gave a soft kiss to his velvety smooth foreskin.

“Ooh,” Elvis responded as a little shiver went through him. “Gonna be hard ta relax if you’re doin’ stuff like that, honey.”

“Sorry, I just had to have a little taste,” Josephine smiled.

“Maybe ya can have another taste later,” Elvis teased.

Josephine led him over to the dresser and helped him into a pair of pajamas.

“I jus’ need my medicine,” Elvis said, swallowing some pills with some water before laying down on the bed.

Josephine laid down next to him, snuggling up against his chest and letting her arm wrap around his stomach, her fingertips gently massaging him.

“Baby?” Elvis asked, his words starting to slur from exhaustion.

“Yes, Elvis?”

“Thanks for not leavin’ me,” he whispered, his eyelids drooping shut. “Thanks for takin’ care of me.”

“Of course,” she responded, holding him close as he drifted off to sleep. “I love you.”

Tag List (let me know if you want to be added or removed): @whositmcwhatsit @missmaywemeetagain @lookingforrainbows @thatbanditqueen @be-my-ally @ellie-24 @from-memphis-with-love @arrolyn1114 @atleastpleasetelephone @i-r-i-n-a-a

[donutz]

(/^-^(^ ^*)/ ♡ Mokarun x reader // Pt 2

| Sleepover with Momo, Takakura, ‘n you! Pt 1; Pt 2

Warnings: Fluff!! Cuteness, plenty of physical affection/some words of affirmation, body appreciation(Momo and Okarun receiving), very loving reader(an absolute sweetheart), flustered Momo and Okarun, Reader is perceived as strong which is mentioned in this chapter; it doesn’t have to mean they are pure muscle(meaning that they can look as skinny and lanky as you want, or as paunchy and fluffy!!)// The first part focused on Okarun and now it’s Momo's turn!! This fanfic is recommended in light mode because both(Mokarun's) names are quite dark (^_^;)

Laying side by side, you two are asleep.

Well, you were asleep. You woke up from your nap. Which was after giving Okarun loving words and caresses.

His sleeping face was so peaceful, soft-looking, and cute.

“I want to kiss you so bad,” you whispered. 

Catching what you said, your heart beats increase and the situation feels awkward. Surprised and embarrassed, is all you felt. Your fists clench, laying your arms under your head.

I can’t… Look at him right now.

You grunt, swinging your legs. Your head tucks into the dip in your arm.

The creak of the door and flicking sound of the knob catches your attention. 

Momo grips her pink towel around her figure, searching for any eyes on her. She spots yours and flushes with a squeak.

“Just look away! I already knew you were gonna see me so.. Just look at the wall or something!!”

You spoke no words, just a sound confirming you heard her.

Looking back at Ken, just looking. His chest rising when he exhales, his straight eyelashes, light pink lips, crinkled hair, his adorable baby face.

You just wanna squeeze ‘em! Hold his smooth (face)cheeks in your hand and squish them so they both touch. His lips would perk as heat transfer to your palms. 

“Ahh!! You’re too cute ‘karunn..!!”

You smile at the scenario.

Momo catches your attention asking if you could help rubbing lotion on her back.

“I’m not tryna hurt my arms!! Uhm, I have a shirt and shorts on so you don’t have to worry about seeing anything,” Momo flushed.

Getting off of her bed, you looked at her flustered expression.

“Do you usually put lotion on your back?” you chuckled with a raised eyebrow.

“No.. But I don’t like the idea of a dirty and dry back… And I just knew you wouldn’t mind putting lotion on it for me,”

Grabbing her pink floral themed bottle of lotion, you press the handle which offers you a pastel pink and sweet-scented paste.

“Because you know I’m more physical?” you smiled.

“Yeah, basically…”

You both stood in silence while you spread the liquid-like paste along her back.

“I don’t want to waste any of the lotion so I might have to spread it on your shoulders or like— your collarbone,” the both of you made eye contact in the mirror.

Your eyebrows raise, she doesn’t get it at first— but then infers you’re asking her for consent.

She wears a surprised expression on her face, “It’s fine,” then breaks eye contact.

“K!”

The lotion on her back fades out and you thought you were finished.

“Y’know… I didn’t— put lotion on my arms and legs..”

Her arms cross while she looks away.

“You want me to put lotion on your arms and legs too?” you grinned, your hands lay on her thighs leaning on her back.

She grunts in annoyance, “You already know the answer,”

Obtaining another glob of lotion, you rub your palms together to expand its surface area.

“Prepare!… For the best lotion appliance ever in your life!!” your dramatics caused a snort from Momo.

And a giggle from somebody…

Though, it’s not like you could hear it over Momo's continuing wheeze.

Once she calmed down, you placed your right hand on her calf and your left on the front of her thigh.

She wobbled from your touch, “Wwoahh!!” she nearly falls but her hand grasps your shoulder and the back of your head.

Giggling from her reaction, you teased: how you barely put pressure on her leg.

“… It surprised me okay? I didn’t… Expect… N-Never mind just—” she grew frustrated because of her stutters and growled.

“… Just focus on my leg,”

You smoothed over the momentarily flexed muscles, focusing on every flinch she does. You focused on every twitch, flex, wobble, everything.

They’re so watchful..

“Oh yeah, I need to lotion up your feet— Or, you can do that if you want,” you look up to her eyes.

And caring…

She darts her eyes to your gaze, “Oh— Just do what you need to do,”

“Okay but you might wanna sit on my shoulder or you might lose your balance,”

“… I’d say I would be heavy but you’re pretty strong,”

“I mean I have carried you both at the same time before so yea it’s nothing new,”

Momo sat on your shoulder, giving you the go to work your magic.

Strong too… They amaze me almost every time I see ‘em…

You start to work on the bottom of her feet, putting extra work into the thin skin linked to her legs.

“My ankles always look so dry so I’m going to worry about your ankles too,”

Worrying about me. 

You rub smooth and firm circles into her ankles with your palms, physically ensuring she won’t have to worry about them getting dry anytime soon.

They could be a good chiropractor, or massager… Is that a word?

Running your hands up her leg, you move over to the next and repeat your actions.

You lean on her back once more and smile at her in the mirror.

“Now your legs are alll moisturized!” you gleam.

“Well except for your hips, but you should do that yourself. That’s toooo high for me!!”

They follow my boundaries and know when to stop.

“I’m going to start with your arms now, okay?”

“Ye-Yeah…” 

You’ve snapped her out of thought.

Her arms are soon to be moisturized, though you mainly focus on her hands.

Making sure to get every nook and cranny between her fingers.

You softly place both of her palms towards each other and make them touch.

“… What are you doing..?”

“I have no idea, I just love your hands,”

She blushes, “H-Huh?”

You two went silent, your stare making her nervous.

“May I... Kiss you?” even your own words embarrass you.

Nod.

You let go of her hands and intertwine them behind the dip in her back.

—XOXO

“Let’s go to bed, yeah?”

“Yeah,”

All three of you are laid on Momo's soft comforter.

She lays on your left, locking your leg with hers, and she’s soon to fall asleep.

.

.

.

“… I knew what you two were doing…”

“I know that. I knew it the whole time,”

Ken flips over to you, surprised you knew about his nosy self.

“H-How?!”

“My 6th sense,” you winked.

He glows red from guilt, embarrassment, and envy— all at once.

Your head tilts, “Mmm.. Are you jealous Ken? I can give you a smooch too if you’d like,”

That night you ended up cuddling with Mokarun, resting comfortably in Momo's bed.

I'm glad I'm done with this now, hope y'all like it ^^

[ahappydnp]

the majority of us ARE 22 year old college kids though😭 at least that was the dominant demographic at my tit show

gonna be real i think everyone in the community is going to keep their own confirmation biases on the demographic split because let me tell you the vast majority of phannies on my dash are at least late 20s and almost everyone i talk to or have met irl are dnp's age or older and have always existed since the beginning, they're just not as vocal/don't share their faces or personal information as much/don't engage with dnp in the same way the kids did back in the day!

and yeah obviously there are a ton of young 20 somethings (and that demographic is basically the only one dnp talk about publicy because they're whole vibe right now is "you all watch us when you were 14") SO WHILE I UNDERSTAND THAT DEMOGRAPHIC IS A MASSIVE ONE!!!! i don't think they make up as big of a percentage of the fandom as they think they do (maybe like a healthy 68%... instead of the 95% they assume)

**edited for the slew of 22 year old anons**

[justrainandcoffee]

Hey, I just met you... (Alfie Solomons x Tommy Shelby)

Tofie Masterlist

Summary: In middle of the night, inside a queer pub, a new love story is about to start.

Warnings: None. Alfie is pansexual. Tommy is gay. || I never wrote the moment they met, but here it is.

Words: 400.

2009.

Recently moved from Birmingham to London, for Tommy it was a new beginning. He needed that change, actually. He just needed to start again.

The pub that Ada recommended him was full of people listening to the band that was playing there. Some others were drinking and dancing. Others, seemed to have fun with friends or lovers.

Tommy was glad to have a safe space for people like him and he was glad for being born in an era were queer people have, at least there, basic rights.

He went to the counter an asked for a drink. There was a man there. A big bearded man that seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, eating fish and chips. Melancholic air floating around him.

"Bad night?" Tommy asked and the bearded man looked at him. His gaze maybe was rough, but there was sadness in those eyes as Tommy could confirm.

"Broken heart," the stranger said.

"I'm sorry. But if something I learned about that, it's that it pass. Always pass."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Sooner or later. Tommy," he said offering him his hand.

"Alfie," the other said, shaking it.

"It'll pass, Alfie."

There was something about the newcomer that made Alfie smile despite he wasn't in the mood for that. Not mentioning the fact he was a really good-looking man.

"Thanks, Tommy. Are you new here?"

"Yes. I moved here just weeks ago and my sister recommended me this place. She was right as per usual."

"Welcome, then. Maybe you should spend your time here looking for good company, I'm not the best for that now."

"You know, Alfie, sometimes good company means just a good chat."

Alfie grabbed one of his chips and offered it to him "for the good company, then" he said and Tommy, laughing, accepted it.

Both men spent the rest of the night just talking. After that, they exchanged telephone numbers. It was the beginning of a friendship that it was going to take eight years to become something else. A friendship hiding other feelings that everyone could notice except them.

[acourtofthought]

do you think elain's avoidance of the bond is like her rebelling to fate, like the bond is something imposed to her?

I think her avoidance of the bond is many things.

I think it's that the bond called into question her loyalty to Greysen.

I think it's that the bond forces her to feel things that are completely against the way she was raised.

I think it's that the bond forces her to really look at herself and who she is as your mate is your equal.

I think it is her rebelling against a fate that decided for her.

Imagine you fall in love. You meet your fairytale prince and you're convinced you've found your happily ever after. He's your first love and nobody will ever compare so you plan your future with him. Then in the blink of an you feel drawn to a complete stranger who is nothing like you were raised to be want but you're consumed by the desire to have him and now you're disloyal. Now you second guess everything you once felt. So you shove the draw to the stranger deep down because you're scared to look at it too closely, scared to look at him too closely. You basically shove your head in the sand like an ostrich so you can go back to the "before". When things made sense.

I think the bond has created an identity crisis for Elain. Who she was and what she thought she wanted versus the mirror Fate / the Mother held up to her and told her to take a good long look. "You think you know what you want and who you are? Well I know child and I see you. You are him and he is you."

What 24 year old girl is going to immediately say, "oh you're so right! I'll listen to you!". A 24 year old is going to say, "I don't need to listen to you! Who are you to tell me these things!" It's no different than what happens with our own children, when they are convinced you don't know and you don't understand and it's not until they fully mature and maybe have their own children that they say, "damn, my mom was right." Or "I hate that my parents knew what they were talking about." Elain has spent her entire life being taught to behave a certain way, deciding for herself that a life with Graysen is what was going to make her happy, the relationship she's supposed to want and then here comes somebody she doesn't know and he draws out big things, scary things that she's not ready for. There is comfort in what is familiar and a long haired, BIG and strong, one-eyed fae male with a wicked scar down his face is NOT what she's familiar with. He looks like the morally gray anti-hero in a motorcycle gang while Elain comes off as the sweet church loving girl. Neither of those characterizations are the truth because Elain and Lucien are so extremely similar in personality despite appearances but that's exactly what one would see at first glance. Elain, as a lady, was not taught to want someone like Lucien. Elain was taught to act with propriety yet the bond makes these characters feel NSFW towards their mate which we know because Rhys had to winnow away so he didn't grab Feyre and Lucien had to physically restrain himself in his chair so he didn't reach out for Elain. We know the bond does these things to the characters and that means Elain is not sitting there completely unaffected.

I think the bond scares Elain. I think it overwhelms her when she's not used to feeling out of control. I think she's scared to give in to it as it means she's well and truly fae (something Nesta also struggled with). I think her giving in to the bond is her letting go of the expectations placed upon her when, as confirmed by Rhys, she's most likely been worried about disappointing those around her because they expect her to act a certain way. I think she's scared of who she will become when she finally breaks free of her humanity, shedding that cloak of civility.

"Elain has no interest in Lucien!" No, I think Elain is way too interested in Lucien and that's the problem because Lucien changes everything for her and many people struggle with letting go. Elain often adapts to new places but she's always been the same Elain. Proper, polite, kind, sweet. My guess is when we have her POV her thoughts about Lucien are anything but proper and polite and I think she's avoiding the bond because she's not ready to let go of the "who" she was always expected to be because of how others will then respond to her. Ever since she was a young child she was labeled by her mother and her sisters naturally fell into thinking those same things. Breaking free of that takes maturity and growth and I imagine that's what we'll see in her own book.

[cel-aerion]

Alright, so, while (re)watching First Nights at Freddy’s, I noticed that there are at least a couple instances of MatPat’s character and Glitchtrap saying similar things or expressing similar sentiments:

-“You wanted to force my hand, didn’t you? Be careful what you wish for.” / “Force my hand, and you’ll pay.”

-“I drove away the light ‘til I was numb.” / “I didn’t really understand the concept [of evil] at first, but the more I watched you sniveling skinbags, all your lies and hypocrisy and corruption, the more I embraced it.”

-Both have instances where they reply to one character telling another, “I’ll be right behind you,” with “No, you won’t.” This one feels especially notable, since the musical is basically bookended by these scenes.

So this got me thinking, maybe there’s more of a link between these two than there appears to be.

So, spoilers and random headcanons under the cut.

So here’s what we know, or at least what we can infer:

-When William Afton was killed, Henry had already killed or attempted killing, as shown by the fact that when William found the Crying Child, he already knew what was going on and what Henry's intention was.

-Presumably, this was after Glitchtrap had been locked away, otherwise no one would have been there to do it.

-Despite apparently being created for personal use, Glitchtrap actually resided in a company computer, or else wiping the old files wouldn't have freed him. Which means that it's possible Henry was aware of him in some way.

-Henry was shown to have a wedding ring*, suggesting he has, or at least had, a family - probably the latter, since he switches identities so easily.

*I am fully aware this is probably just because MatPat doesn't tend to take his actual wedding ring off. I also don’t care, because I’m having fun. Besides, I would hope that MatPat, of all people, would appreciate someone looking into tiny details and coming up with explanations for them

-Therefore, it's probable that at some point, Henry *lost* that family. We don't get any confirmation of this, or any indication that he ever had a kid, but Henry Emily did have a child who died young in the FNAF novels - this is not evidence that it happened in the musical, of course, but it at least supports that possibility.

So consider:

William has this advanced AI on a company computer. Henry, who's lost a child of his own in the past, somehow learns of the suggestion made to William to “replace his dead child with one of the many unsupervised kids flocking to his family diner each day” - perhaps William talks to him about this AI, maybe Henry stumbled on it accidentally, but either way, unlike William, he likes the idea. Maybe he tries straight kidnapping at first, then killed when the child was uncooperative, discovering he enjoyed it, or maybe he took it too far from the start. Either way, that’s what starts him on that path.

When Glitchtrap first appears, he mentions the murders in the restaurant, though he thinks they were done by William (“Or [take] your uncle, an upstanding business manager, using his restaurant as cover to murder kids in his spare time.”). Which suggests two things: That there is evidence of the murders on the computer - also supported by the fact that Henry wanted the old files wiped clean - and that Glitchtrap is still aware of what's going on in the computer system, even if he doesn't know who's actually adding it.

(Side note, but this probably added to Glitchtrap’s frustrations: Imagine being locked away for your ideas being “too extreme”, only to have your jailer then go even more extreme.)

All this is to say, it's possible that, even though they didn't really know each other, Glitchtrap was influenced/shaped by Henry, even if just because Henry was using that computer under William’s name, and Glitchtrap was picking up on what he left behind.

This also offers a possible backstory for Henry. The closest we get to learning his motivations are his lines in Dark Remains, and though they don’t really say anything about what that motivation is, the song implies that he was driven to it and it was a conscious decision, he wasn’t just dark from the start. If he thought doing so would restore his family in some way, or if he failed in that and started looking for retribution instead… well.

...

Subtheory That I’m Not Really Serious About but Think Would Be Interesting: Imagine if Henry and William were partners in more than one way, and so the child lost in the car accident was one they both lost. This is thrown off because Glitchtrap mentions that William lost his child and wife in that accident. But this idea hopped in my brain before I remembered that line, and I was too amused, so I wanted to share anyways.

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

Thank you, this covers several other things that I thought about that information! I was thinking about that page from the Daily Show book (a page I only know about because you took that picture and shared it some time ago) - the page that confirms that it is true that Ricky Gervais was involved in getting John Oliver the Daily Show job, though if I were John, these days I'd be backing Demetri Martin's claim that it was actually him who got John the job, even if there's no truth in it.

That page was the first time I learned that Andy Zaltzman was on The Daily's Show's radar at all, but as you say, there's nothing in that book that says Andy actually auditioned as well. I'd just been assuming they went to watch Zaltzman and Oliver perform as a double act, and of the two of them, John was the guy whom they decided to call in for an interview. Probably because... I know John Oliver isn't the most Hollywood-style/conventionally handsome man in the world, but he looks more telegenic than Zaltzman. Also, John Oliver's humour does tend to be a bit more grounded and accessible, while Zaltzman's the one doing the wildly convoluted flights of bullshit fancy. So I can see how TV people who watched them both perform would decide that John's the guy they want.

But the information that they both auditioned is new. I'm now seeing this through my lens as someone who was in highly competitive sport for many years - because I've already made it clear that I find it nearly impossible to describe the Zaltzman/Oliver dynamic without descending into sports metaphors. And it's because so much about how they work together reminds me of what I've seen from the very best teammates/training partners in sport, ones who bring out the best in each other and push each other to become better athletes. Ones who know each other's styles so well that each style have to evolve and adapt in order to respond to the other, their matches with each other reach deeper levels of the sport than anything else, just because they've learned how to get past each other's basic responses and they both end up finding new ideas.

In all my years as a competitive athlete and then as a coach to competitive athletes, one thing I learned is that when you have two teammates/training partners in a relationship like that, the worst thing that can happen is they get pitted against each other in a competitive situation. You want those people tearing each other to pieces in the practice room, but in a tournament, competing in different divisions so they can cheer each other on. If one beats the other when it actually matters, the friendship rarely survives, and the training relationship takes a big hit. They stop being able to work well together in practice, because they're trying to hurt each other instead of improve each other. And even if they try to go on as they did before, the bitterness comes out and messes with it.

...I am aware that Andy Zaltzman and John Oliver are not competitive athletes. But relationships like the ones I've just described are so common, and as a coach, trying to preserve relationships like that, even in the face of competition, is a big part of my job. Which may be part of why I find comedy dynamics like those described in article from the beginning of this post so interesting, the double act where both people make each other more than the sum of their parts, until it all implodes.

Point being, I already knew that the fact that the Zaltzman and Oliver working relationship lasted for so long despite the massive fame disparity means Andy Zaltzman is a saint who's largely resistant to the natural human bitterness response (not 100% immune to it, as evidenced when John Oliver finally left The Bugle, but Andy's good humour held on for a long time before that). But if they both auditioned together for a life-changing opportunity, and only of them got a callback? By rights, that working relationship should have imploded in 2006.

I realize that reading all this stuff into the situation between two people I've never met is incredibly parasocial of me, by the way. I don't have a good justification or mitigation for it, or anything. I just want to acknowledge that I know. Sorry. I would try to avoid getting too parasocial about Chocolate Milk Gang-era Zaltzman and Oliver, but I think that ship's sailed long ago, I'm leaning into it now.

Anyway, @lastweeksshirttonight, I also want to know whether they were auditioning to be the first double act on The Daily Show, or whether they knew they were both competing for a single spot. What a shame that I didn't come across this article until after it was too late to submit questions for the Zaltzman/Oliver 2024 Bulge Q&A. Which is coming out this weekend, and I'm sure we'll all be a normal and non-parasocial amount of excited about it.

I just came across the article today, and the whole thing is very interesting. I highly recommend reading it all, to anyone who's interested in the history of British comedy double acts. It's basic stories that I did already know - Cook and Moore, Lee and Herring, Newman and Baddiel, French and Saunders - but it juxtaposes them in a way that I quite enjoyed reading, and adds a number of details that I did not already know. I am interesting in double act dynamics, so this was a really cool article.

However, I am, of course, going to cut and paste on particular segment:

In 2006, Andy Zaltzman and John Oliver, who were at the time writing their third Edinburgh show together, travelled to London to audition for a role on Jon Stewart’s The Daily Show. Only Oliver, however, was called to a second audition. “When they offered him the job, unfathomably, John chose to go and work on the world’s leading satirical TV show rather than speak to 30 people in a tiny room in Edinburgh,” Zaltzman tells me over a Diet Pepsi in a London pub. After the swift departure of Oliver, who now presents HBO’s primetime political talkshow Last Week Tonight, Zaltzman was left to write and, two weeks later, perform the Edinburgh show alone. “It was difficult because I had nothing to replace this wonderful working relationship and friendship,” Zaltzman says. The year after Oliver left for America, Zaltzman “bumbled along” performing political standup. Then they were offered the opportunity to record a weekly topical podcast, the Bugle. Oliver agreed to rejoin the double act (albeit via a telephone line) as co-host. “It worked well straight away,” says Zaltzman. “There hadn’t been any great falling out, so in that sense it was easy for us to work together again.” The podcast, a satirical take on the week’s news, ran from 2007 to 2014 without a break. It then had a hiatus while Oliver focused on launching his new TV show; he soon found that the show was taking up too much of his time, and the Bugle came to an end in 2015. Then in 2016, Zaltzman relaunched it without Oliver, instead partnering with a roster of comedians including Nish Kumar and Hari Kondabolu. “To lose [Oliver] after having worked so closely for years left a void,” says Zaltzman. “But my frustration was not with his success. I like to think I haven’t become a bitter, twisted, resentment-fuelled showbiz cliche. But maybe there is a residual awkwardness about the different paths we’ve taken.”

Sorry, what the fuck? Did anyone else know about this? That apparently Andy Zaltzman also auditioned for The Daily Show, at the same time as John? I know a hell of a lot about the Zaltzman and Oliver history, and I never knew that. Which means Zaltzman's kept it quiet, in the all the times he's told stories in interviews about the paths their double acts took in those years.

I'd heard all that other stuff before. There's a Bugle quote (from 2018, the same year this article came out, so I guess Andy was into that phrasing at the time), in which Andy refers to: "June 2006, when [John Oliver] told me he wanted to do the Daily Show job instead of coming with me to Edinburgh to talk to 25 people a day in a darkened room." And of course I've heard Andy talk about how he felt like he was "bumbling" in the year between John going to America (June 2006) and The Bugle starting (Oct 2007), as he tried to get by without the double act. I'm convinced that the difficulty he had during that year is why he waited so long to pull the plug on The Bugle in 2015, when John had clearly checked out, and yet Andy kept doing filler episodes in which he'd tell us they're going to get this going with John again soon, like a mother telling the children that their dad has just gone out for cigarettes and will be back. Of all the double act stories in that article, Zaltzman and Oliver has to be one where one member tried the hardest to claw on after the other was out, not wanting to let go of it. And I include Lee and Herring, when I say Zaltzman and Oliver did that more than any others.

Anyway, the information that Andy Zaltzman had also auditioned for The Daily Show is a massive fact for this article to just casually drop. That recontextualizes a lot of stuff from around that time, and makes a lot of sense. @lastweeksshirttonight, @bimwi - as the other people here who know a lot about that history, am I the only one who didn't know that? Was anyone else aware of this?

[blueskittlesart]

Dear Big Brother

kind of a sequel to this comic

[heathersapples]

"It's [like] whenever you go back home. You revert to the age you were when you left." x

[morii-moth]

in search for the next L.O.O.T.?

[antigonesghosts]

What I loved about Cinderella's Castle is it is so entirely about Ella. We know starkid can handle a show with tons and tons of characters but I found it quite refreshing for it to be so wholly her story? I think it was a lovely choice for this show and man Bryce did such a perfect job of it, she is truly such a star

[autisticaradiamegido]

day 192

a break from artfight for some good news! i have finally scheduled a surgical consult to have my enemy (read: uterus) removed. this is a bit of a scarier prospect than my breast reduction was, but i think it will be an equally impactful quality of life improvement when all is said and done!!

anyway those of yall who have been here since the beginning may remember me posting through that whole process so i figure why stop now.