#Ella crafts

[that-cheer-up-anon]

Made my first crochet project! It's a cat loaf. I'm gonna try to make little nubby feet but if that doesn't work out that's okay, bc I still consider it as complete as is.

[bossbeader]

Descendants Inspired Kandi bracelets🐉🍎🐍🐶

I have yet another listing up and available for orders! I’m honestly so stoked about how these turned out! In all honesty, I think if I had to pick a favorite it’d be either Evie’s or Red’s bracelet🥹! I’m so proud of these, and I hope you all like them too! Please reblog this post, and share my link around with others!

[voluptuarian]

currently in a hell of a pickle bc I desperately want to read/watch fairy tale themed fantasy, Lovecraftian shit, mysteries, and noir, and while I could conceivably find a way to combine some of these and indulge multiple cravings at a go, there's no way to satisfy all of them at once, so I'm just russian roulette-ing them back to back in small doses when I can

[gettingready2read]

Counting on the Woods by George Ella Lyon, photographs by Ann W. Olson

The poetic phrases in this book provide a great opportunity to expose your child to new vocabulary. Hearing and seeing unique words can help expand your child's understanding of reading.

The photographic artwork provides visuals you can count with your child. Ask your child to use their background knowledge by pointing to any familiar animals and plants; can they identity what is in the pictures?

Expand the Reading- Make a Nature Viewer!

Supplies Needed:

cardboard/cardstock or other heavyweight paper

coloring supplies

scissors

Cut a small hole in your piece of cardboard, and decorate your Nature Viewer. You can draw pictures of plants and animals you expect to find outside.

Once you've finished, take your Nature Viewer outside and look through the hole. What do you see? Talking to your child about the nature right outside their home can help build background knowledge.

Try playing a game by seeing how different types of leaves or bugs you can spot with your Nature Viewer.

Check out Counting on the Woods

[risestarkiss]

Nicknames

Rise Ramblings #351

One of my favorite things about Rise is the utilization of nicknames in the show. This is the first iteration of the TMNT that really dived deep into nicknaming the boys. ❤️🧡💙💜

Also, the fandom has come up with quite a few great names of their own!

I wanted to list off some of the names from the show, some names I’ve heard around the interwebs, and some of the ones I’ve personally made up.

(Yeah. Those get a little out of hand. I’m apologizing from now. 😌)

LEONARDO: Leo Nardo Leon Neon Leon Primetime The Blue One Baby Blue Bluey Cyan Blue Boy Lee Pepino Fruit Ninja & Blueberry (I’m sorry. 😞)

MICHEALANGELO: Mikey Micheal Miguel Mike Magic Mike Orange Orange Pawn Orange Peel Doctor Delicate Touch Doctor Feelings Doctor Positive Doctor Rude One Love Angelo Angie Angel & Alan (I’m sorry. 😞)

RAPHAEL: Raph Raphie Raph-a-roni The Red One Big Red Red Rover Red Reign R-Dawg The Red Angel of Preventing Harm Raphela Ella Ellie Strawberry Strawberry Jam Strawberry Cupcake & Cinnamon (I’m so sorry. 😔)

DONATELLO: *takes a deep breath* Don Dee Deedee Dondon Donnie Donnie-D Donald Donna “Don, I tell you.” Dynamite Don DonTron Donathan Donnifer Donstantinople Don Stasinopoulos Dontertelli Don Tortellini Donatelli Spinelli Don Quixote Donkeytello Don Jamba Lambda “Don, a fellow.” *takes another breath* Vomitello Othello Othello Von Ryan ‘Thello Tello Hortense Mr. Science Bootyyyshaker9000 Alpha-Bootyyyshaker-9000 The Funny One The Purple One Purple Purple Knight Purple Boy Purple Jam Purple Jambalaya Grape Jelly Grapes Ube Smarts Brains Eyebrows & “The scientist formally known as, D.” (I will not apologize for any of these. Fight me.)

Bonus: DUOS! Raph & Don: Brains & Brawn, Strawberry Jam & Grape Jelly Leo & Raph: Sunrise Duo Mikey & Raph: Sunset Duo Leo & Mikey: Baja Blast, Portal Pals Leo & Donnie: The Disaster Twins & Double Trouble Donnie & Mikey: Smarts & Crafts, PB&J

Are there any that I missed? 😁

[gay-dorito-dust]

hii can you do morgie/ hook (seperate) and the reader is like a goody two shoes and like really shy and they notice her because shes friends with ella and bridget

Morgie le Fay’s head perked up much like that of a dog’s upon noting the third person trailing being Bridget and Ella; you.

A Shy goody two shoes with no voice to speak of, mouse like more then just name but in mannerisms and personality and more, but despite all of this and barely even knowing your name Morgie was finding himself more and more intrigued as he watched you cross the courtyard with your head held down from where he stood.

Morgie knew where his loyalties lie but his heart was in search for someone else whose words of validation, encroachment and praise were as genuine and as sweet as your shy nature. His mother -Morgana Le Fay- wasn’t always there and could be often times be forgetful that he was her actual son, rather than someone she could just blame for all her misdeeds and mistakes in magic and life alike; Much like all villainous parents who walked through life without much of a comfort in their own devious lives, their actions are as inexcusable as their own parental style was.

You could feel his eyes pierce their stare into your head as you quickly glanced at him before becoming flustered upon seeing him smile at you as you ducked your head even further down, much to Bridget’s and Ella’s concern. Morgie felt like he could watch you for days on end and never grow bored, he wondered what your voice would sound like, your laugh, your expressive eyes and so much more to the point that he hasn’t realised that Hook had caught him in the act.

‘The shy ones caught your eye have they?’ Hook asks.

‘What? No. More like bothering me with their…quietness.’ Morgie tried to cover up but failed miserably upon seeing Hook’s unchanged expression as he crossed his arms over his chest. Morgie visibly deflates when he knows the gig was up for him.

‘Okay so maybe I was looking at them,’ Morgie admits but was quick to rectify himself when he saw Hook’s brow being to raise, ‘but that doesn’t necessarily mean that I like them. I was just…looking. Nothing more nothing less.’ He adds in a halfhearted laugh that quickly died in his throat shortly afterwards.

‘I’ve got nothing against you being with them Morgie,’ Hook begins, ‘but you know I can’t say the same for the others.’ He adds as he glances at you before looking back at his friend who had his feelings evident within his expressive hazel eyes. ‘So tread carefully if you are to follow that big old heart of yours. After all I can only act like I didn’t see anything for so long.’ Hook concluded as he pats Morgie on the shoulder twice encouragingly before leaving his friend to keep staring at you like an infatuated fool.

‘I will.’ Morgie says to himself as he finds himself filled with a new found determination.

Hook

Didn’t take long to notice your shy demeanour from where he stood in the academy’s vast garden. He has seen you in the company of Ella and Bridget on more than one unpleasant occasion, but here you were in the company of only yourself on a stone bench amidst flowers in full bloom.

You looked picturesque in that moment like a renaissance painting crafted by the most skilful pair of hands in existence. However he wasn’t one to speak this thought aloud to anyone, founding himself more content with withholding such a thought in his chest until he died.

You were quite as a mouse, shy as a one too as you often hide yourself in the background to avoid being seen but James always managed to seek you out without issue, something he saw as an problem considering who you were friends with and the crew whom he held his loyalty towards; he remembers how often you avoid confrontation with him as you’d always side step him when he got too close or even evaded being in the same room as him all the while ducking your head and holding your books close to your chest that they might as well mould into your very skin.

However with neither of your friends in sight hook decided to forgo everything and seat himself next to you just as you closed the book you had took out from the library, holding it close to your chest as he had expected of you to do.

‘All alone are you little mouse?’ Hook asks rhetorically as he smirks at your wide eyed expression. ‘Your friends ran off elsewhere then to be with you have they?’

‘Well I don’t see yours nearby either.’ You said softly as you found yourself easily entranced by his eyes, his hair, right down to his cocky smirk. It wouldn’t have been too bad falling for him had he not been a villain, however live makes things difficult to navigate when you’ve been told how to view things by the adults in your life, rather then allow you to formulate your own opinions.

Hook raised his brow in surprise at your quip, he wasn’t expecting someone as meek as you to have held back such a sharp tongue this entire time. ‘Struck a never did I?’ He says as he leans in closer to you, watching as you leaned away from him but only by so much before you’d fall off the stone bench completely, what you didn’t know was that hook wouldn’t let you fall but wouldn’t let you in on that until it was called for.

‘No, i just know you shouldn’t be seen with a goofy two shoes like me, it’ll ruin your standing in your own group.’ You tell him with slightly more confidence in your own voice but still being shy in meeting his observant eyes, trying to remember everything that Bridget and Ella have told you and start standing your ground.

‘And you think you wouldn’t be crucified by your own friends for being seen with me either?’ Hook replied as you both looked at each other in silence, knowing that both of you were right but didn’t want to agree to saying such a ridiculous thing. Yes your friends would throughly question you on why he was so close to you as would his own, but in this moment that didn’t matter as you continued to stare the other down as conflicting feelings clashed within yourselves.

‘Perhaps,’ you began shyly as you were the first to look away from hook and down at your lap, all the while hook kept his eyes firmly on you and you only, drinking you all in while he could, memorising everything about you and keeping it locked within his heart. ‘But at least mine would be more understanding and see reason.’ You add as you got the courage to stand up from the bench and inside the academy, leaving hook to mull over what just happened and sigh as he remembers what Morgie told him earlier.

‘You look at them with the most adoring gaze while yet cursing out their name and everything they stand for, you hate to like them but like them too much to actually hate them.’

[helen-with-an-a]

First Time Crush pt 3

Hiya. So this is the final part of First Time Crush. It's a little Ellie/R heavy but I hope you like it.

Barca Femeni x Reader ; OC x Reader

Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3

Description: R's got some exciting stuff to share with the team

Word Count: 3.5k

Things with Ellie were fantastic. You felt your whole world shifting around her. She was your sun, and you were in orbit.

You had gone on three dates already. The first one was painfully awkward, you thought, anyway.

You were walking out of the stadium alone – thankfully. Everyone was waiting for you to finish your shower and get ready, the promise of Ellie waiting outside making you shake with excited nerves.

You had fretted the night before over what to wear. Every outfit you owned suddenly felt wrong on your body – either it was too tight, and you felt self-conscious, or it was too loose, and you felt stupid. You were nearly in tears as you phoned Ingrid, tugging harshly at your hair and scratching painful lines into your skin as you got overwhelmed.

“Kjæreste?” Ingrid asked, confused as to why you were phoning so late in the day before a match.

“Too much.” You had eventually squeaked out, trying really hard not to let the tears fall. That was all Ingrid needed to hear before she gathered up Mapí and broke several speed laws to get to yours.

They found you sat amongst a pile of clothes, eyes red with suppressed tears and a dejected look on your face.

“Oh, neña.” Mapí had pulled you from the floor, guiding you to your bed as she hugged you tightly. “Respiraciones profundas,” she said, exaggerating her breathing and running a gentle hand through your hair. Ingrid had silently gathered up your clothes, slipping them back onto hangers and into their designated places before sitting on the other side.

“What happened, søtnos?” Ingrid asked as you pulled back a little from Mapí.

“I’m seeing Ellie tomorrow.” You hoped that was all the explanation you needed to give – it was, at least, for Ingrid, but she wanted you to voice your concerns fully. “I was trying to decide what to wear. Everything felt wrong.” Your voice wobbled as you tried to breathe away the rising tears. Mapí’s hand came to grip yours tightly, the action helping to ground you somewhat.

“Ok, cariño…"

You had sat for over an hour with them as they helped ease your fears and craft the perfect yet comfortable outfit for your coffee date with Ellie. And now, you were going on that date. You had hoped the others would leave before you so you could greet Ellie without fanfare, but it seemed like that would not be happening … at least, not as you had hoped. As you slipped your bag on your shoulder, you felt every pair of eyes on you.

“Estas lista para ir?” Jana, Pina, Bruna and Patri stood with mischievous smiles as you turned around to face the changing room.

“Ella irá sola, chicas.” Alexia interrupted before you could speak, smiling as you sent her a grateful smile. You laughed as their protests inadvertently eased your worries, and you slipped out the door.

Ellie looked like an absolute goddess as you sallied up to her. The collar of her blue away kit peeked out from underneath her soft cream sweater—you really hoped it was yours she was wearing.

“Hey, beautiful.” She smiled that dazzling smile that took your breath away. “You played so well today,” she complimented, the praise bringing a rosy hue to your cheeks.

“Th-thank you,” you stammered. There was an awkward pause; at least, you thought it was awkward (Ellie was taking the time to admire you and hadn’t even realised the gap).

“Are you ready to go?” She wondered. You nodded, eyes staying resolutely on her shoes. “Can I hold your hand?” She asked, not wanting to overstep any boundary you might have. Your brain froze – you barely even realised your enthusiastic nodding – as her warm hand slipped into yours. Her skin was smooth and soft as she intertwined your fingers, pulling you away from the stadium. “So, where do you want to go?” She questioned, inwardly smiling as she watched you panic slightly at her words.

“Um, it’s not too far. Maybe like a 10-minute walk. It’s takeaway only, but I thought I could show you some places?” It was the most words Ellie had ever heard you say in one go. Her heart fluttered at your timid nature, pride swelling in her chest as she thought about you planning the date despite being so unsure.

The date was perfect. She was perfect … but you were an awkward mess. Despite her protests, you had bought her coffee and several pastries before taking her to a small little woodland trail. It wasn’t a big hike … or a hike at all, really, maybe 5 minutes on flat ground, but it wasn’t well-walked and offered you the privacy you wanted for the date. The meadow you took her to was breathtaking; wildflowers filled the green space as you sat. She had, naturally, taken control of most of the conversation, letting you have the space to talk when you wanted. You also had sat in comfortable silence for a time, your hand still firmly in hers as you watched the clouds dance above your heads. You thought you were far too shy and awkward for Ellie to want anything to do with you, but she had surprised you as you ended the date at her front door.

“So, beautiful, care to do this again?” she smirked. Your brain short-circuited, your heartbeat quickened, and another crimson blush spread across your cheeks. You nodded, swallowing down the nerves as you took a deep breath.

“I really enjoyed today,” you confessed, smiling as she squeezed your hand in response.

“So, did I. When’s your next day off?” She lifted her hand to push some of your hair away from your face.

“Um … Monday? But if that’s too soon, then that’s fine too.” You rushed out. It was only Saturday, after all.

“Monday sounds good,” she smiled her earth-shattering smile again. “I have a lecture in the morning, but I can meet you for lunch. I’m free all afternoon. Maybe you could come round here, and I could cook, and we could just hang out?”

“That sounds really nice.” You smiled at her, finally meeting her eyes.

“Perfect,” she giggled – her voice sounding like it was handcrafted by angels. “I’ll text you.” She leaned in, pressing her lips to your cheek before turning around and unlocking her front door, allowing you a moment to try to collect yourself. “Bye, beautiful.” She waved, her fingers fluttering gently as she closed her door.

The second date went just as well. She was so perfect. You were … less awkward than you were before.

Ellie: How do you say my beautiful girl in Spanish? x

Beautiful: mi niña hermosa

Beautiful: why?

Ellie has changed your contact to Mi Niña Hermosa

Mi Niña Hermosa: oh

Ellie: :)

You have changed Ellie’s contact to Mi Diosa

Mi Diosa: what does that mean? x

Mi Niña Hermosa is typing …

Mi Diosa: what does that mean ????

Mi Niña Hermosa: :)

You arrived at her flat exactly on time… well, actually, you were 15 minutes early, but you had walked to the small flower shop on the way and picked a beautiful bouquet of wildflowers. You were then only 3 minutes early, but you waited on a low wall near her building for the right time to ring the buzzer.

“Hey, beautiful.” Her voice sounded so perfect even through the bad intercom.

“Hi, mi diosa.” You tested it out, your heart beating nervously as you did. You took some solace in her not knowing what it meant. The door beeped, and the lock clicked, signalling it was open. The walk up was familiar (you had done it only two days prior) yet foreign. It seemed like a nice enough place – clean, friendly, and, most importantly, safe. You don’t know why you liked the thought of Ellie living in a lovely, dirt-free, safe flat, but it eased your nerves slightly. You knocked on the door, gripping the flowers. The door was wrenched open, and Ellie appeared in front of you. She looked even more gorgeous than the first time.

“Oh my gosh, they’re stunning. Beautiful, you shouldn’t have.” She said as you presented them to her.

“Not as stunning as you.” You weren’t a flirter, but it felt natural to say, so you said it. The all-consuming nerves that had been present at your first weren’t as harsh; instead, a pleasant fluttering stirred in your stomach. If you had been watching Ellie, you would have seen the shy smile and rosy tint rising on her cheeks. Instead, you were looking around her flat. She had lots of pictures of friends and family around, some decorative artwork on the walls, and soft blankets piled neatly on the sofa.

“C’mon. I didn’t know what you could eat with your diet and whatnot, so I’ve made fancy sandwiches.” She put her hand on your waist, the patch of bare skin where your top had ridden up, blazing with heat when her hand touched.

You had spent all afternoon with Ellie. It started with her carrying the conversation, like every interaction you had so far, but as time went on and the shadows lengthened, you were becoming more open – although you were still oblivious to your flirtiness (everything that you wanted to said, you had, not quite realising how teasing it sounded). You were becoming more like yourself – your intelligence shone through, and your kindness and gentle nature made Ellie fall even harder for you.

Eventually, you had left the sanctuary of Ellie’s flat long after nightfall but not too late as you had an early morning training session, and you were mindful of her schedule.

“Bye, beautiful.” Ellie had said, much like she did on Saturday.

“Bye, mi Diosa.” You replied, your eyes dancing over her features. She stepped forward, one hand holding the door, one hand resting on your arm, and she pressed a delicate kiss to the corner of your mouth. Almost all the calmness you felt that afternoon disappeared as you struggled to breathe. Did she mean to kiss you there? Was it a misplaced kiss on the cheek? Did she want to kiss you properly? You blinked owlishly at her, a subtle smile gracing your features.

“I miss you already.” She blew you a final kiss as she shut the door, leaving you to your thoughts as you tried to calm yourself.

Mi Diosa: is it too soon to ask you out again?

Mi Niña Hermosa: I finish at 5 tomorrow – I could cook for you?

Mi Niña Hermosa: It’s a match day on Wednesday tho so it will have to be fairly healthy

You have sent a maps link. Click here to open it: https://www....

Mi Diosa: Sounds perfect I’ll be there at 6? x

You had been … odd … at training. That was the only way the team could describe you. You were happy enough, so they weren’t questioning it too much. But you seemed different.

“Pequeña, estás bien?” Alexia had asked, concerned over your behaviour.

“Hmm? Oh, yeh.” You smiled at her. She nodded, but her expression wasn’t convinced. You were training well, better than you had been all season, to be honest. It was hard to put a finger on. Ingrid had tried next, sitting next to your cubby in the changing room as you swapped your boots for your trainers.

“Is everything alright, Kjæreste?”

“Huh?” You were distracted again, mentally running over the checklist for tonight for the thousandth time. “Yeh, I’m good,” you dismissed, smiling at her—her expression similar to Alexia’s.

Throughout the day, everyone had come up to you, even Vicky, asking if you were ok and reminding you that if you needed to talk, you could do it. It wasn’t until you had rushed out of the changing rooms bang on 5pm that they could talk freely.

“Ella es rara, verdad?” Patri asked as soon as the door swung shut. There were many hums of agreement as they wondered what it could be.

“Maybe it’s something to do with that girl she had a crush on?” Lucy pondered.

“Ha dicho cómo fue su cita?” Pina asked, looking around at the shaking heads.

“Maybe that’s a good thing.” Keira suggested

“O tal vez se estrelló y se quemó,” Martina added pessimistically. The room went silent.

“Bueno, independientemente de lo que pasó, tenemos que dejarla venir a nosotros. Lo hará cuando esté lista.” Alexia said with finality, putting the situation to rest, at least for the moment.

You had just finished getting ready when the doorbell rang. 6 pm on the dot … you liked a punctual girl.

“Hola, hermosa,” Ellie laughed as you stumbled to get the door open.

“Hola, mi Diosa. Cómo estás?” She looked a little lost for a moment before answering. “Estoy bien, y tu?” Her words were a little staccato but very well-pronounced.

“Muy bien, mi Diosa.” You smiled at her smile. “Por favor, entra” You stepped back to let her in. It was clear she didn’t understand what your phrase meant but understood the sentiment all the same. Only when she walked past did you realise she also had a small bouquet of rainbow flowers, the plastic wrapping crinkling as she moved. “I thought we could cook something together. It is only chicken, veg and pasta, but it’s nice.” You explained, looking at the various produce on the side.

“That sounds fantastic.”

Much like the day before, you chatted the evening away. You laughed over your meal; you sat too close to her on the sofa as you continued giggling at the stories you shared. Eventually, she got fed up with her skin lightly brushing yours and lifted herself up and onto your lap.

You froze, suddenly nervous again at her closeness. She froze, thinking she may have pushed this too far. She loved how open you were becoming with her; your behaviour was closer to what she saw when you were on the pitch during warmups and after the matches. Had she just ruined this?

“Is this … ok?” she whispered to you. You gulped, taking in the sweet scent of her perfume before nodded, letting a shy smile spread across your lips. “Good,” she said, taking your fingers in her hand and fiddling with them as she continued her story.

 You wanted it to last longer, but you had a midweek match, so you needed an earlier night.

“I’m sorry,” you sighed as you walked her to your door.

“It’s ok,” she reassured you again.

“Will I … are you... areyougoingtothegame?” you rushed out. She raised an eyebrow at you. “Are you coming to the game tomorrow?” you asked slower this time, unable to meet her eyes. She lifted her finger, pulling your face up to meet her gaze.

“Of course I am.” She smiled softly. “I’m a season ticket holder, I’ll have you know,” she said smugly.

“You are?”

“Yes, I am. And I’ve never missed a home game. Not one this whole season.” She puffed her chest out with pride.

“A true culer, then.” You teased. “Next year, you won’t need a season ticket,” you promised, your eyes flicking down to her lips.

“And why’s that?” she asked, hoping you were hinting at what she wanted you to imply.

“If we give the club enough notice, we get 2 free tickets per home game,” you explained. “Front row … box and pitch access if you want it.” Your eyes flicked back up to meet hers.

“Is this your way of asking me to watch your games, specifically to support you, not Barça Femeni as a whole?” She quirked her eyebrow up in question, her gaze drifting to your lips. The air between you grew heavy, and she pushed herself up to meet your height. “Can I …”

“Please.” You cut her off. Her hands locked into your hair; your fingers drifted along her waist. She tasted like heaven. That was all you could think as she kissed you. First, it was just a quick peck, but then she drew herself back, deepening it as she pressed herself into your body.

“Woah,” she gasped when you eventually parted.

“Now, I really don’t want you to go.” You whined, equally as out of breath.

“I’ll see you tomorrow at the match? I’ll wear your England jersey so you can spot me easier.” You smiled at her words.

“I think I’m starting, so I might not be able to come over until after.”

“That’s ok. As long as you come over at some point.” She smiled her warm, soft smile at you.

“Maybe I could introduce you properly to the girls? As my girlfriend?” you asked shyly, unwilling to meet her eye. She waited, hoping you would look at her – you were still tightly pushed together, her arms around your neck, yours gently resting on her waist.

“Look at me, please,” she asked softly. You did, automatically calming down when your gazes met. "I would love to officially meet my girlfriend’s friends.” Your glittering smile nearly knocked her off her feet.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, beautiful,” she murmured, pressing a final kiss to your lips as she extricated herself from your embrace.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, mi diosa”

“I still don’t know what that means.” She pouted.

“Don’t worry, I know someone more than willing to teach you Spanish.”

Mi Diosa: Goodnight, beautiful

Mi Niña Hermosa: Goodnight, mi novia bonita

You changed Mi diosa’s contact to Mi Novia Bonita

Mi Novia Bonita: stop saying stuff when I don’t know what it means !!!

Mi Niña Hermosa: :)

You played the best game of your life. Your technique was flawless. Your skills were unmatched. You had your name on the score sheet 4 times, along with 3 assists. It was a textbook match for you. You were on fire.

“What has happened to you?” Lucy asked, confused as to the changes in you.

“What do you mean?” You asked, buzzing with energy as you clapped the fans. You came to a stop in front of a very familiar white jersey. You abandoned Lucy, coming to standing in between Alexia and Ingrid.

“Mira quien ha venido a verte.” Alexia nudged you gently, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Do you want to go say hi?” Ingrid asked, putting a hand on the middle of your back, ready to give a push if you denied.

“Maybe later,” you sighed as you made eye contact with Ellie. You blushed a little at the wink she threw your way. They mistook it as you getting shy over your crush’s attention being on you.

“Nawww,” Alexia cooed. “Te estás poniendo tímida debido a tu enamoramiento?” She teased lightly, pinching your bright red cheek. This was it, the perfect timing.

“Is it still a crush if she’s your girlfriend?” You asked, smirking at the two of them before running away into the crowd.

You and Ellie watched at the chaos you caused amongst the players. She had pulled on her home kit, which she had slipped into her bag before she left. She wanted to stand out for you on the pitch, but she knew that being in a stark white top might not be the best thing if she needed to hide from the wrath of some players. You sat further back in the stadium, laughing as Alexia made the rounds, clearly informing people of what you had so casually announced. You could imagine what each one was saying. You acted it out for Ellie, mimicking the disbelieving voices of Patri and Pina, the shocked ones of Irene and Paños. Your favourite person to mock was Mapí – she stood, mouth open, arms by her side as Ingrid told her the news. You don’t think you’d ever seen her speechless before.

“C’mon, we best get going.” You said, standing up and offering her your hand.

“We?” She asked, shocked.

“I’m not dropping that bomb on them, then hiding for 20 minutes and then returning alone.” You explained, thinking your reasoning was obvious.

“You’re crazy if you think I’m going in there after you said that, then ran away for 20 minutes.” She looked at you, mouth open and eyes wide. “They’ll eat me alive.”

“Nonsense. If anything, they’ll be happy I finally asked the hermoso desconocido to be my hermosa novia.” You smirked, extending your hand again and wiggling your eyebrows.

“I still don’t know what you said,” Ellie grumbled, taking your hand.

“Don’t worry, mi diosa. We have plenty of time for me to teach you.”

I hope you liked it <3<3<3

[man-down-in-hatchet-town]

THERE'S A CASTLE ON THE HILL, AS THE STORY GOES...

As promised, some initial thoughts on the things I loved about seeing this show. Spoiler free, since most of us haven't gotten to see it yet, and under the cut since I do wax a bit poetic...

Cinderella’s Castle is, in a strange way, an exercise in irony. The show is a retelling of an ancient story that is beloved and recited throughout so many cultures, and yet somehow feels completely fresh. The modern take on glam-punk lighting, a score infused with styles from 80s synth to anime, a high fantasy set with the costumes to match, the spirit of Jim Henson lingering through both the puppets and some larger and intangible vibe, a script combining that Starkid humor and Hatchetfield darkness with a whole different style of speaking… all of these beautifully executed elements melted together into something that I’ve never before seen. To take a tale as old as time and make it unique is no easy feat, but Starkid did so with magic and charm to spare.

Like any good Starkid show, Cinderella’s Castle is relentlessly dynamic: fun and tragic and exciting and just-plain-silly, with many twists and turns and character moments will make you gasp or cheer just as often as you laugh. It simply rollicks. The story clicks right along, especially in act 2, but the characters are so distinct and fun that I found myself almost wishing the Langs had sacrificed their plotting and pace just to spend more time hanging with every single member of this ensemble of personalities.

And that’s also a tribute to the actors themselves. Jeff is David Bowie reborn as the impish and fabulous narrator. Jon and Joey bring Hop A Lot and Crumb to life with so much charm and presence that they practically had the audience eating out of their hands from the very first second. Like, seriously, you will not believe how invested you will immediately become in these talking animals. Kim’s Fairy Queen is as radiant and terrible as promised; her portrayal of immortal inhuman power compels and commands and stands fully distinct from the Lords in Black. Lauren and Mariah are delightfully disgusting as the vile but deeply lovable troll step-sisters; you can feel the fun they’re having practically radiating off of them. Curt’s Tadius is dryly funny and put-upon, but also provides a vitally grounding and centering presence in the larger-than-life world of the Lands That Are. His big scene with Bryce is probably my favorite part of the whole show. James Tolbert is nothing short of an absolute STAR as the Prince, stealing scene after scene after scene with ease and charm and more jokes about genitalia than I think any of us expected. Angela once again displays a completely different facet of her never-ending range, exuding such elegance and control even in trollish filth that I do fear that the kids on the internet are going to start calling her “mother” with greatly increasing frequency. "Facade" was an absolute highlight of the night. And of course Bryce anchors, propels, and heightens every scene she’s in with such apparent ease you forget she’s been rehearsing for weeks and isn’t simply Ella herself. Ella is this world’s bruised, brave, and angry heart, and you will absolutely root for her every step of the way as she wrestles with who she is and learns what it means to claim her own power.

This was Starkid’s biggest budgeted show to date, and you could tell. This group of Michigan Wolverines and friends have accomplished incredible things since the Very Potter days of a single door and some cardboard columns, and I’m so proud of how far they’ve come. And yet Cinderella’s Castle, the fifteenth musical in the fifteenth year, still retains some of that core Starkid magic that I’ve always believed boils down to love. You can so often see that love emanating from the performers on a Starkid stage: love for the show, for their friends, for their craft, for the audience’s energy pushing them through. And the sense of love and support and community radiating from the audience is just as palpable. The man sitting behind me last night was at his first ever Starkid show, and afterwards he remarked in awe how that was the best audience he’d ever been in. And all that love isn’t unearned—it is built and it is nourished by a proud history of creativity, of song and of dance and of laughter and tears. And Cinderella’s Castle, I think, is going to prove an installment worthy of both Starkid’s past and future.

Starkid family, Bogs Hollow grants thee Starlight.

[hoe4sports]

“I wanted tall, I wanted green eyes”

Jessie Fleming x reader

A/N: mentions of symptoms of the flu. Denial of being gay. This is a part of my new Jessie series called 10x better. It’s based off of the song x10 better by Marielle Craft. There will be multiple parts.

-

You groaned as you ripped the paper out of your workbook before cramming it into a ball and chucking it towards the bin. It was close to summer, and the last month of College was wrapping up. You hadn’t really wanted to do college, but you didn’t have anything else going on so your parents pulled some strings to get you into UCLA’s prestigious engineering program going with a major in material engineering. The school had a decent track program where you had excelled into a good athlete. Luckily you had found yourself a bouquet of girls in class and in track who sticked together with you through the college years. The group of you went through all kinds of hardships together as you gradually turned into adults. That had led you to sitting with the girls at a table in the library‘s area specifically dedicated to group projects and talking.

«I cant for the life of me figure this out. It just won’t stick! It really makes no sense.” You huffed at Aubrey who looked just as lost as you did. Normally, you were a decent student. Getting good grades; mostly A’s and B’s but you had the occasional C+. It didn’t bother you at all, grades and school wasn’t what defined you as a human. “What part is it that your stuck on? Maybe I can help?” Your friend Mia suggested. You dramatically flipped your textbook towards her to let her see the materials you were struggling with. She read through the page quickly before taking off her glasses dramatically. “You are on your own kid, I barely passed the test about that part.” It left you with rolling your eyes as you huffed again.

«What about that boyfriend of yours? Isn’t he like supersmart? William or whatever his name was» Ella teased as you laid your head down on the table and covered it with the book. “Ugh” you said. “Ooo, trouble in paradise!” Amalia teased. You sat up and crossed your arms as you shook your head. “Guys, cut her some slack. Y/N, I have a friend who is really smart. She plays soccer with me, I could give you her number” Mia suggested causing everyone to shut up. You sat up interested. “I’m listening” Mia smiled. “Her name is Jessie, she’s the smartest person I know! She told me that I could always ask for help so I supposed I can lend you my favor.” “Deal!” You said as you handed over your phone for Mia to type in the number of your saviour.

—

You sat infront of the big mirror in your down curling your hair like a last minute touch up. Your boyfriend had blown you off once again for studying, so you had decided to hit up Jessie so she could help you study. William was always so busy, always studying or going to his little clubs. It wasn’t that you didn’t like him, but he was just there. Life hadn’t handed over a boyfriend before college, so when William asked; you jumped on it. It wasn’t like people describe it. Like butterflies, romance and giggles. It was just like a friend that you would kiss occasionally. You had settled on the thought of you be a-romantic or asexual, it was painful to know that you were never going to experience the bliss, the romance and the tickling sensation of a relationship. It wasn’t something you wanted people to know, so you decided to keep it to yourself. It was the ugly truth, but it was still the truth that you had to deal with.

-

You sat in the library, waiting for this mystery Jessie to pull up. She was late, 13 minutes late. You hated people who were late, but you made an assumption that practice had ran late. You took a sip of your smoothie as you looked out of the big window infront of you. It was already dark outside, but the campus was buzzing. People were getting ready to push through the last few weeks of school before finishing college. Some of the students already had landed good jobs, some had gotten accepted into further studies, some had planned for a gap year and some people, like you, had no clue what to do. You just didn’t know what was in store for you. Your parents expected you to get a high paying job, but you just wanted to live. They wanted you to get married and have kids. You wanted to travel the world. You had talent in track, and you were pretty close to becoming an established runner in the 1500m and the 3000m. The expectations didn’t fit your dreams, but after all; you could chase your dreams once your parents had passed.

“Y/N?” A voice said behind cutting of your chain of thoughts leaving you to jump in your chair causing all the hairs on your body to rise. You practically whacked your head around somewhat resembling an owl as you turned to the girl next to you. “You are Y/N, right?” The girl said. “Uhm, yea. You must be Jessie? Mia’s friend?” You asked as you desperately tried to shake yourself out of the state of shock. “Yes, correct! I’m sorry for being late, practice went over and I had to shower so I wouldn’t stink out the library” she said as she turned into a shade of light pink. «I get it, i do track» you said as you gestured for Jessie to sit down in front of you. “Here, I brought you a smoothie as a thank you” you said as you pointed towards the cup next to her. Jessie politely accepted as she took a sip before beginning the session.

After a few hours of Jessie explaining the chapter tremendously, you were starting to slowly understand it. At least, enough for you to study the rest the following day. You were busy packing up your backpack with your books, MacBook and iPad when Jessie tapped your shoulder. “Wanna grab something to eat before bedtime?” Jessie’s suggestion was music to your ears as you loved food.

-

At the dining hall, it was pretty much empty. The large room was quiet, like all of the energies had gone to bed and left for the evening. It was a nice hall with tall walls and decent food. You grabbed a piece of pizza, some salad and a Pepsi Mac. Jessie grabbed Fanta to her Mac and cheese. Your conversation was flowing, and Jesse was quite funny. The sight of Jessie was adorable. She had this amazing aura that your soul craved to be around. Her freckles were cute, like a sky of stars in the middle of the night. And her eyes? Oh god, they felt warm and safe. The was she told stories enchanted you. She was the perfect woman, and that confused you. Not perfect like you wanted to be her, but like you wanted to be with her?

You were snapped out of your dreaming when Jessie called your name. “Hm? Sorry? I got distracted” You said as you took a bite of your pizza while waiting for Jessie. “I asked if you wanted to study tomorrow? I have practice at 5.30, but I’m free by 7” she said as you nodded. Oh god, did you seem desperate? Why were you like this? It felt like your skin was on fire. “Uh, yea, I have track at 5, but I’m free after 7” you confirmed as you changed the subject talking about how Mia had ended up falling asleep in a bush after a party during your freshman year.

After eating, Jessie insisted on following you back to your dorm. The walk from the community building to your dorm was refreshing. The chill spring air was crisp, cooling down your burning skin. It made your curled hair blow in the wind, just like in one of the dumb teenage movies you watched as a kid. The wind was however leaving you slightly cold as you had just worn a simple tank top with flowers printed on it for the day. You felt your body forcing you into a slight shiver, but before you were able to say something; Jessie had already wrapped her jacket around you.

When you reached your dorm, Jessie hugged you goodbye. She insisted on you keeping her jacket until tomorrow’s session which you honestly didn’t mind. You swung the door open as you waved after her and slipped into the dorm before flopping down on your bed with your backpack still on and your face looking up into the ceiling. Your skin felt even warmer now, it was practically boiling hot and your stomach was hurting. It felt uneasy, like it was tickling. It wasn’t a common feeling, and you were hoping that it wasn’t gonna turn into the y when you had plans with Jessie the next day.

“So, how was it?” Mia said as you looked into the ceiling. “Normal, it was studying” you said as you touched your burning cheeks with your cool hand. “Girl, you are blushing! Do you like Jessie?” Mia asked with seriousness in her voice. “I’m not blushing! Jessie is a friend, and I’m not into girls” you tried to advocate for yourself, but it turned out to be a miserable attempt of redemption. “You are not into girls? You came in her all smiling with stars in your eyes” she suggested as you sat up in your bed to look at her. Sure, Jessie was fun, kind, caring, sincere, smart. Pretty much all the positive verbs in the English language, but did that mean that you liked Jessie. “Besides my stomach hurts and I feel feverish, so I’m gonna go to bed miss noisy” you said as you took off Jessie’s jacket.

Mia raised an eyebrow at you. “Jessie’s jacket? You are not feverish; it’s called blushing. Your stomach dosent hurt; it’s called being in love. You like Jessie, and it’s okay! William is as interesting as drying paint” Mia finished as she grabbed her book and got cozy in her bed. “I don’t like girls! And William is tall and he has green eyes” you said as you hid your face in your pillow. Could it be that you actually liked Jessie? It wasn’t possible because you were aromantic. “Is that the best words you can use to describe him? Girl, get your ass down to earth! It’s okay to have a little crush! Mia continued as you buried your face even deeper down in the pillow. She had a point, but you were not sure. You felt like you couldn’t trust yourself. You ended up huffing in a respond hoping Mia would let you off the hook.

“I don’t know who you are trying to convince out of us two; but it’s not me.”

[dolphinsapphire28]

Some fanart idea I just had....

For those interested in drawing or crafting stickers of Fallout characters in anime or chibi fashion, here it goes.

-----

I was rewatching the Variety interview for Fallout, called "Making a Scene", and I could not stop giggling at how that interview concludes with Aaron, Ella, and Walton, who give off all kinds of energies and messages.

...

Aaron: *explaining the pathos and gravitas of Maximus and the s2 possibilities*

Ella: *practically giving acting tips following her s1 experiences*

Walton: "Can I just say one thing?" 😀

[holding deep dramatic breath....that is, me, not him!!]

*unable to stay still in his squeaky chair while gushing amidst confetti and sparkles, with a white-toothed grin that rivals all the Colgate ads of the last four decades*....

I'm playing two cool-as-shit versions of the same character, yo!!!! 😁😍🤩🎇🎉🎊✨🎆

[radiofreealbemut]

Welcome back in PAYwHATYOUWANTdAY (zero include) !!! Now each no air month, the 23th you will find a selection of 10 records from the PWYW zero include land of freedom. I do this because it’s important to do not forget that to break the rules is the better way to stay free ^^ And also of course because it’s so frustrating to share only free download music. (Previous selection is here https://radiofreealbemut.tumblr.com/post/751249798357745664/various-artists-out34-1-welcome-in )

[that-cheer-up-anon]

Finished making a cat ear beanie for my partner!

Figuring out the stitch placements to construct the ears was a pain. I couldn't follow the pattern for how I wanted them to look, bc I didn't want the long stitches to show behind the ears like they do in the pattern. I tried to make the ears curl in like a real cat's and not puff up like it had air inside looking like horns.

Their head is a lot bigger than mine and I had to try to adjust the pattern as best as I knew how. Bc it's so big it doesn't look completely right on me, but still! I think it's pretty good for my first completed knitting project in a long time.

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Hop to it Tink

Pairing: Thumper & Tink

Summary: As the mid 60’s consume Elvis with his ever more arduous film schedule and immersive hobby pursuits, Elaine crafts a friend out of a rival. For either spouse it’s not the ideal of way to cope with a lost child and estrangement, but the confusion that can occur from dumping any old thing into a wound to close it up is enough to bewilder the most grounded person. Much less a young girl like Elaine Presley who finds herself scrambling for a hint of girlhood as her five children and husband rely on her to keep it all afloat. Just as she’s going under, a pretty painted hand lifts her up.

Dedicated: to Ashley and Christi who both begged for this to be written and added so many details themselves that enriched it. Credit is also due to @prompted-wordsmith for the wicked suggestion of Benetint being used herein.

Warnings: sensuality, 18+, no outright smut but many mentioned offscreen acts, suggestiveness, this can be read as two girl friends or a little more, I tried to keep it nebulous as I imagine it would feel for Elaine herself in her exploration. a rather alarming emphasis on feet, pampering and painting toes and Elvis being overly into that, phone teasing, Larry being a little too psycho analytical over why Elvis and Elaine are having trouble after Jo, mentions of a stillborn, mentions of marital dissatisfaction, hinted male infidelity, hinted Polaroids and homemade spicy films, Elvis turning shit into being erotic that isn’t? That’s men for ya. And then just fun fluffy stuff with the kids but that’s no warning. I didn’t edit this really, I’m too tired, my apologies for any errors.

Requested: yes ✔️

Circa: 63-67

“Hey Tink?” Ann’s voice, always enviously soft even while sounding mischievous, asks abruptly in the middle of an hour long chat.

“Oh what now?” Elaine giggles into the gold phone Elvis has stashed on his nightstand, feeling silly to be sat on her bed in the middle of the afternoon, frittering it away with chatting and giggling to a friend.

That’s rather proof that Elaine needs it. Too much ‘strictly business’ in her life these days and Elaine knows if Elvis were here he’d be poking her forehead and making her fall back and put her feet up. She taps them on the floor instead, tap tap tapping her heeled boudoir slippers on the bed frame in a giddy tick as she waits for her friend to spring whatever wickedness is behind that tone of voice.

Her friend.

Elaine had hoped Ann would like her, be willing to be a buddy to THE Mrs. Presley but what they’ve got now is something she didn’t even think girls could have. It makes her view Elvis and his buddies more tolerantly, the stupid and goofy comradery she was starved for without even knowing it has slowly had its way with her in the form of Thumper and bike riding with Thumper and chatting with Thumper and kissing Thumper while Elvis writhed beneath them…so maybe it’s not like his mafia boys at all, but somehow it’s deeper despite the unorthodox beginnings and carnal undertones that seep in and out of it at whim.

“Whatcha got going on tomorrow night?” Ann asks at last, sounding altogether too nonchalant.

Elaine's heart pounds and she purses her lips, sensing a game here. She’s so like Elvis, this friend of hers, maybe that’s why Elaine gets butterflies in her belly at the chance to see and enjoy Ann, or when the telephone rings and it’s her sweet self sounding like she’s actually had to pace herself from calling Graceland when she knows full well Elvis isn’t home. She calls for Elaine, and something about that makes Elaine bite her nails and kick her feet.

“Oh not much, Jack and Jesse are trying the scuba gear in the pool right now,” Elaine sighs, “and if they don’t die tonight I suppose I’ll be here tomorrow making sure they’re still breathing and fixing sandwiches and seeing to it that Ella’s got her puppy ready for the show.” she waits a beat and adds, “You know full well he isn’t gonna be home.”

“Who?” Ann asks with overacted ditziness.

“Him.” Elaine rolls her eyes, “At least another five days away, stupid Arizonan weather has decided to rain and there has to be reshoots.”

She can hear Thumper humm on the other line with something that’s more contemplative than compassionate for Elaine’s empty bed. “How’re your toes?” she asks.

Elaine peers over the fluffy slipper tops and the profusion of lime green feathers adorning the slippers, “Decent, but they’ll need to be redone before he gets back.”

“Red?”

“French tip.”

“Hmm, Pink next, I think?” Thumper says.

“Yeah alright.” Elaine bites her lip and makes herself stop or else they’ll start peeling and need more Vaseline.

“I have to be in LA day after tomorrow. And I have a flight tomorrow morning. It stops in Memphis.”

“How nice.” Elaine murmurs, pulling on her lip now, slightly better than biting, she supposes, and it hides her grin from the gal a thousand miles away in New York.

“Yes, I thought so.” Ann agrees.

“And it’s such a long flight, New York to LA.” Elaine coos, “You’d get cramp if you didn’t break it up, can’t have you holed up like that, unable to walk out the shakes.”

“No, you wouldn’t want it for me, would you?” Ann babifies her tone and Elaine does fall back into the covers grinning stupidly up at Elvis’ ugly harem lamp above her.

“No, no I wouldn’t dream of it.” Elaine swears, “You just come by Graceland, stay the night, stretch your legs a bit, fill your belly, let me curl your hair.”

“And we can talk about boys.” Thumper agrees, like that’s her return currency for good southern hospitality…and it sorta is.

These nights when she stays, they’re something sweet and young and silly like Elaine hasn’t had in years. Never once herself in full since she married, losing all friends who knew her before Elvis, collecting folks who knew Elvis long before her, and a snazzy supply of darling children whose most stimulating conversations are about tricycles and losing a new tooth -Elaine is a little starved.

And Elvis -well, as Tink, she's his best friend, without doubt, and he is hers. But she’s also his wife, his woman and his home and his ballast and his doll and his lover and his mama and his ideal. So many roles. What she can’t talk to Elvis about is only relegated to one topic.

Elvis himself.

And such a man, a force more than a man at times, oh it needs an outlet and somehow the Mafia wives and even Betsy Blue Eyes Harrison with her discreet goodness and friendship can’t speak of what Elaine wants to speak about. A body can only go so long without bragging a little about what they’ve got, and when what you’ve got is a national heartthrob and the most famous man on earth -secrets about earth shaking ardor that rivals cataclysmic tempers, well, sometimes Elaine wants to speak of it. Or, rather, about the parts that make her love it, look forward to another day full of it. The little things that she can’t trust anyone else to know or love or see kindly.

Except for Thumper. Thumper -who has already admitted to loving him the same way, seeing him the same, living for him similarly. It’s the oddest consolation, and stranger still that his wandering eye gave it to her, but Elaine will take it.

“Yes, we could talk about boys.” Elaine agrees with Thumper, both knowing that when they say boys, they mean boys such as Naughty, Widdle Fella, Elvis Presley and The Memphis Flash.

Tomorrow comes and her sons are alive and hardly stripped out of their swimsuits to sleep before getting back in them and plunging to the depths of the swimming pool with metal tanks on their back and masks on their faces. She can’t bear to watch, looks like a perfect way to die at home, and so she stays inside and helps Ella groom her puppy for the pageant and Rosalee has an embroidered collar that needs help with fastening the buckle -she did the stitching herself- and although she hasn’t seen Daisy in hours, that wasn’t unusual.

In the afternoon she sends a car to the airport, Marty grins at her wildly and she gives him the old eyebrow before taking herself to her bedroom as the hour nears and going through a rather worn routine that still pleases her like when it was new.

The sound of the big door suctioning through the house can be heard upstairs, as can the chorus of children screaming “Aunt Tamale!” and Elaine knows it’s time to make an appearance.

Ann braces to a squat with her bag dropped beside her as a tidal wave of Presley children launch themselves at her over the foyer floor, tackling and clinging and squeezing vehemently with grinning, beautiful faces. Three are wiry, chlorinated and shirtless. It takes a moment for Ann to realize one is Daisy and that no, they’ve not made a third son since she saw them last. Jack’s golden hair has gotten darker and that’s heartbreaking but at least his dimples are deeper than ever and Jesse is just as sweet and courteously loving as always with Ella tagged behind with a wet doggie that Ann takes in her arms and let’s lick her face and Rosalee had a sketch to show her of what looked like a deformed couch but was most likely intended to be her beloved daddy’s profile and -

Oh Elaine.

Always one to make an entrance, to set the tone of a good game. She looks perfectly at home leaning against an upper bannister while observing the hubbub from above, with sheer navy cascading around her like a thundercloud and her hair tousled to perfection. Young Elvis’ portrait yearns behind her on the wall and Ann smiles at the rightness of it.

She waits till her children loosen the gambit just a little before wafting down the stairs in a tulle blur of long limbs and soft focused curves and she throws her arms around Ann and her sensible, tweed traveling suit.

“Thumper, I’ve missed you!” She’s no icy Madame in her own home, sweet Elaine, her porcelain face and macabre loungewear aside, she is warm and glowing in the rays of a waning day’s sun and Ann clings a little longer, arms around her neck and giving flesh beneath her hands, feeling oddly at home in this foyer.

“Missed you, too.”

The sleepovers always start with evenings like this. There’s playing with the kids and dinner, they may end up in the pool, they may end up watching home movies to show her what she’s missed since last visit. Perhaps there’s a new golf cart to try to flip on its top. But when bedtime comes, Thumper is a loving taskmaster, insisting everyone get to their respective rooms, starting the process thirty minutes early so that there can be as much dithering and “one more chapter” as can be and still get the kids conked out at a decent hour. Rosalee is allowed to stay and use the phone to talk to Elvis till 10:30 and in the meantime Thumper conducts tooth brushing competitions and Elaine sorts out breakfast plans with Mary.

And then it’s time for bedtime, and where Elaine might waiver about being so selfish as to deny her kids the little tiny bit of girlhood she’s carved for herself this evening, Ann has no qualms guarding that for her and summarily cleans out the big king bed of progeny.

Only little Jack is occasionally allowed to stay.

Weaned, or so Elaine swears but Anna has doubts, the kid is golden and soft and lanky like all little five year olds should be, and blessed with an unerring accuracy in beaming and scowling at the right times to get exactly what he wants. In short, he is Elvis come again in a tiny, button nosed, rosebud lipped cherub with sweaty curls begging to be pushed off his forehead by a loving hand and of course it’s half the delight to let the little fella stay and camp on the bed when they read their tabloids to each other, watching him laughing maniacally along with them at rumors about themselves that Jack doesn’t even understand.

Jack is also excellently skilled at wedging the foam pads between their toes when it’s pedicure time, allowing Elaine and Ann to bask back in matching boudoir chairs with their feet propped up on the matching stools Elvis got. Pink stain pouring over little round stools for when he wants to haul one up and chat to his wife while she applies her lashes. Jack insists on wedging the foam between their toes himself and sometimes tries his hand at painting with varying catastrophic results.

“Heyar, i’s wight heyer.” Jack’s little drawl still butchers Elaine’s diligent elocution lessons but both women fawn over him regardless when he passes them a roller they had planned on using later -not anymore- they drop the sectioned hair in process and start again with the one he gives them.

“He’s really precious, isn’t he?” Ann sighs once, staring down at him where he finally passed out between them, soft, chubby knees he got from his daddy bent askew and long fingered hands for a child tucked beneath a milk fat cheek.

“I don’t think I’d have made it without him.” Elaine admitted once and when Thumper gave her a searching look she went on, “Before there was you, there was just him. And when everyone else was ready to be happy again after Jo, he never minded when I’d take him to a room to nurse him and -“ she trail off, face lit warm by the harem lamp’s multi gemmed glow and the golden bedding around them, dark hair pinned up in rollers to show how young her face really is without paint and artifice, “-I even remember once being in Elvis’ trailer on set, right after and it was like every kid who cried around me-my body would respond and let down more and I-I didn’t have a baby for it. Except for baby Jack, and I remember sitting in that hot trailer on the lot while all the kids were out with Elvis touring the set and I was…crying.”

“Of course you were.” Ann snuggles closer, reaches over Jack’s little form to squeeze Elaine’s arm.

“I was sobbing my eyes out, actually.” Elaine admits with a shy turn of her head towards the padded headboard, “While he nursed. And then I felt his chubby little hand, all clumsy and sweaty, wiping them off without ever breaking his latch on the nipple. Wiping the tears off my cheeks.” She clarifies, “I didn’t know a baby could be so loving in the way I needed, and I’ve been close before, Jesse was my world I swear, and Ella is like watching myself again. But -his dimples pop when he gives that crooked grin and he won’t even let go of the latch, just a little…” she mimics his grin with her thumb in her mouth Ann laughs at the sight.

She laughs at the things Elaine finds funny and and she gets why Elaine loves what she loves. And night after sleepover night, Elaine finds herself admitting more and more and gets back an earful in return. It makes her giddy and makes her kick her feet when she picks up the ringing phone and hears her friend on the other line.

“I think I need to freshen up my hair.” Elaine will sigh into the receiver.

“I like how you’re growing it out, less structured, it’s younger!” Ann will agree before adding just as emphatically, “Just needs a little trim and some styling. I can come Thursday.”

One such Thursday in ‘64 Tink came out of the bathroom with tin foil in her hair and scared giddiness in her smile.

“I’ve got a surprise for ya,when you get back, Naughty.” Elaine told Elvis on the phone, forcing herself not to bite her nail in anticipation and ruin the new coat of polish.

The surprise had been an auburn haired wife.

Elvis noticed the effects of the sleepovers himself, beyond the wild sight of auburn hair, even as he looked at them askew and with a confused belligerence about fun being had without him, and many a demand regarding “what sorta fun are ya having? You’re my wife, dammit!”

His logic that ‘it don’t count if its two girls’ when excusing a night of the three of them rolling in Ann's rough cotton sheets as soon as Viva Las Vegas wrapped, didn’t hold up now. Now it very much did count that they were two little girls. Two unsupervised little girls and he was relieved when Jack stayed with them, but less so when he heard from Jack that they painted their piggies and arm wrestled in their nighties.

Elaine legitimately enjoyed grappling on the fluffy white carpet of the music room floor after ice cream had been served and wiped from childrens’ chins. It was something she tried with Elvis and never managed to win except by clinging to his back like a limpet, and even then he’d win by crushing her into the pile with his weight.

But with Ann she could tussle and strain and keep up some of that old verve that had once had her nailing softball practice in high school and currently crushing Vernon at tennis. No one in the Memphis mafia was allowed to tackle her or ought else when games were played on the lawn and no amount of flattery convinced Elaine of competency she had not exercised in years. Thumper provided just such a foil and Elaine found herself winning and losing with a clean conscience and sore body time after time, children applauding at either result.

She felt a little wild, like she had when Elvis brought the three of them together that first night, pacifying her qualms about the rightness of it as only he and his unfailing logic could do. But these days she was less and less burdened by rules or even expectation, it was her own house, her own life and if Elvis Presley had cracked open the door on hotel sheets, then Elaine saw little blame to be garnered from stepping over the threshold and creating a little world for herself that made her feel more than used up and unsellable. A “fact” Colonel Parker and the family Enterprise winced over daily. She could shut herself up in Graceland or Palm Springs and see to it that her children got an education, her husband's favored meals were served when he deigned to come home and her sanity was somewhat in place for it all by any means possible.

Elvis, for his own part, knew damn well he’d invited in whatever wild spirit of independent merrymaking Elaine now partook of. He also trusted her implicitly to keep it under wraps within the halls of their house, to indulge respectably and set a good example for his children.

It was undeniable, since her friendship with Ann began, she was looking younger, happier and more content than he’d seen her since before the tragedy, before Jo.

And Elvis cared mostly about that.

And in the way of those who do not know how to comfort others regarding a tragedy that they themselves have not recovered from, he found himself making concessions and negotiations, a bit of “so long as I can keep this, you can have that” sort of bargaining.

The ‘this’ and ‘that’ were never quite verbalized, but it was understood in that miserable harmony of married couples that he’d keep his women and his crowd of unedifying friends and employees so long as she might have household stability and a certain license to be a nutcase. Perhaps it would buy him and Larry time to figure out whatever fucked up Retrograde or inner chakra was keeping him from being able to bodily make love to his wife in the traditional way.

Larry swore he was only scared to make another child and lose it, hence why his wife remained hypothetically attractive but he could not complete his attraction carnally.

Elvis thought Larry should stick his head in the wood chipper for such a simple answer, there’s no way in hell that’s all there is to it and yet it likely was and Elvis couldn’t quite manage to accept that. Accept that he was still grieving. It wasn’t an option really. Not with everything else going on, all the different ways he was needed and wanted elsewhere, and not with the way Elaine swore she was fine until he could figure it out, so long as he loved her and was there for their kids.

Which he is. And when he’s not, Ann’s there. And Dodger. Or Marlon -on Daisy’s insistence. Or the whole damn nation.

So, much as the current order of things rankled Elvis, perhaps out of some suppressed awareness of his own role in it, ultimately having his Happy Tink back was his greatest wish.

And if it made Thumper happy as well? -goodness, it was a better end than most dalliances could boast.

But it was hard being a little sidelined, and when Charlie pointed out that Elaine must feel similarly about his flings and his fellas, Elvis wasn’t sure what the hell he was on about as Elaine was very much incorporated in both, as much as she liked to be. She just liked to be less and less and that was on her. Charlie still suggested he tell her how he felt about it.

But then Tink beat him to it.

He was laying there in bed, at Graceland, at some pitch black early morning hour one time, with five sleeping children scattered in their bed, when she told him she didn’t mean to make him feel lonely. It was all Elvis needed to hear. That she knew she was doing that, and if she knew it, then he knew that before long she’d find a remedy. He just needed to be a little more patient.

Which wasn’t his forte but Tink was quick and ingenious and once she’d come up with how to help, he just about wished she never had. The cure was as cruel as it was mouthwatering.

Elvis was in his trailer one day, on a movie set as Elvis was most days this year, and had spared some time from shooting due to another department needing to sort something out. The something didn’t matter, what did matter was that he got to sit in his trailer with his friends earlier than usual for an evening, put on his helmet and watch the game. And then his team won. Which, in the raucous, bottle clinking, cigar lighting jubilation of celebrating such a win, had him almost missing the ringing of the telephone he had wired in.

Only the Colonel and Graceland and little blonde Shirley from last movie set had his number and so Elvis scrambled over his red sofa cushions, threw off his helmet and leaned over to pick the phone up, hollering, “H’allo?” into the receiver while chopping at his throat with his hand in a demand for silence from his boys.

“Naughty?”

“Why, if it ain’t my pwecious baby wife.” he cooed with a sappy grin on his face, happily flipping on his back in the cushions, all being right with the world with his girl’s voice in his ear and his team in the playoffs.

“How’re you doin’ baby?” she asked him sweetly, and he could hear her settling into the sheets, the rustle couldn’t be from the kitchen.

He kicked his feet up above his head and propped them against the wall, “Pretty damn good, you watch the game?”

“Jesse and Thumper gave me a play by play.” she informed him.

“What were you cookin’?”

“Dumplings. Couldn’t step away.”

“Aww.” he knew it had to be something precious and easily burned to keep her from watching. “And now?”

“Now I’m petting Whiskers.” she informed him.

Their cat. “I trust Annie ain’t pettin’ any kitties of mine, is she?” he mumbled in a discreet little growl, cupping the phone to his mouth.

Joe glanced over anyway. Elvis found the toe of his boot tapping a jittery rhythm against the trailer wall and as annoying as he found it himself, he couldn’t stop. He felt nervous, oddly, like when he used to call Elaine from Germany, way back when before she’d joined him. Back when he wasn’t sure he knew her fully. She kept him on his toes and he liked that, it made his blood rush and satiated his natural eagerness for newness -but oh how he wondered sometimes how she always dredged up this newness. If he knew her, really knew her would -would she keep being so surprising?

Fuck. Maybe Larry was right, maybe he needed to pop a pill like an old fart and get it on with her, get it outta his system.

Where were they? Oh, cats. And Ann.

“Elvis, c’mon, really.” Elaine chided with a giggle, “Ann is setting up the pedicures.”

“Oh.” Elvis sucked in a breath at the way such a reassurance sent the blood from his panicked brain to his jealous heart and then melting down like molten desire right between his legs. He flexed his belly and gnawed on his thumbnail. “Oh yeah?” he tried again and sounded so damn wrecked that every friend in the place looked at him as if he’d just put on a porno. “Y’all paintin’ your piggies? Mmm? Pink, yeah? Fuck’meee.”

“Mhmm, well, she hasn’t gotten to painting yet.” Elaine expounded with a sigh, “She’s oiling them up, I’ve had to endure a fifteen minute sermon on dry cuticles, Elvis, and now she’s squeezing and rubbing my poor piggies till they’re tingly-“

“Laney!“ he hollered as if she dropped a 2x4 on his own toes and the guys crowded in, a mixture of mockery and interest on their faces. Elvis spread a hand out on his chest to regulate his breathing and cursed at the realization that his wife wasn’t the slightest bit clueless as to what she was doing. “Oh Laney, what -what’s she usin’ to oil ya?” he begged to know, his nose breathing deeply as if he could guess it a thousand miles away.

“Baby oil, Elvis,” Elaine sounds so earnest in his ear, “I told her you don’t let me use nothin’ else on them.”

“Good girl.” he growled after realizing she couldn’t see his decisive nod of approval at her obedience.

“Oooh” he hears her breathe in his ear and startles up from the couch in a little flail that has no destination save that he heard his wife moan and it requires some expenditure of energy from him or he’ll go nuts laying here imagining her in her babydoll nighty, her pretty little bare toes getting oiled up by Annie.

“Tink, what she doin’ to yous, Tink?” he demands urgently, and the guys crowd closer, Elvis tugs at his pant leg and knows it’s futile, his rock hard dick is trapped in Edith’s well tailored trousers and all he can do is bring his feet off the wall and spread as much as he can.

“S-she’s rubbing my arch.” Elaine tells him, “I was wearing those pretty little white heels all days, the white ones you got me.” she reminds him and he smiles at the visual of her clicking through their home.

“She makin’ ya feel good?” he prompts his eyes glossy and far away from his gaudy trailer and the smell of cigar smoke. “Rubbin’ the sore right out?”

“Yeah, yeah feels good.” She slurs.

He can just picture her all puddled and lax and slippery- “Hers all gooey?” he hopes, running a hand over his belly that keeps flexing and quivering like little Elvis is deep in cunt.

Elaine on the other end of the line smirks at the shift in his tone, gone entirely from jealousy to fanciful imaginings that are far, far beyond anything she’s indulging in but somehow it’s terribly exciting to know what he’s thinking, to lure him in and have only his own, nasty, boyish mind to blame for the misfire. She winks down at Thumper who truly is doing a remarkable job on those sore arches and gives another little moan. “Yeah, yeah I could fall outta bed I’m so gooey.”

She hears the shuddering breath he takes and can imagine him, crisp slacks and ruffled pompadour, laying on his back against velvet red cushions, legs splayed in a pantomime of dying and his lackeys gathered around like a sleazy last supper.

“I think we’ve really got his motor thrumming, Thumper.” she feels safe enough to giggle and hears Elvis give only a heart rending:

“Goddamn, whyyyy!” over the phone in reply.

“Need a defibrillator, boss?” she can hear Marty ask him and hears only petulant moaning about needing a wife in reply.

It did the trick, or at least, part of the trick. The trick of making the Presley’s feel connected to each other again and Larry agreed that it was good, a good step towards normality even if it was a little polyamorous and crowded for a typical marriage. Such phone calls made Elvis feel included and Elaine nearly re-besotted with a man who, when on the other end of a phone line and thousands of miles away, sounded desperate and devoted, something her wifely self hadn't felt from him in a little while.

Elvis brought home amongst his many gifts a couple of new cameras, and having taught Jesse how to use the still one, paid his son five dollars for each documented arm wrestle and diving contest. How he paid his wife for each documented lingerie try-on and manicure session was never revealed but her shoe box of pastel gauzy Polaroids suggested the compensation was ample incentive. How Tink paid Thumper was anyone's guess and no one’s knowledge. Maybe it was that Cartier diamond set she wore to a premiere the following week.

It was a natural graduation of events that Elvis should, being at home during one of Thumper’s convenient memphian layovers, be a camera wielding witness to one of these night time pamperings. They politely ignored him and his bright lights that beamed on their little haven in front of the dresser, pink satin chairs aglow and their faces almost angelically washed out on the film. That night, Elaine’s hair was restored to a deep chocolate color, Ann’s outfit for her next premiere was chosen and the silk pajama’s Elvis donned for the evening had to be discarded.

The camera wielding didn’t stop there, when Thumper was brought down to Circle G Ranch, an entire production was made, the only picture film Elvis Presley ever fully produced and directed and costumed in the 1960’s -and it was full of subtext, straw, piglets, bare skin and harmed vegetables. But it occurred over an slippery, sweaty, pungent afternoon and was not a sleepover and so has no place being detailed in this chapter.

What does deserve a place here is the great Tink and Thumper adventure with Benetint that happened about a year into this charming, girlish, sleepover habit.

They’d bought matching nighties you see, sheer with a gingham print. Yet, when going to photograph their charming selves in them, they found the rosiness lacking -or at least, Thumper thought it could be improved. The printed fabric was to blame for the faded-nipple effect but was too adorably bucolic to be abandoned entirely. So, after a foray into the smokey backstages of some Vegas showrooms, Ann arrived one day in Palm Springs with her sundry gifts for the children, and tucked into her purse, was an uninspiring little bottle of something that could easily have been mistaken for nail polish.

Sitting cross legged on the vanity, Elaine soon learned it was anything but.

It was too quiet in the bathroom, just their huffed breaths and the squeak of the lid unscrewing. Even before the icy chill flicked over her skin she felt her arms break out in gooseflesh and she sucked in a breath, bracing for the tickle. Elvis had done this, to her belly, that first time she’d grown his children and her belly rent apart with a lightning bolt down its middle.

It had felt loving then, kindhearted and boyish.

Ann crouching to bosom level, flicking the little brush with its smelly mixture across her pert nipples, breath ghosting against the red blush of Elaine’s breast, silk pooling useless off her shoulders -this was different, oddly so. Somehow more intimate than when a man, or what Elaine knew of men, did it. Here was no pleasurable usage to brace for, only girlish admiration and a charming lack of regard for ought else but this, this single, charged, shivering moment.

Elaine could see Ann’s dark roots from up above. She wanted to pull that thin bottom lip of hers and snap it back against her teeth. Feeling useless sitting getting adorned so soberly, Elaine swiped the hair falling into her friend’s eyes, up and off her brow and into the buoyant coif that chasing the children had already half dismantled.

It made Ann drop her brush. “I wasn’t expecting-“ she fumbled.

She went back to it, such warmth so close and Elaine watched with a confused heart as Ann swirled the icy slick once more over the outer ring of a babe abused areola, taking her bleeding little rosebuds and making them into dark cherries.

“How do they look?” Elaine asked Thumper as Ann stood at a little distance in the large bathroom, eyeing up her art with her absurd little brush raised, a consummate artist and a distracted friend.

“You look like I imagined.” Ann replied as if without thinking before her face colored the shade of the pink rug and she must roll her eyes in an effort to sabotage the escaped sentiment.

“Imagined when?” Elaine asked, leaning forward on the counter, not bothering to cover up as it would only smear, perhaps some part of her knew without consulting the mirror the image that she made.

A dark haired vixen with the body of an ivory cello, leaning forward with those creamy mounds topped like Shirley Temples with their little ornaments.

-knowing yet curious, hungry yet soft.

Ann swallowed hard and thought about the end of all this that Elaine had once predicted in the beginning, an end that was all wedding veils and bouquets and everlasting vows with some fella Ann was supposed to find and love since Elvis wasn’t available. Elaine swore it would come and Ann had hoped she’d been right. The idea sickens her lately, thinking of somehow there being some other best friend, someone else to flick bath water at and ogle in their silk pajamas, someone else to have her heart lurch over when the children crawl atop them and the motorbikes thrum beneath them. The more successful she got the more she wanted this.

Just this.

“When he used to talk about you.” she admits her imaginings had been detailed and flattering for the wife of the man she once lay beside. Not even in dreams of wildest jealousy and unfair slight could Elaine be anything but something Ann craved to know and be known by. “I-I dreamed of being stabbed by you.”

Ann had woken up flaming with desire from those nightmares. Pretty Elaine Presley coming alive from the front of a newspapers and screaming “traitor!” hacking at Ann’s broken little heart with a pie server. Only for Elaine to end up being kind, lonely and a bit of a tease.

“Why’re you crying?” Elaine asked softly, finally slipping off her marble perch and taking Ann’s chin in her hand firmly.

“I’m going to miss this.” she muttered miserably in realization of the overseas tours next year and the boys she entertained but didn’t like enough to trust with a single secret and the way Marlon was around here too often lately. “And you know too much of me.” she hit Elaine’s arm playfully.

The grip on her chin jerked in retaliation. “I’ve been worried. You’re getting famous.” Elaine admitted, and the way she referenced fame was if it was a cancer.

“But I can come here, right?”

“Always.”

“Even if I’m married?”

Elaine looked a little surprised and questioning and when Ann shook her head in the negative to being currently engaged she lightened again, “Especially if you’re married. Married women go mad without some woman to talk to about being married.”

“You’re some woman.” Ann purred because Elaine Presley was stood too near with her pale soft breasts brushing Ann’s arm.

“You could be too, if you’d let me paint you.” Elaine dug the bottle out of Ann’s chilled fingers and went back to the sink, her reflection showing the heightened color crawling down her neck. “Get over here Thumper.” she snapped her fingers and Ann slinked up on the counter like a condescending house cat. “Am I to paint over chiffon?” Elaine stared at the still tied nightdress unimpressed until Ann was forced to fling it open - to her credit, not without adding much pizzaz to the whole thing with a high kick that only barely missed Elaine's face and a haughty toss of her head.

Her act petered out with a shy chuckle that faded into fully nothing.

“You’re very pretty.” Elaine whispered as she stood frozen in front of her in a ready stance, bottle clutched and tiny brush brandished, looking like a juvenile boy trying to recall his father’s tips on how to flatter. “But, then - you know that, I suppose.”

“I’m cold.” Ann whispered, her eyes darting to the side.

“Oh, yes,” Elaine was suddenly in motion, stepping nearer with clear eyes, “this makes it worse. Trust me. I’ll be fast, I swear.”

“It’s fine.” Ann breathed and then promptly forgot how.

As if in slow motion she watched Elaine crouching to better see her work, and her pretty hand burdened with all of Elvis’ shiny spherical gifts descended until it made contact on her bare nipple.

“Oh Elaine.” Ann enunciated through a gasp, her hands that had been listlessly sitting on the countertop curled over the edge of the marble, gripping tight.

“Cold isn’t it?” Elaine murmured again, her hand coming to rest beside her work in direct opposition to the cold paint. Firm, steadying, warm flesh on her sternum made Ann tremble, she watched Elaine‘s eyes flick up to meet hers, an odd sort of edge and command in them she’d never seen before.

Or. Rather, she had, but only ever with Elvis, only ever directing that look to him.

“He did this to me once.” Elaine told her, voice gone deep and then another stroke of the brush. “Not my nipples -it was my belly.”

“Captain Marvel.” Ann huffed a laugh, recalling the way he’d made her trace the bolt on his wife their first night, eager as a boy who’d discovered magic.

“Captain Marvel is telling you to hold still, missy.” Elaine chided her wiggling friend and Ann felt a flush all over.

“I’m just breathing.”

“Hard.” Elaine snarked, staring down at Ann’s heaving chest with a sardonic brow.

The intensity of that gaze was too much.

“It’s too much.” Ann said it in defense and Elaine’s eyes fluttered up to meet hers, her whole body straightening.

“For you too?” Elaine begged tremulously and Ann felt a rush of connection at her vulnerability.

“For me too.” she nodded.

“Gosh.” Elaine exclaimed, startled but making no move to flee, she just stayed there, hemming Ann in on the countertop and studying her face like it was the dearest thing.

“This isn’t making it better.” Ann whined as she felt that beautiful face near hers -the thunk of Elaine’s forehead against her own soon followed.

She felt her hands hold her waist gently like a dozen lovers had before and none felt as tender as this.

“You know the thing about fame is,” spearmint wafted over Ann’s face and she closed her eyes to listen to Elaine’s soft, pondering drawl, “it's held up all those years as the thing that’ll make everything all right. When the only thing that makes things even slightly bearable is a friend who knows what you're talking about. If you ever get tired, Annie, of being known for all the wrong reasons, you just come on back. We’ll always find something of us here, I know it.”

Elaine’s thumbs played across freckled skin like dainty wipers on Ann’s cheeks, swiping off one tear after another into her dyed hairline and one mere jut of Ann’s set chin brought the lower half of their faces together.

plush, warm, minty, sticky, glossy, brushing, lilting

-turn aside.

“Do you wanna -the camera, Tink?”

“No.” Mrs. Presley answered honestly as she stepped back, a little tremble in her voice, “Not tonight. I think -perhaps I, perhaps we, should call Elvis.” Elaine stared off into the adjoining bedroom with swimming eyes, their little project once undertaken for his gaze had suddenly become too intimate to be shared, even with him, even as dried ink on a glossy Polaroid weeks from now, “And maybe bring in Jack, he looked restless.”

“Oh yes.” Ann cheered and it was weak, snotty, hoarse little lie. But it was for Elaine. Anything for Elaine. “Let’s.” she agreed.

—Yes. Bring in Jack, why don’t you? And Elvis and Marlon and your charities and your causes and when it gets too crowded with just us two, bring in the whole nation!—

Ann willed the puddling tears away from the rim of her eyes, it wasn’t fair how a woman so immune to jealousy as Elaine Presley could spark so much in others.

“I bet Jack will be up to my shoulder by the time I get back from tour.” Ann joked as they crept down the hall to their boy’s bedroom, “And Jesse will break my heart with your face on a teenager's runty little body.”

It was a promise. To be back.

And come back in good spirits and with good intent. To take as much as was offered, be happy with it. Just as she knew if she herself showed up tomorrow with a husband, Elaine would be as ecstatic as if it were her own dream come true.

Some friends really do just love you enough that way. And that had to be enough.

Tags, if you’d like to be added just drop a comment to that effect below. I don’t bite and I do adore feedback, I run off of even the slightest scream from you. I appreciate you all and hope you enjoyed this. Xoxo marina

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[theresattrpgforthat]

do you know of any solo-player crafting / designing games? like a witch making posions or someone building a cottage? the dream is a pen and paper solo-player architecture design game. or exploration/scavenging??

THEME: Crafting and Exploration

Hello friend, I selected some games that try to fit as many of the different prompts you are looking for here. Nothing fits everything, but everything fits something.

Dust and Void, by Robin Gibson.

The last remnants of humanity reside on Cathedral, a space-faring city, on its centuries-long mission to find a new home. Cathedral relies on spacecraft designed for deep space scavenging for vital resources.

In Dust and Void, players take on the role of these pilots. Players will explore the depths of space, look for resources, avoid dangers, and balance work, well-being and worship to make a name for themselves and build a legacy. Can you bring in enough to see humanity to a brighter tomorrow, and also to stay in the relative comfort of deep space?

This looks like a game that balances multiple characters, but is still designed for one person. It also appears to be a balancing game, so I’d expect being required to fulfill multiple objectives without depleting energy reserves or resources. If you want a game with high stakes and strategic options, you might want to check out Dust and Void.

Courier, by Sleepy Sasquatch Games.

Courier is a solo-RPG where you take control of a Courier—someone who travels the Wasteland delivering and trading cargo in exchange for REP, the currency of this post-apocalyptic future. As you explore the world around you, locations and factions are revealed and recorded on your map.

Choose to take jobs for factions and build reputation to access new benefits all while becoming better at your job and earning new character perks.

Courier is a highly structured game that focuses on exploration and salvage, leading your character through locations and various encounters, including Combat, Trade, and salvaging cargo. You work towards completing quests, earning money, and upgrading your reputation. Courier is probably the most like a traditional ttrpg in this list, and is great if you want to play a game but don’t want to be responsible for creating the world around you.

Guillotine Earrings, by Ella Watts.

You are a magical jeweller in a city on the brink of revolution. A solo RPG.

Guillotine Earrings is a magical journalling game on two pages. Your character is a jeweller living in a city on the brink of revolution, held in the grip of a cruel and despotic tyrant.  Over the course of the game, you describe and draw the jewellery they make as they attempt to fan the flames of protest in the city with their art. You also describe the parties they attend, the allies they find, and the communities they enlist as they start a revolution behind the unlikely barricade of their storefront. It's up to you to decide which you prefer - or to play the game more than once, creating different people in different cities as they try to rise up against their oppressors.

This game is intriguing to me because while your character is responsible for making items, you’re also crafting a revolution. Your decisions throughout the game will determine whether you’ll have a better chance to improve your art or improve your revolution’s odds through persuasive checks - recruiting for the cause, making powerful allies, and improving your network. There’s also optional rules for a jenga tower or a pool of jewelry, if you want to heighten the tension and increase the randomness of your results. If you want a game where your character occupies a niche in society that gives them the ability to cause great changes in the world around them, I’d recommend Guillotine Earrings.

Botanicals, by Ben K Rosenbloom.

A game for making potions to solve peoples' problems.  For one or more players. You will need some flowers, spices, maybe some bottles or cups, and anything else you want to throw in a potion.

This game can be played solo, although it also has instructions for higher player counts. This game might even work as a single-person larp, as it recommends creating your potions and determining their effects based on their colour and scent. The crafting of this game is more literal than it is theoretical, and it is likely to require some cleanup afterwards, so if what you are looking for is something immersive, this might be a good option. If you’re looking for mechanical crunch, you might want to look somewhere else.

Salvager, by TEU Games.

Collect salvage from wrecked space ships. You will gain in power and equipment. If you live long enough, retire to a life of luxury. 

This is another exploration game that brings you across a hexmap as you look for salvage. The game fits on 2 pages, but is full of descriptions of what you find inside the ships, as well as roll-tables determining what your retirement looks like depending on how many credits you save. Just be warned - if you duck out of a job before it’s done, you risk losing money and also retiring in disgrace!

Bad Bad Brew, by CABBAGEHEAD.

BAD BAD BREW features a colourful trifold spread with all the rules and inspiration you need to brew your next potion. It includes all the instructions, several tables for ingredients and side effects, and your Alchemist's Tools to easily change its properties.

The game is designed to be accessible, easy to play and highly replayable. All you need is one six-sided die, writing tools and some creativity to start playing.  The average session can be last from 10 minutes to as long as you want.

This is another game that has some tactile components to it, asking you to literally brew some of your concoctions. The game also expects your character to not always get the recipe right - and when that happens, expect a number of interesting side-effects. The game also suggests porting your creations into group sessions - perhaps something that your character made gets sold to an adventuring party! If you want something that can be played quickly, with many possible uses, check out this game.

Renovation, by kay w.

Renovation is a solo journaling game about a house. Whether or not the house is haunted depends on your definition of a haunting. In this game, you play as the house, old and worn, full of many memories and perhaps even ghosts. A new owner has come to renovate.

You do not wish for the renovation, but it comes regardless. 

This is a story in which the architecture of a house is a form of resistance - and the new creation that you turn into at the end of the game is a horror, not an accomplishment. This is the closest I could find to an architecture game, using a deck of cards to determine what element of your house is changed. If your foundation crumbles, you are no longer the house you once were. This game certainly isn’t for everyone, but if you’re interested in a horror take on a game, this might be worth taking a peek at.

Masterpiece, by LordPaido.

It was on my walk home from the store when I saw it. A bird floating through the air, barely flapping its wings. At once, ideas began clamoring for attention; moving without movement as the theme for a new poem! But my masterpiece could also use such an allegory, although it might take more editing to make work….I'm so close, and yet, I feel so much further than when I started….just a few days more, and it should be complete.

Masterpiece is a solo GM-less journaling game about the creative process and what goes into making a truly unique work of art. Maintain your inspiration as you draw on the influences of the world around you, past, present, and future. Strive to remain focused and not grow distracted by lesser works. Weather whatever storms the outside world and your inner landscape throw at you – and see if you have what it takes to reach your full potential.

This game lists architecture as one of the forms of art you could use in your creative process. The game depends on a deck of cards, which you draw from to navigate your ideas, as well as tokens, which you use to track your character’s inspiration. Every “day”, you draw and place a card, and then interpret your progress into a journal entry. Sometimes you might draw an idea for a lesser work, which is mean to replicate how artists often have more ideas than time to complete them. The game might end with a finished Masterwork, but it might not! Out of all of the games I looked at, this is probably the most suited to the architecture prompt you listed. I hope you find it interesting!

Games I’ve Recommended Before

Grimoire, by Anna Landin.

Exclusion Zone Botanist, by William Rose.

[zerozeroren]

Redesigning Ella again, hopefully for the final time

I liked what I was doing with NanElla but I always ran into the problem of them being too different, and not in a "opposites attract" kind of way but more in a "they have so little in common they wouldn't have anything to talk about or find relatable in each other" way.

So I changed it. To my favourite trope of "Oh. I see you. I see what you're going through because I was once in the same place. Let me show you the way out". So Ella is now a beginner (very beginner) tattoo artist. She was once a very successful specialist in a high demand field but the job drained her of life, and she, 35ish at the time, finally found strength to leave and attempt to do what she always wanted. Her and Nana have a meet-cute in a tattoo parlor where Nana walked in for her first tattoo and found herself a little short on cash. Ella was offered to her as a discounted option because Ella, being a relative newbie, would also benefit from an addition to her portfolio.

And so it happened. Ella made small talk and Nana responded and they found things to talk about (bashing Nana's current workplace, music tastes, arts and crafts for hobbies), had several long smoke breaks together, and by the end Nana found herself with her first tat, a phone number, and a promise to go to a pottery class together.

[elbiotipo]

"Llevo mi sombra alerta sobre la escama del agua abierta, Y en el reposo vertiginoso del espinel,"

2002. A Luna-Soyuz spacecraft, launched by the Space Shuttle Atlantis, approaches the International Lunar Base, the 43th Interkosmos mission.

Darío asks to excuse himself to the living module to take a breath, at least as anyone can take a breath inside a pressurized spacecraft. Baikonur and Houston bounce the suggestion between themselves and they finally agree, he's just there to mind the payload after all, so might as well take it easy. He leaves his fellow astronaut and cosmonaut behind, and they resume bantering about the engineering of the Shuttle and the Buran, as they have done through all the trip.

"Sueño que alzo la proa y subo a la luna en la canoa, Y allí descanso, hecha un remanso mi propia piel."

On his mind, Darío knows the rotation of the craft. He knows where the spherical module of the Soyuz is heading. Looking through the viewport, like a sailor looking at a stormy sea, something he never experienced, he sees Earth rising over the horizon of the Moon.

"Calma de mis dolores, ay, Cristo de los pescadores, Dile a mi amada que está apenada esperándome,"

The craters of the Moon fly below him, endlessly repeating in a fractal landscape untouched by erosion. Darío remembers the countless lagoons of Corrientes like little dots, the first time he saw them when flying a Pucará over the green marshes.

His attention turns to the Earth. He can't see those lagoons from here. He can't even tell where Corrientes is. The picture is big, bigger than he ever imagined. The Atlantic glistens as its hit with the noon Sun, and the American continent spreads from pole to pole in its glory. He has to look up, as there is no South or North in space, to see the emerald Amazon, the spine of the Andes, and the endless Pampas. He can't tell where each land starts and ends, as clouds swirl over them.

The barren Moon is right below him, calling with her presence. It's real, close to him. That fishing village he thinks about, the living Earth above him, might as well be a fantasy.

"...Que ando pensando en ella mientras voy vadeando las estrellas, Que el río está bravo y estoy cansado para volver."

Darío narrows his eyes, trying to find the glint of a golden river.