#for some more wiggle room in the future if i make more posts about this au.

[starry-bi-sky]

tales of the passerine - danny fenton being bruce wayne's first kid

okay okay. so this is like a continuation/elaboration of my oneshot/prompt i wrote about the idea that Danny was the first batkid. We have a lot of aus where he joins the family after the rest of the bats do, right? So hey! Lets shake things up a bit. Danny is the first to be adopted by Bruce Wayne.

Danny's parents and unfortunately Jazz die shortly after the events of TUE -- how so? I was gonna say an ecto-filter explosion, that would call back to the TUE explosion and trauma behind that. But lets do something new! Carbon-monoxide poisoning.

It's not too unexpected for something to break in the Fenton house, especially with the Fenton parents' questionable understanding of proper weapon handling and lab safety. The water heater broke from a stray shot by one of the weapons, and was promptly MacGyver'd incorrectly. Danny went to stay with Tucker for a guys' night, and came back to a dead silent house.

(Danny's neighbors got a very unfortunate shock when he ran to the next house over in hysterics.)

There was a lot of shuffling around with CPS, the police. People had to be called in to handle the equipment in the lab, and the GIW was rumoring to show up in aid to clearing the scene. When Danny heard of that, he immediately went and dismantled the ghost portal to the best of his abilities. He burned the physical blueprints of all his parents' inventions, their blueprints on the ghost portal, and their most dangerous weapons were destroyed beyond recognition. Anything to prevent the GIW from getting their hands on his parents' tech.

It opened up another investigation, but he was not under the list of suspects. He was placed in the care of Vlad Masters, where they then went back to the rebuilt castle mansion in Wisconsin. Danny, terrified of the future that has once passed and may do so again, shuts down in his grief. Inadvertently, he ends up somewhat repressing his ghost half. Something Vlad, who is grieving Madeline but relishing in Jack's demise and his custody of Daniel, is not very happy with.

Vlad's... gone into a bit of a mental health spiral. He's becoming increasingly possessive over Daniel, the final remnants of his friends and a liminal being like him. He doesn't like that Danny's repressing his ghost half -- both out of genuine concern as a ghost, but also because of his desire to control Danny and groom him into the perfect son. If you ever had a phase where you read Dark SBI found family fics, first off; me too bro, and second off; those are the vibes I'm thinking of.

Danny's mentally shut down from grief! And fear. He's dropped into a bad depressive state -- paralyzed with grief and the terror of the inevitable. Clockwork saved his parents because he believes in second chances, but what's the point of that when his family ended up dead anyways? Danny doesn't wanna believe that he's destined to become evil, and he's holding out onto that hope, but it's a thin line, and he feels utterly hopeless and trapped. He hasn't used his powers or ghost form since he trashed the lab, and Vlad has alarms set up to prevent him from trying to escape.

He's also unintentionally cut off Sam and Tucker -- both of whom are so scared and concerned for Danny too, and are trying their damndest to reach out to him. He keeps ignoring their texts. Danny basically haunts Vlad's manor. He goes out to eat if he has to, attends parties Vlad drags him to, and stays in his room all day if he can.

At parties, Vlad doesn't allow Danny to leave his side, or really talk to anyone -- not that Danny wants to. A product of Vlad's increasing possessiveness. Well, he almost doesn't let Danny leave his side. Danny has a habit of slipping off to hide somewhere for the parties whenever he can, and Vlad reluctantly allows it so long as he stays alone.

This becomes an advantage when eventually, Bruce Wayne returns to Gotham after missing for years, and holds a bright charity ball to celebrate the return. Vlad has been chomping at the bits to get his hands on Wayne Industries, and with the return of its owner there is no better opportunity to wipe out his rival. He goes, and he as normal, brings Daniel with him.

Vlad thinks Wayne will bleed his little heart out for Daniel's poor orphan sob story -- he's a fellow orphan himself, after all. He's not wrong; Wayne's little heart will bleed, just not in the way that benefits him.

Bruce sees Vlad and Danny approaching before they're even close enough to introduce themselves - and like with many of the children he will soon come to care for, it's like someone set a mirror into the past right in front of him.

Danny Fenton's suit is tailor-made for him, and despite the fact that it's his perfect size, the sag in his shoulders, the ducked down head, and the way he hunches into himself all pictures the image of a child in shoes too big for him. There's a far away, glazed over look in his eyes and grief marble-cut into the lines of his face. There's not enough makeup in the world that will hide the dark circles under his eyes.

("My nephew, Daniel Fenton." Vlad's hands are possessive on Danny's shoulders. Bruce immediately notices the way the boy tenses under his touch. "His parents passed recently, and as his godfather I was designated his guardian.") ("I'm so sorry, the loss must've been terrible.") ("Yes, carbon-monoxide poisoning caused it. Daniel was out with friends, when he came home... they had already passed.") (Bruce immediately dislikes that Vlad shared the details of their death unprompted -- he likes it even less when Danny flinches at the reminder and hunches into himself.)

Danny runs off at some point earlier into the charity. At this point, parties are still being held at Wayne Manor (because iirc google search mentioned that was a thing at first before it was changed), so he disappears and hides in one of the empty rooms nearby. It just so happens to be the same room Bruce Wayne hides in when he needs a break from all of the socialization.

Thus begins a long, long process of trust. Bruce can't reveal his hand as being smarter than he looks, but he can be compassionate. Kindness needs no measure of intelligence. He keeps Danny company for as long as he can before he runs the risk of being found.

Rinse and repeat. Vlad insistently wants Wayne Industries, and he'll go to as many Wayne parties as he can to get his hooks into the man. The problem is that Bruce Wayne is never alone, and getting him alone is impossible. Finding him too. It's like the man never stops moving. Always talking to someone, always circling somewhere. He orbits around the room as if he isn't the sun of the Gotham Elite's solar system.

Danny's had such repetitive behavior that Vlad never thinks to believe that Bruce Wayne is disappearing to go talk to him. That "Vlad's" son is even interacting with him at all. Danny never gives him a reason to think so, and neither does Bruce.

Danny doesn't actually acknowledge Bruce until a handful of parties in, where he hands Bruce a small slip of paper he smuggled in that says; "don't trust Vlad". Danny's face stays carefully blank, but he's so tense that his hands are trembling, and he's purposely looking away from him. Bruce plasters a smile onto his face, slips the paper into his pocket, and tells him "okay".

(he's been busy with his own goals with the mafia, but he sets aside time to investigate Vlad Masters. He was holding off. Until now.)

Danny does eventually start speaking to Bruce, he's starting to really like the guy. He's starting to see a little hope, even as Vlad is starting to get more and more agitated with him the more he refuses to use his powers.

He reaches out to Sam and Tucker again, and starts trying to reconnect with them. Vlad has spyware on his phone, and he limits the amount of times he can talk to them. A weird parental control lock of some sort that leaves a time limit on how long he can talk to them for. 30 minutes. Danny doesn't tell them anything about Mr. Wayne.

Danny, slowly, wants out of here, and he's slowly gathering the motivation to do it. Vlad is genuinely scaring him -- and Danny wonders just how truthful the past-future Vlad was when he told him that Danny wanted his ghost half separate. He starts trying to come up with an escape plan.

Vlad has anti-ghost wards everywhere around the mansion, and while they're always on, they boost to full power at sunset. The doors and windows are always locked, all main exits have alarms set on them. The only reason it's not super extensive is because Danny hasn't tried leaving at all yet, so Vlad hasn't had to tighten anything.

At night, Vlad locks the door to his room and puts up an anti-ghost ward around the room. The mansion is on the outside westward side of Madison, more entrenched in rural Wisconsin. The closest town is a four-way stop sign with one house on three corners, and an open bar on the fourth. Not much to go.

He refuses to go to Sam and Tucker; Vlad would look there first. It's too dangerous. Vlad would sound alarm bells and have a manhunt looking for him, Danny can't risk going just anywhere. Too much risk of being found, sold out, or caught. There's really nowhere for him to hide.

Until there is. Bruce is telling Danny about the history of Wayne Manor, and says, as casually as saying the weather; "The manor has dozens of empty rooms, I'm sure Alfred wouldn't mind filling another one if he could." And quietly, hesitantly, Bruce places a careful hand on Danny's shoulder, unrestrictive and gentle; "He wouldn't mind getting one ready for you if you need one."

And there it is. There's his out.

Danny, just as quietly, replies; "I'll keep that in mind."

The ball starts rolling.

Now I've been trying to summarize this au as much as possible for length convenience, but Vlad has been steadily growing more and more controlling. More emotionally manipulative. More agitated at Danny for not using his powers.

He wants Wayne Industries under his thumb but he's been steadily growing more and more concerned with Danny. He's started grabbing him, yanking him around, shaking him; trying to goad him into using his powers. He gets angry when Danny doesn't react, or tells him he doesn't want to use his powers. He hasn't outright attacked him, but he's getting there. This has been happening over the time it takes for Bruce to indirectly offer Danny sanctuary at his home.

It all comes to a head when Vlad stops going to parties at all -- something Danny has to pretend he isn't upset about -- because Vlad doesn't want him around other people anymore. Vlad rarely goes now without him, and only leaves to go to a Wayne function or to handle something at VladCo.

Danny can't wait for Vlad to leave long enough to escape. So he leaves during the night of a big storm. Vlad's locked him in his room, but Danny doesn't bother trying to go for it; he goes to the alarmed window instead. Danny's been repressing his ghost half so long that he can't access his powers immediately anymore -- he can feel it, he knows its there, but he can't quite reach it.

He breaks the lock by hand.

Immediately the alarm goes off through the entire castle, filling the room with red, and he scrambles for the rope the Wisconsin Ghost left for him a few months back. Danny's already out and climbing down the side of the castle before Vlad even reaches his door -- the only good thing about the entire room being ghost-proof is that Vlad can't get in that way.

The rope ends before it reaches the bottom, and he's still twenty feet in the air. It won't kill him if he lands it right. Danny takes his chances, and drops. He breaks his ankle, but he survives.

And he fucking books it to the back garden. He hears Vlad shrieking over the thunder and rain.

I'll save the full experience for a future oneshot, but Danny makes it out into the nearby woods and forcibly experiences what it's like to be in a horror game, trying to hide from the thing that's hunting you. There's only one thing going through his mind; "i'm going to die"

I have this mental image for this scene. Very stereotypical horror imo. Where Danny is hiding behind a tree, with a hand over his mouth, and Vlad is a few feet away from him, glowing ominously red through the trees, trying to search for him.

Danny doesn't get away from this unscathed, but he does get away alive. That's all he could ask for. He gets away by getting his ghost half awakened long enough to transform into Phantom and fly to Gotham.

But he gets to Wayne Manor, he gets to Bruce. Or, at least, Alfred answers the door from his insistent pounding. Danny's just in tears and Alfred gets him in the living room, wrapped in a towel, with ice on his swollen leg before he has to step out and alert Bruce.

Bruce already breaks multiple traffic laws on a nightly basis. And that's just with the sheer existence of the batmobile itself, not including the speeding and military artillery attached. He breaks double the amount trying to speed back to the cave and get out of the suit.

Right off the bat: Bruce will know, at least before Dick enters the picture, about danny's powers. He'll figure out something considering the fact that Danny traveled from Wisconsin to New York in a single night. That'll be a bit of complicated affair, but I've already got something in mind.

Actually it'll probably be very soon after Danny joins the family, because Bruce tries to offer to fight for custody for Danny - the state Danny was in at arrival is clear enough evidence for a trial. But Danny immediately shuts it down, says it's not going to work and then Vlad will know Danny's with him and he won't be safe. He tells him that Vlad cannot know Danny was with Bruce.

Danny's biggest regret was not telling his parents he was a halfa, and while he doesn't want to tell mister wayne (yet), he does tell him about Vlad being one. He needs to know why Danny can't be seen with Bruce. So he tells him, and Danny's current plan is to just hide out from Vlad until he turns 18. That way, he has no more legal jurisdiction over him. After that? He's not sure.

And to wrap this up, since this has already gotten very long and I can make more posts about this au later; I've thought about it, and I'm going to say that Danny does become a vigilante before Dick enters the scene. He goes by, as you probably guessed; Nightingale. "Gale" for short.

[nekooru]

₊ ☾⋆ tripede boys cuddle hcs ⋆⁺₊⋆

vash. wolfwood. knives.

synopsis: some cute lil cuddle hcs for the tripede boys!!

tags: trigun stampede, headcanons, cuddling, cute, fluff, short hc drabbles, knives is just a teeny tiny bit angsty

w/c: 1149

a/n: yep yep been wanting to post some tripede for a whilee

headcanon

˙⋆⁺₊⋆.

vash

☾. vash will cuddle you in every method virtually possible, most of the time adapting to whatever position you're already in. are you sitting up on a flat surface? he's on his stomach, laying between your legs and wrapping his arms around your waist as his head rests in your lap. laying down? most of the time, he wiggles against you to be the little spoon, but will be the big spoon every once in a while. in a chair? is there room beside you? if so, he'll lean against your side and drape an arm over your shoulder. no room? he picks you up, sits down, and places you in his lap. vash will always find a way to be attached to you.

☾. just out of politeness, he'll sheepishly laugh and ask if he's invading your space. he prays to whatever is out there for you to reply that he's not, and when you affirm that he's not, he gets a burst of energy and squeezes you tightly in elation. if you say that he is, in fact, too much in your space, he immediately separates and apologizes. although he tries to hide it, his disappointment is apparent as he childishly sulks for a minute before his mood improves again.

☾. while you're cuddling, he loves nothing more than to hear you talk about anything and everything. he encourages you to talk about your day, dreams for your future, and anything else that comes to mind. he moves his thumb in circles over your skin as he stares lovingly, a light smile gracing his lips. you pause every so often at his dreamy expression to make sure he's still listening, and he always is.

☾. you run your fingers through his fluffy, blond hair as he tightens his hold around your waist. you note how the fingers of his prosthetic arm feel cold through your shirt, and inversely, his real fingers feel warm against your other side. his eyes are closed, and his chest heaves with each breath; you wonder if he fell asleep. the plant patterns on his face vaguely glow in the light at his comfort, and you can't help but softly touch them with your finger tips. vash's eyes slowly half open, and you retract your hand quickly. he smiles. "hey... do you think they're weird?" you blink, considering the question. "huh? your markings? i don't know, i think they're pretty." his smile widens and he exhales, touched by your answer. "not as pretty as you, though," he replies.

wolfwood

☾. despite all his complaining about how his arm is falling asleep, wolfwood's favorite cuddle position is laying in bed on his back with you curled against his chest, nestled in the crook of his arm.

☾. he secretly loves your before-bed zoomies, when you have the sudden burst of energy to pester him. a thin grin spreads across his lips as he provokes you into initiating a wrestling match, which he entertains for several moments, before showing you just how strong nicholas the punisher was. "that's not fair," you would whine as he rubs his rough, scruffy facial hair against your cheek. "yeah, well. life isn't fair, sweetheart," he replies.

☾. wolfwood wasn't often the type for late night conversations. he finds himself dozing off as you talk about whatever you're talking about; it's not for a lack of appreciation, but moreso a deep comfort from laying with you that hypnotizes him, lulls him into sleep. as a guttural snore cuts through your words, you jostle wolfwood awake, offended. "you fell asleep while i was talking," you scold. wolfwood will endlessly insist that he did not, in fact, fall asleep.

☾. one night, after you had told wolfwood that you were staying the night at a friend's, you decided to come home anyway. you slipped into the bedroom, feeling your way to your side of the bed, only to promptly fall against metal. you groaned as the collision echoed throughout the room. "nicholas!! you were cuddling with your cross?!" wolfwood groggily raises his head up as you sandwich yourself between the headboard and cross, pushing against the latter with all your might. it didn't even budge. "it's hard to sleep without you," he mutters, grabbing the cross and effortlessly swinging it over the edge of the bed to gently place on the floor. your frustration melted away the second he turned back over and pulled you against him.

knives

☾. more often than not, you'll have to be the one to initiate cuddling with knives as he lays up in bed reading, or at the very least, ask him to cuddle you. he loves you dearly, but he forgets that physical affection is a thing that exists. when prompted to cuddle, he'll reflect for a moment to analyze whether he's been giving you enough affection lately or not. "i'm sorry. i need to initiate these things more," he says, wrapping his arm along your side and holding your chin. you smile and and run your thumb over his frown. "don't worry so much," you reply.

☾. he loves to envelop you entirely; he places his hand firmly against the back of your head as you nestle in the crook of his neck, and his other arm presses your body tightly against his. his leg rests over yours, and your hands are against his chest. sometimes, he plants a kiss against your hair. you feel safe as his larger form curls around you, and he feels at peace in your presence.

☾. knives admittedly isn't the best at relationships or knowing exactly what will make you feel happy. he often asks for feedback, what he could do better, or if there's anything new he could try. although, he hates that he has to ask these things in order to understand— knives isn't used to concepts that don't come naturally to him, and he wants to be the best he can for you right away. no matter how much you reassure him, you can tell he feels inadequate as a significant other anyway.

☾. he scowls, although not in anger, but more like intense focus. his lips part to say something, but close for several moments, and open again. "thank you..." he begins, considering his words very carefully. "thank you for being so patient with me. i know i'm— i'm... different. and still learning. thank you for letting me be with you." his face softens as his sentence finishes, and he looks at you. you smile and hold his face in your hands; the fact that knives feels safe enough to express such vulnerability warms you to your core. "nai. i don't want anything in the world other than to be with you. you make me so happy, and you treat me so well, okay? i hope you'll always remember that." he bows his head, leaning into your hold, eventually melting against you in an embrace.

˙⋆⁺₊⋆.

☾. like/reblog if you enjoyed the story !

masterlist: x

[bbcphile]

WIP Wednesday (MLC longfic again!)

Now that my amnesia fic is posted, it's time for more of my MLC longfic! At long last, LLH is awake again . . . and not doing that well.

(You can find earlier excerpts here.)

CW/TW: Panic attack, bicha flare, suicidal ideation

Something was different. The pain was there as always, waiting to devour him whole once he acknowledged it, but there was something else, something blanketing it, muting it somehow.

Li Lianhua stretched out his senses like a limb and tried to make sense of it.

Ah. Warmth. That was the strange sensation. Warmth–heat, even–all around him–his back, his chest, his legs, even his fingers, which had been more like blocks of ice than flesh and blood these last few months.

He leaned back, pushing into the banked heat behind him. The solid core of warmth tucked against his front from navel to neck twitched, then pressed against him more securely, as though it could make a home for itself inside his sternum, ribs, and spine and heat him from within.

He felt warm everywhere.

Well, almost everywhere.

He rolled forward slightly, wiggled further down on the bed, and tugged the core of warmth up higher. He curled his arms and shoulders around it and nestled the bit in his hand between his face and the pillow until it cradled his cheek. 

Much better.

He smiled into his new, warmer pillow and let himself start to relax back into sleep.

“Xiangyi?”

The warmth against his face gradually took shape as his skin and mind began to wake. That was a finger–no, several fingers. A hand. A large hand. And those calluses–how could he not know them when they had clashed steel with him, choked him, clinked brimming cups of wedding wine with him, even been inside him, taking him apart with a gentleness he hadn’t known they could profess.

He let his awareness spread throughout his body, setting aside the pain, and yes, that was a-Fei’s chest he had pressed himself against, like Huli Jing requesting head scritches, and those were a-Fei’s legs, tangled with his, and that was a-Fei’s breath rustling his hair–less now than it had been a moment ago–and that was indeed a-Fei’s arm he was clutching like a child would a favorite toy. 

But a-Fei had been holding him first.

Why was a-Fei holding him? It was one thing to wake up in each others’ arms in the newly wed room, after their  . . . exertions. Before a-Fei knew that any real dream of a future was doomed to fail.

But to hold him now? After he’d given away the wangchuan flower and left a-Fei behind, left their promise behind? To hold him like he still mattered. Like he wasn’t a curse who killed everyone he’d ever cared about. Like he was some sort of treasure . . .

Treasure . . . 

Cabinets stained in blood, Xiaobao’s blood–

“Xiaobao,” he gasped, flinging himself free and to his feet. Where was Xiaobao? He had to find him, had to heal him, before it was too late–

“Xiangyi! Sit down!” A-Fei caught him as his legs buckled and lowered him back onto the bed. 

Why wasn’t Xiaobao here? Had he killed him, too, just like he killed everyone he cared about? 

“Duobing,” a-Fei roared. “Get in here. Now!” Callused fingers cupped both sides of his face, turning it gently but firmly toward him. “Xiangyi, look at me. He’s alright. He’s on his way.” 

“How could he be alright?” Li Lianhua gasped, clutching at his shoulders, the already blurry world turning more hazy. “I saw the blood!”

“I healed him. He’s safe,” a-Fei said, cradling his head as though he could hold the shattering pieces of his mind together. “Now breathe.” 

Li Lianhua choked on an inhale, his lungs spasming, only managing to draw in a desperate wheeze.

A-Fei cursed and dropped to his knees by the bed, pressing one hand to Li Lianhua’s back and the other to his chest, filling both with a familiar warmth that began to break apart the iron bands strangling his throat and lungs. “Try again. Feel my hands. Press against them when you inhale.”

The next breath shook and spluttered like a dying candle but some air squeaked through nonetheless.

“Good.” A-Fei gave his back a short supportive pat. “Again.”

Lotus Tower shook as footsteps pounded toward the bed. “What’s wrong?” panted a beautifully familiar, impossible voice. “Xiaohua’er?”

“Bicha,” a-Fei growled, rising from the floor to kneel on the bed at his side, his hands still bracketing him on either side. “He thinks you’re dead. Show him the scab.”

“Shit,” the Xiaobao-shaped hallucination cursed. It seemed especially cruel of hallucinations to now match the blurriness of their surroundings. It made them seem far too real.

The hallucination knelt at his feet and took his hands. “It’s me, Xiaohua’er,” it said, tears in its eyes and voice. “I’m alright. A-Fei healed me. See?” It brought his hand up to a spot on the back of his skull and pressed his fingers to a crusted, raised line on its scalp. “I’m right here and I’m alright. Do you believe me?”

He could feel it. Why could he feel it? His fingers had always passed through hallucinations before. And even when he’d dreamt of Xiaobao, or of a-Fei, of holding them again, it hadn’t felt as real as this. His fingers traced the ridges of the scab–a perfectly neat seam–then the silk curtain of hair that covered it. 

This was Xiaobao’s hair. The texture, the thickness, what he could see of the color–no hallucination could do justice to this. 

This was his Xiaobao.

He was alive.

“Xiaobao,” he cried, turning his head this way and that to make sure it was the only injury. “You’re alright!”

Xiaobao’s bright smile shone through despite the haze his eyes imposed on everything. “Told you. No harm done. So focus on taking care of yourself, ok, lao huli?”

Li Lianhua huffed out a wet attempt at a scoff and bopped the side of his head. “No harm? What do you call this?”

Xiaobao captured his hands with his and brought them down from his head to rest between them. “Less serious than a Bicha attack. How are you feeling?”

Li Lianhua blinked. A Bicha attack? He turned his attention inward to his qi, and–

Ah. There was a-Fei’s Beifeng Baiyang, somehow wrapped around his Yangzhouman and pushing the last of the poison back into the recesses where it would lie in wait, coiled and ready for the next attack. The black tinge was almost gone from his veins.

He had been so worried about Xiaobao that he hadn’t even realized.

A-Fei had probably saved his life. Again. 

He shouldn’t have bothered.

[be-my-ally]

The Return Flight

Big Bunny #2

As always it's super late here, I will re-edit grammar etc tomorrow! enjoy!

Summary: It’s the next day and they’re off on their return flight. Elvis and Bunny get up to panicking and meditating, and then a couple hours of later one of the other bunnies joins them. Idk I just really can’t see elvis missing out on such a prime chance for a teeny lil bit of voyeuristic action. 

I truly tried to wiggle the wrist weights in but alas, not to be today - next time though, next time. 

Warnings: 18+, p in v penetrative sex, handjobs (v), oral (p and v), mentions of drug use, graphic description of a panic attack, f/f touching, elvis is kinda sweet in this one - except for the voyeurism + girl on girl action; TO CLARIFY - this is asked for by elvis + both parties consensually agree however, I am warning about very teeny tiny elements of internalised homophobia + the fact that reader implies she only does so (at least at first) to please elvis - she is not, however, reluctant nor unwilling.

wc: 11.4k

FYI: I’ve updated my bio to say I’m pausing requests - just until I get my inbox cleared down + posted! xx Also!!! I’ve had a couple of requests for a taglist - so this is my official mention of that; lmk if you want me to tag you in future posts! FINALLY found images of Elvis AND big bunny! pictured on the left and top right below!

Your brief encounter with Elvis had been your first experience of anything casual, or meaningless, and you’ve never had to navigate the emotions or situations before. It makes you antsy that you don’t know the correct procedure even before you’d left the plane; what do you even say to him? ‘Thanks for the sex, see you on the flight tonight?’ You’re not proud of it, but you ultimately panic to such an extent that you hide in the powder room until they’ve all disembarked. You’d not realised you’d have to hide from the other bunnies too though; they’d all converged on you as soon as you’d left - desperate for any morsel of information you would give. You’d somehow, thankfully for your dignity and the taxi driver’s ears, managed to prevent them from asking too many questions until you’d all arrived at the hotel where you would be staying. 

You were looking forward to ensconcing yourself in the hotel room, a proper shower and time to relax for the night and day or so before the return flight. That was, however, not to be, and you were thankful that you’d had the chance to at least wipe yourself down before getting redressed on the plane; your sudden lack of tights had forced you back into your dress - unwilling to be so exposed in your bunny corset. Instead of the peaceful night you had planned Daisy and Maggie were forcing their way into the room (of course, they’d have been sharing with you anyway but you can’t say that you didn’t try to run in and close the door on them) with Darla and Michelle close behind; you forget sometimes that even though they may be more ‘senior’ bunnies, they were still only two years older than you. They sit down around you, demanding you tell them everything, wanting you to fill in the gaps between the assumptions they could make from what they’d heard and when things had gone silent. 

“Oh lord, I just don’t know what to do -” You'd said after you’d recounted, blushing, the majority of the details; you’d left out him licking you, or that you think that might have been the first true orgasm of your life. You leave out that you think the hour you spent with him might have made you fall in love, and other ridiculous notions. And, for some reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to give a detailed description of him, trying to simultaneously protect him and to keep something just for you; you wouldn’t let them speculate on his size, or his stamina. But you had mentioned that he had a thing for feet, something that had been met with raucous laughter and clapping from the girls when you’d prefaced that with the story of your pantyhose being torn. You were, despite your embarrassment, glad to have these girls around you - you’d grown up in a fairly conservative part of town, and you know any of your close childhood or home friends would have been disgusted with you. They might have let it go - since it was Elvis, or have loudly judged you while silently expressing a level of jealousy but under no circumstances would they have encouraged the behaviour, or been so happy for you. Nor would they have interjected your story with their own, somewhat similar, although far less famous, tales. By the time the conversation had gotten back around to your dilemma with how to deal with Elvis again you were all relaxing on the two beds, piled up and crossed legged like a slumber party. “So really - what should I do?” 

“Just don’t change a thing,” Daisy recommends, “If he wants to make something of it let him, but you have to rise above it all. Seem like you don’t care. “ Maggie offers you differing advice;

“If you want it to happen again, just be all over him, it’s not like you have to worry that he doesn’t like you.” You consider these opposing suggestions, silent, sipping the terrible hotel coffee. Michelle speaks up, Darla nodding in agreement;

“In my experience… you’ve got to subtly let him know you’re there and available, but don’t fawn over him, just … just say hello in a friendly way and it’s all in his hands then. Remember, be casual about it.” You consider this for a moment before agreeing. It does seem to be the way of the least mortification. You try to put it out of your mind for the remainder of the break, taking the time to try and focus on resting and relaxing before you had to be back in the air. 

This time, there’s far less pomp and circumstance around his arrival; and you’re not surprised to see that it’s solely the same group again. Only Darla greets them on the tarmac - the rest of you already onboard and preparing for a quicker departure than last time. This time, you’re all in your little bunny suits, collars and cuffs, cottontails perfectly fluffed - since he’d requested it you all assumed it would save being made to change. This airport was, despite being private, closer in airspace to the larger international airport and your takeoff time was therefore far stricter than any of you would have liked. All knowing that sometimes these celebrities were as difficult to wrangle as herding a particularly difficult group of cats.

So you don’t have a chance to really look at him, take him in, until he’s brushing past you, his thick hands on your hips and waist moving you from where you’re blocking a narrower part of hallway with your body. He doesn’t say excuse me, or ask you to move, just manhandles you across him. You feel then, before you see, the soft plush fabric of his outfit, and when you glance over your shoulder at him you’re a little surprised that rather than the expensive, perfectly fitted, suit he was wearing last time, this time he was wearing a, clearly expensive but nonetheless fairly ordinary, tracksuit - navy blue, low zipper exposing the wide collared shirt underneath - his chest hair peeking out. Your tummy flips seeing him, and you stay very still where he’s put you, struggling to remember what your plan had been. He pats your ass, casually, in the blatantly chauvinistic way that should make you squirm, that implies he could and would do it to any girl at any time - although you hadn’t actually witnessed that yourself, and you’re mortified that at even that brief touch, without any words exchanged your breath hitches and your mind goes slightly blank. He’s gone by the time you try to open your mouth to say something and you try to clear your head by distracting yourself with the take-off preparations. 

Michelle is eyeing you up when you’re finishing checking the door, and she opens her mouth but you’re frantically shaking your head before she can say anything, gesturing to not say a word. She frowns, but complies - a moment later only asking you to help her sort the food out. You do so, happy to disappear for a little while and let the others deal with them for a bit. It’s not long after that the pilots signal for take-off and you sit down briefly as the plane taxies down the runway. You’re distracted enough by the situation you find yourself in; are you making it more awkward not talking to him? That for once the take-off doesn’t bother you at all and soon the plane is balanced in the air, allowing you and Michelle to finish your preparations. Daisy pops her head around the corner a few minutes later saying you’d been requested. 

You breathe in, deeply, as much as you can as a little bunny, plastering a smile on your face and you head out to the forward compartment where the group is sat. You expect to walk straight over to Elvis, but you’re stopped by someone else whose name escaped you - barely greeting you; 

“Look babydoll, last night, you made me the best Mai Tai of my life, and I’m sure you’re all…” he looks sideways, “as well trained as each other, but honey,  I’d really like it if you could do me another one?” You somehow manage to keep your face in check even though you want to scream at his barely concealed innuendo. Instead, you agree, customer service smile on your face, and turn to the rest of the compartment asking if they were all ready for drinks. There’s a resulting chorus of orders and so you head over to the bar to get started. Elvis hadn’t responded, walking out when you’d walked in - he’d gone right into the conference space and one of the boys had mimed a phone to his ear at another's questioning face. You were a little hurt to not be acknowledged but also, truthfully, a little relieved to not have to deal with him for the second. But it wasn’t to last long, upon delivering the other drinks with the other girls to many a relieved sigh,  a different man had pointed through to the conference area, gesturing to the bar, 

“Think you should take the boss a little pick me up too.” You nod in agreement but he hadn’t drank last time and you have no idea what that would mean making so instead you pour a short glass of cola, hoping that’ll do at least, and balancing the glass on the tray, head through the little curtained archway. You try not to show any emotion when you walk through, keeping your face neutral and concentrating on holding the drinks tray, the slight tip of the plane was liable to send a single glass sliding if you didn’t balance it perfectly. You hear him before you see him, curled against the wall with the phone pressed to his ear. His fingers twirling the cord as he looked out of the window, but with how dark it was outside he could only be looking at his reflection. You’d intended your poker face to display that you weren’t going to be the first to crack, to acknowledge anything but now you’re having to maintain it to retain dignity once you hear what he’s saying. He’s sweet-talking a girl, uttering promises and reassurances; 

“No, honey, darling, no - would I be ringing you now? You don’t need to nag me baby, that’s right you’re my baby aren’t ya, ye-ah, put it on your card honey, on my card, yeah that’s no problem… you know I like you in blue…” 

You know you have no claim on him; despite your activities together you’ve barely spoken to him, and you’ve only known the man 24 hours and yet a weird surge of possessiveness fills you. Or is it even possessiveness? Or just plain jealousy? Half the trouble was that you’ve never wanted someone like this — you’d never understood why the girls at school would fawn over a specific boy, it had never interested you. You’d never lain awake wondering what you should wear or how you should style your hair to best catch their attention. But today, just this morning, you’d nipped out to the nearest drugstore to the hotel and frivolously bought a new lipstick; you had no need for a new one, and certainly not in the colour you’d chosen - far flashier than you would usually wear, for some reason certain it would catch his eye, but you’d been unable to resist the temptation of putting on a bit of a show for him. To have that gone to waste, for him to ignore you, preoccupied with worrying about appeasing some other girl? Who wasn’t even there? You were annoyed at yourself, for being hurt by his actions and for doing it in the first place. 

He finally spots you in the window and he turns, waving you over, reaching out a hand for his drink off of your tray. He doesn’t verbally acknowledge you, or pause in his conversation, simply demanding you come closer with an impatient hand raised. You come towards him, dipping to allow him to easily take the glass, and you watch as he immediately tips it back for a gulp and places the half-full glass back onto the tray. He makes a little mmhmm noise down the phone as he turns his attention back to the call, and the girl on the other end. You turn to leave, not willing to simply stand there and wait for him to want the glass again, jumping when you feel him swat at your exposed thigh. You whirl back around, ready to either playfully (or truthfully, actually) confront him - once was fine but twice? But, before you can he’s back giving his attention to the phone again, looking out of the window. You take it as the dismissal he meant it, and you hate that as you walk away you add an extra sway to your walk - bunny tail bobbing with the motion - just in case he’s looking, and that you can feel your slightly smug smile from even that touch.

It feels like hours, but it was probably only twenty or so minutes later when he returns to the forward compartment, settling down into the large sofa-seat in the middle of the cabin. You’re forced to walk past a moment later and he grabs your arm on the way; 

“You look real good today Bunny - very cute.” You wiggle your tail at him and he chuckles; that deep laugh that starts in his chest but ends in his belly. His head rocks and it causes his loose hair to flop about, so different from it’s stiff look from the years prior. You beam at him, pleased to have been so entertaining. He looks you up and down again, still holding onto you,

“Like the lips darlin’. You wear that just for me?” You shake your head no, but he just laughs at you, “Ohhhh, you did it for ol’ Joe over there then did ya?” Feeling the catch-22 you’ve put yourself into you frown, you don’t want to admit that you did do it for him, but god do you not want him to even jokingly suggest you were trying to attract one of the other guys. So you do the next best thing, shaking your head and teasing him back.

“Nu-uh it was for me.” He laughs back at you, his eyes crinkling. When he calms back down he shakes his head in disbelief. 

“ O’course it was honey,” You protest his condescending tone,

“It was!” You gesture down at yourself,  “I don’t put all this on just for you,” He laughs again, eyes crinkling as he crows at you; shouting to the rest of the boys.

 “Ooh-hoo we got ourselves a real-life feminist bunny over here!” He says it mockingly, adding a sneer; “Watch out Ms. Steinem!” He scoffs,  “Now hon-ney, we both know it ain’t true… so why don’t you stop playing hard to get, admit you made yourself all pretty for me and come and sit over here. Right on daddy’s knee.” He pats his lap. You frown, you were a feminist, but his lap did look pretty inviting, and your heels were already hurting and you had wanted his attention. So, you do. 

“I’m only doing this because you’re paying me.” He chuckles again, one hand coming around you to hold your waist, the other coming to hike your legs further up and across him, his broad hand rubbing your thigh as he does so;

“Sure thing honey - you want me to tip you a little extra for whatever we’re about to do in there?” He nods his head towards the back of the plane. You frown a little, you know he’s joking but you’re suddenly a little worried he does think you’re paid to provide him with extra services. ‘We naturally do not tolerate any merchandising of the bunnies.’ That’s what the bunny bible says. Its word is law, so it’s not true that any extra services are expected. But then, when you think about it, you were told to be…nice to him. The annoying thought then registers, less concern about whether what you’re doing is against the rules, that you hope he realises that you’re doing this because you want to and not just because you’ve been told to. You try to shake this thought off, be casual - c’mon be casual, the mantra running through your head as you attempt to push all other thoughts and feelings out. After all, you don’t want him to think you’re not fun, or reading too much in to anything. 

“No-o, that’s, that’s, that’s just an added bonus.” You stroke down the zipper of his jacket, and he laughs again, grabbing your hand and kissing the knuckles.  He spreads your hands in his, assessing them. 

“God, you got such pretty little fingers baby, look at them lil’ nails  - what’s that colour called? Call-Girl Red? Scarlet Tart?” You blush, but you’re able to laugh, recognising that he would only continue to suggest increasingly ridiculous names until you did. He holds you there while he finishes his conversation with the boys, fingers brushing over your skin, until finally, he pats your thigh phrasing an order as a question - “Come through to the bedroom, doll?” You stand up, waiting for him to lead the way to the bedroom at the back of the plane; instead he stands and gestures ahead of him.

“C’mon bunny, hop to it,” He pauses, grinning after his borderline tragic bunny pun as if waiting for a laugh; you comply with a polite giggle even though it’s really not that funny, and take his hand when he holds it out, “let’s go.” When you cross into the bedroom he lets go, leaving you to sit down on the huge elliptical bed while he disappears into the bathroom for a moment. You try to breathe, wondering what he has planned when he returns. 

You have no idea why you’re suddenly so nervous. There’s a rising sensation of breathlessness travelling up your chest, your stomach churning a little. You feel inexplicably sick, and for a moment you worry, as the plane bobs the tiniest bit - the motion normally soothing, that you might actually puke. He’s still in the bathroom, and you’re trying to calm yourself down - what will you say to him when he comes out? He’s expecting something now. You don’t want to miss out on anything, it had been so good last time; you didn’t want this to be the new lasting memory of your, however brief, time together. You try to tell yourself you’re being ridiculous - c’mon now, calm down, you’re fine - it’s not like he hasn’t seen you before - not like you haven’t done this before, why are you doing this - don’t ruin it for yourself - oh my god why are you such a little baby get a grip.  But that clawing feeling is climbing your chest and you’re struggling to swallow - to breathe. You’re ripping off your little bow and collar as hurriedly as you can but it doesn’t make a difference. You sink down lower, practically lying down now, attempting to practice deep breathing. In through your nose, out through your mouth. It’s in that moment he comes bounding out of the bathroom - looking you over, as if he’d expected to be ready to pounce; not deal with you still fully dressed (as much as you could be in the bunny corset) and close to tears. 

“Hey - hey honey what’s this?” He sounds panicked, and his pitch only increases at the tear falling down your cheek. You try to speak but can’t; “Just - Just talk to me bunny, what, what’s wrong?”  You whine at him, trying to sit up and look at him rather than peep from your horizontal angle. He makes it easier by sitting by you on the bed and peering down at your face. 

“Nuh-uh-thing,” You finally gasp out, “Nothing’s wrong. I’ve just - just got myself all twisted.” A tear slips out, and you angrily brush it away trying to stem the flow. He looks concerned for a second, patting your arm.

“I won’t - we haven’t -  we don’t gotta do anything baby, you know that? Not gotta do a thing you don’t wanna do.” He sounds unsure, like he’s not had to deal with this before, or like he’s nervous he’s upset you. It only makes the tears fall a little faster - at how nice he’s being to you when you don’t feel as though you deserve it.

“No-o no I know, I want to,  I just can’t seem to stop,” You talk through your hitched breaths, trying to explain. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can’t breathe.” He hums, looking over at the little table that ran the length of the wall, at the little black bag settled there before patting his thighs and sighing. 

“Right. ‘nough messing about - lemme just get one of the boys to call Dr. -” 

“No! No! No - I want you! I wanna do this!” You roll onto your side, scrambling upright and turning to grip his jacket, twisting it in your fist. “I wanna - Elvis I promise I’ll be fine in a second just need to calm down. Catch my breath.”

“Well, if its just you’re breathing all funny let me just give you a puff of an inhaler; they’ve barely got anything in them, just wet your throat really but- but they do help,” You shake your head and he sighs again, as if unhappy you’d refuse the offer. But then he nods, almost to himself, and taking matters into his own hands - hauls you up to be leaning against this thick, sturdy, chest. The zipper was a little lower than before and another button of his shirt has popped open allowing you to pillow your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as you feel yourself come down. Shame creeping up as you become fully lucid at how irrational you’d behaved. You sit there for a little while - maybe as long as twenty minutes, but could be as short as ten. Elvis hums song after song at you, occasionally breaking into a little quiet verse, chest hairs tickling you as he moved. Finally you feel sane enough to push up a little, pulling away.

“Sorry - Sorry don’t know what came over me.” You stare at his chest, avoiding making eye contact. He brushes his hand over your chin, pulling it up to force you to look at him. He’s looking at you with an expression of tenderness that’s almost too much to bear. 

“S’all right doll, told you - it’s all fine.” You give him a tentative smile. 

“I’m sure that wasn’t very …sexy of me, but I do wanna give it another go, please Elvis?” He looks at you hard for a moment, directly in your eyes, as if attempting to judge you were being serious. He clearly decides you were because a moment later he’s leaning over you and moving his hand up your leg. 

But when his hand grazes your upper thigh, travelling upwards you feel yourself tense, suddenly stiff as a board. He kisses your neck, and his hand retreats. He spends a long couple of minutes stroking your arm, kissing your neck - your ears. Before attempting it for a second time. Again he gets most of the way there before you go stiff and tense. He moves his hand back to your arm,  talking lowly and slowly, practically whispering. 

“Now, darlin’ s’ok - we’ve done it before baby.” He’s soothing you like you’re a skittish horse, crooning into your ear, “If you wanna do this I need you to relax for me darling. Can’t do anything otherwise.” You nod, agitated at the accusation that you’re not already attempting to relax. 

“I’m trying Elvis - I want to too! I just, it’s involuntary!” He hums - looking over at the bag again -

“Look, honey, I’ve got some, some ‘ludes you can take,” You frown, you didn’t think Elvis was known for doing disco drugs. “I take ‘em to uh help me settle down baby.” You start to speak, perhaps to question the veracity of this claim or where he gets these from - considering his position on recreational drugs. But before you can he’s talking again; “Don’t get me wrong doll, I’m not - don’t get it twisted - they’re prescribed.” He pauses again - “But they’ll sort you right out, real leg spreaders. Won’t change your mind, if you say you want it you still will but, trust me, they’ll relax your body enough.” You shake your head at him, not admitting that while you would love to breathe the concept of not being in complete control of your body was terrifying, instead taking deep breaths to try and force yourself to relax a little more. 

“No-no, no need for that, ‘m sorry, I don’t know what’s come over me - I’m so nervous today - I just, sorry - just need another minute.” He sighs again, and although the irrational part of your brain worries it’s in annoyance you can tell he’s more annoyed about you consistently declining his offers of help. He’s still doing his best to soothe you, delicate fingers firmly rubbing your arms and sides, a constant motion. “I just - I know it’s ridiculous, but I still feel like I can’t breathe properly.” His fingers stop on the boning of the corset, and he taps it - as if he’s discovered an answer. 

“Awh no this is silly now doll, who could all squished in there like that.” He gestures down to where your chest is threatening to spill out of the tightly laced and zipped bodice. You frown, you’re pretty sure it’s mental and not physical but now he’s drawn attention to it you feel like it’s tightening around your middle. You twist to attempt to unhook it yourself - moving forward to bend out of his lap; “No, no darling, let me - I’ll get this thing offa you.” He pushes you further forward a little way, and then with surprising skill deftly undoes the bunny corset. You don’t want to admit it but the moment the hooks fall away you do feel as if some of the air has returned to your lungs. He’s gently and firmly peeling it away from your body, pulling it down and off of your legs - tutting and stroking the little red marks where the seams and boning have dug into you a little - whether because it was just generally too tight or because you’d been contorted into a slightly awkward position. 

“Lord almighty - they doin’ that to you every day?” You shrug, about to say that it wasn’t that much worse than some of your tighter dresses or your panty girdle. He holds it up though, looking at it with distaste, rather than the humour he had the first time he’d seen it off of you -  as if seeing it for the first time. “They should make ‘em stretchier! Or - or - a better lining!” He frowns again, “I’m gonna ring Hef and tell him - it’s not right!” You shake your head, the conversation at least distracting you from your lungs. 

“Elvis - it’s not like I’m meant to be naked right now. How would you supposedly know.” You gesture down at yourself, a little flushed at the realisation that you were, in fact topless and therefore nude from the waist up. He laughs at you, a little condescendingly. 

“You ‘spect me to believe he doesn’t know what you’re up to?” He pauses, “Or that…, bunny, you know, I was, uh, warned that you girls would be… available.” You grimace, it makes you feel like a whore when it’s put like that and you try to return you mind to the point you were trying to make. 

“Well, still, if it’s because of me that the boat gets rocked - I like my job, and it was at your request we’re proper bunnies today and not in our flight uniforms!” He rolls his eyes at you, huffing at the accusation.

“Ok, ok. Fine. But I’m not happy about it.” You laugh a little, and you notice your chest bobbing with the motion - it makes you suddenly very aware of your nudity, probably a sign that you’re starting to return to normal, and you wrap an arm around your middle while scrambling to sit properly upright instead of in a semi recline. He looks at you sideways, starting to lean down, 

“Well - now we got that sorted - “ You cut him off,

“It wasn’t about that - it was just, I just got all caught in my head, I think I’m a little messed up; it happens every now and again. It just - anyway, it doesn’t matter now. Could you, sorry, would you pass me my bag from over there?” You nod towards the bag just inside the door, it had been a little presumptuous perhaps but you’d left it close enough that if you had missed the mark it wouldn’t have been tricky to move or hide it. “I’ll get changed now.” He frowns, he’s sat upright again himself, but doesn’t move for the bag, instead pulling your arm around and dragging you to sit over his legs again - he leans back, pulling your head to lie on his chest. 

“Babe - there’s nothing wrong with you… you just gotta, gotta put a little of it into the air, believe it’s happening for a reason.” He pauses, one arm moving up to wrap around your waist, the other stroking your arm, catching on the little cuff that was still there. “You gotta promise you won’t - it’s no secret, not anymore, but I don’t share this with everyone - so you promise you won’t laugh?” You nod, as best you can - he sounds nervous. “My mama, she er, she always used to say I was real special, that I had a gift.” You nod again, assuming this is about to lead into him singing something to you which, while you didn’t think it was going to be key to ending these nerve attacks you keep having, is certainly not something you would discourage. “But, she uh used to say I had the power to heal things, and, and I think its true baby, so will you - maybe if we can; if I can give you some of my ‘nergy and we think about it - real hard - together, we might get somewhere? Just gotta, gotta connect - spiritually. Maybe if I, If I push on you, and we meditate together we might, it might help?” He looks so hopeful and sounds so earnest that, despite your misgivings about the veracity of these claims, you agree. 

“Ok, ok - if you think, if it might help. I just, I do wanna do things with you, I don’t want to disappoint you.” 

“You won’t baby, you won’t.” He sits down, cross legged at the top of the bed, pulling you around to sit in front of him. He makes no mention of your nakedness, and you’re doing your best not to notice it yourself. “Ok, honey, so just, I’m gonna put my hands here, and you’re just going to breathe with me ok?” His eyes are bright, and his face open, like he’s simply excited to be able to share this with someone. You nod, placing your hands on top of where his are resting on his thighs. “Hold on baby, let’s get these offa ya too.” And he unbuttons your little cuffs, rubbing your wrists where they’d sat, “You don’t hafta, don’t need to think about anything ok darling? You just sit there, and focus on my hands and match my breathing ok? I’ll do all the hard work.” You nod again, and he shuffles himself a little, as if getting himself ready to settle in. “Oh - and I want you to close your eyes.” You look at him for a second, attempting to gauge that he’s being serious and this isn’t some kind of elaborate set-up. He gazes back at you, blue eyes completely calm, and you let your eyes slip closed. He hums a moment later, and then you feel him clasping your hands. 

You can tell he’s focussing his breathing, slowing it down and drawing it out, and you match him as best you can, feeling him spread your fingers and press his palms into yours. It takes all of your attention and sufficiently distracts you from your panic and worry that quickly you don’t realise you’re no longer thinking about anything but the light pressure of his hand on yours and the air filling your lungs. 

You’re entirely focussed on his slow, measured breaths, and your mind is blank - it’s almost a surprise when an immeasurable time later he flexes his hands, whispering at you to open your eyes. You come back up slowly, blinking in the artificial light of the plane, despite Elvis having used the dimmer. 

Although you do, admittedly, feel better you’re still not wholly convinced by his healing properties. What you are grateful for however, is how happy he looks when you open your eyes, as if pleased to have been given the opportunity. And regardless of the ability to heal you, you also feel like something has changed. A shift in the energy between you. 

His hand grasps yours, his fingers releasing you to trail up your wrist, up your forearm, and stroke back down to your palms again, brushing his fingers all the way down to your very fingertips and starting all over again. The motion of it, after the intimacy of the last half hour sends your nerve-endings alight, goosebumps forming over your flesh. You feel completely calm, completely ready for him again, your posture straight but relaxed. He moves his hands further up, brushing against your armpits and you gasp as he tickles you the tiniest amount. Suddenly, you find yourself up on your knees - leaning into him, falling into him. Your hands cupping his face, fingers tangling in his sideburns. He catches you in his relaxed arms, the soft fabric of his jacket rubbing against your nipples. He’s still breathing quite deeply, mouth parted - and it allows you to press your lips against his, tongue rapidly falling into his mouth. His hands spread across your torso, curving around your chest as you lean into him - trying to get as physically close to him as you emotionally feel.

His thumbs twirl in circles and your back arches as your nipples pebble against his soft touch - your pussy suddenly starting to feel unbearably hot in its three layers of tights and panties. You huff against his lips, pulling back to grasp the waistband of them all - determined to simply roll them all down together, saving them from him, and you do so in one motion almost immediately regretting that it left you completely bare while he was still fully clothed. He doesn’t give you a chance for it to be more than a fleeting thought though, lying you back, still focussed on making you breathless with his mouth. He kisses along your cheek to your neck and you gasp as he sucks on the sensitive patch just above where your collar bone joins your shoulder. You try to reciprocate, pushing the jacket off of him and struggling to unbutton the last of his shirt -  exposing his chest and stomach. He bats your hand away when you go for the top of his pants, pulling away from you and he stands up - surveying you. 

“You ready for me, baby?” You squirm a little under his gaze, and you’re not sure where the boldness comes from to reach a hand down, dragging a finger over your wetness, and spreading the folds of your labia open for him to see the glistening stickiness within. 

“I dunno, what do you think?” His mouth gapes at you, breathing heavily, the motion as unexpected to him as it was to you, and as you sink a finger into yourself, moaning while you do, he hurriedly removes his pants - throwing them somewhere, his eyes never straying from your core. He pushes your arm out of the way a moment later, 

“Think you look like a goddamn fucking centrefold - Jesus Christ, bunny, Lord, all for me, Halle-fucking-lujah,” He lowers himself back down, pressing a kiss to your chest, pumping himself a few times before lining his cock up with your entrance. 

He sinks into you, slowly, letting you feel every inch of him that he guides into you. The slight overhang of his belly pressing against your middle as he holds you close, pressing into you as deeply as he can get. You feel every inch of him, every fold in his skin as he pushes in - you know he’s not huge, but it’s been so long that to have something in you two nights in a row, you can feel your entrance ache a little, and inside a slight burn from the stretch. He groans, feeling your tight walls clench around him as you shift, wrapping your legs around him crossing your ankles behind his back. He pants against your ear, kissing the sensitive patch of skin right behind.  He’s encasing you in him, smothering you, the smell of him - he’d clearly showered after his show, the faint hint of neutrogena still clinging to him but his own scent, the mixture of his own musk and woodsy cologne layering over it - surrounds you. It altogether feels as intimate as the meditation did - just his and your bodies entangled together. He rests there, barely rocking into you, slowly, almost tenderly - before dragging himself out, rolling off.

“Gotta let you breathe, mama - wanna get deeper.” The concept seems impossible, but he’s pushing one of you legs to the side, rolling you slightly and clambering on top, straddling your other leg and kneeling down before he’s sinking in again. 

“Oh - shit, shit - how’re you, oh my god Elvis, that’s - I’ve never,” He knocks against your walls, blindly, until he hits the little bundle of nerves inside you causing all thoughts to leave your head, unable to form a sentence past whimpering. You prop yourself up with one hand, holding onto him with the other, it’s new for you - to be able to watch someone’s face as well as watch them push themselves into you. Being able to look at his face, his mouth open, little grunts and moans flowing as his eyes half-close in pleasure is mind-blowing; beyond your wildest imagination. 

“Oh baby, mama, you’re so - oh god, how are you still so tight, you ain’t been properly broken in yet, have you, fuck,” His hips are thrusting into you now, little jolts of pleasure running down your spine and you whine as he hushes you, rubbing a hand across your tummy, moving it up to grasp at your breast. He squeezes, on the edge of too hard, swiping his thumb across your nipple as he pinches it - causing you to clench down on him again, prompting a low groan out of his own mouth. He strokes down your torso, before resting his hand on you, it feels huge across your stomach, heavy and hot almost feeling like it’s burning through you. He slips his thumb lower, coaxing your clitoris out from hiding. 

“Want you to go with me, C’mon now baby - c’mon bun, I’m close,” He slams his hips into you, “Al-most there,” His fingers rub over you a little faster, and your nails of your supporting hand dig into your own hair, the other clutching his arm, as you tumble over the edge, shouting,

“Oh - oh - oh, god, Elvis - daddy, god, fuck that’s - oh god,” You hear him swear, pulling out just in time and spraying over your stomach, his fingers coming off of you, allowing you to come down, your body still trembling for a few moments.  

When you feel like you’re properly back on earth, a few minutes later, you’re still lying back, panting, while you hear him stand and  get himself wiped off.  Coming over to you to gently wipe away the mess on your tummy. He looks over at you, eyes still half-lidded, 

“C’mon ‘lil bunny, time to get back to work.” He pats your thighs and you shakily stand up. Despite his hurry he behaves almost unexpectedly gentlemanly and fetches your bag for you from beside the door. “Ain’t gonna make you put that torture device back on - you can do the leather if you want.” You frown, thinking for a moment - everyone will know what you’ve been up to then, but then you laugh to yourself a little - everyone already certainly knows. You pause before getting your underwear back on, slightly surprised at his speed, looking over at him; 

“You sure you won’t…don’t wanna go again?” He looks a little bashful for a second, 

“ ‘m not, I’m an ole man now baby.” Is all he says in reply, but it does the job in conveying what he meant. You look over at him - not sure that you’d describe him as old, he’s what… 38, 39? But you leave it be - dressing in the little leather coat/wrap dress. As you sit to roll your tights over your legs though he stops you, looking you over. “Bunny? Leave off the hose.” 

“Sure daddy, sure.” You obey, stripping them off again and pulling your boots onto your bare legs - undoubtedly you’ll get a blister but it’s worth it for the pleased way he looks at you and the kiss on the top of your head in reward for your obedience. You nip into the bathroom, trying to sort your hair and touch up your make-up, and by the time you’re ready to come out he’s gone. 

You walk out with your head up, and while you’re greeted with a series of smirks and some whispers you’re not as panicked about it as before, and you’re relieved he came out before you, positive that he took the brunt of any teasing. He winks at you when you pass him, dressed without his shirt now, but otherwise ignores you. This doesn’t upset you like before -  you’re content that only you and him truly know what’s just gone on and that your new, intimate, connection is safe and tucked away just for the two of you. It feels like you’ve been wrapped up in him for days and yet when you look over at the clock ticking away you realise you’ve only been in the air for an hour and a half. You feel a little like you’ve left a tiny part of yourself in that room with him, and that you should feel more vulnerable - more exposed than you do. Instead, you feel calm - your tension almost completely gone and with that you start to feel the possibility that you might actually be able to enjoy the next few hours. 

A couple of hours later, you’re dancing in the disco room - providing entertainment although you’re sure most of them, certainly Elvis, should be sleeping; unsure where the burst of energy from everyone has come from. But still, you’re dancing about with the other girls, playfully messing around, when he - from his sat position, lavender tinted glasses now on his nose, pulls you down to whisper in your ear,

“C’mon bunny, give me a little show - pick one of ‘em.” He gestures to the other girls bobbing around you. You look at him, mouth open, a little shocked at his bold request - so different from the sweet, slow, intimate behaviour from earlier. It’s not something you’re totally opposed to, but….in public? It’s as if he’s reading your mind; reassuring you -

“S’ok, baby, s’just us up here - just me and m’boys,” He pats you on the thigh, “Go on - there’s a good girl.” You stumble forward a little and make eye contact with Maggie - who was already looking over, clearly eager to share his attention. You look back over to Elvis, watching him grin at her, pleased that she seems so willing, “Just wanna watch you two kiss honey, nothing more - don’t gotta be that dirty but just… just a little. Just for me.” You nod, steeling yourself. But Maggie isn’t reluctant in any way, threading her fingers through yours to pull you closer. The tie of your leather dress brushes against her bare thigh, still in the bunny corset, and you feel her shudder against you as you step completely into her space. 

It’s a little strange, kissing her, different but simultaneously essentially the same. The startling difference was the … niceness of it, it was sweet and slow and gentle. Different from the lip biting and teasing of the men you’d kissed. You forget, for a moment, all the other people in the room, it’s narrowed to just the three of you although really you’re putting on a show for everyone, and you open your eyes - watching Elvis watch you. Despite Maggie’s lips on yours - her soft body still pressed against you - your focus is solely on him. His eyes are burning into you, and his legs are spread, thighs thick and inviting. You put a little more effort in, grasping her hair, rubbing down her back, and you listen to him huff a little chuckle when you jokingly squeeze her tail, and slot your leg between hers. You keep eye contact behind her head, watching him swallow, shifting a little to rub a hand over himself - completely unabashed at doing so in front of everyone. The sight of him sat there, looking like a sultan surveying his harem, blue eyes serious and intense, makes your eyes slip closed, and you put all your focus into the feeling of being watched and being kissed. You pull away, laughing as you both sway a little from the force of coming apart - you look over at him; 

“That alright Da-El?” He beams at you, 

“Perfect girls - so goddamn perfect.” He pats his thigh, the outline of his hardening cock almost completely visible, “Why don’t you come over here bunnies, let me have a better look.” You both do as he asks, giggling, as you tumble together onto his lap. It’s messier now, more fun, her hands scrabbling down your sides, and yours cupping her cheeks. You feel so hyper from it all that you almost feel drunk. His hand moves to support your lower back as you lean across to kiss Maggie again, giggling a little against her lips as she almost tips backwards until his arm catches her. 

“God, men fucking dream about this dolls - two little bunnies sat in their laps. But this is just for me ain’t it? Just for me?” His head is tipped back, but he swings it forward to look at you both - intensely, possessively. How a man could be possessive over two women he’d only known 48 hours, on a plane he didn’t even own, was mind-boggling - the sheer confidence required for that kind of thought overwhelming. Yet you can’t help but feel turned on by it, your own head nodding insistently to reassure him. Maggie looks askance at you, but still rapidly nods - the slight lie going unnoticed. His thigh flexes and where you’ve leant forward has hitched your tiny skirt up high enough that you’re now entirely sat feeling the soft fabric encasing his thigh underneath you rub against your bare legs. You can’t help but rock against it, just the tiniest amount. You can feel everyone’s eyes on you three, and instead of the shame you expected to feel, your stomach tightens in arousal at the sensation of being watched. He lets out a little moan, and it only makes you work harder, slipping your tongue into Maggie’s mouth as she pants against your lips. You feel Elvis’  hand slide up your body to the side of your ribcage, his thumb brushing your breast. You pull back, and he gasps as you stroke the outside of his soft trouser leg, gently rubbing the fabric over his cock. Elvis abruptly stands, pushing you both off. 

“Think there might be some important business I need to do in Hef’s office. Why don’t you two run along ahead - gonna need,” he looks sideways, jokingly, playing it up for your forgotten audience, “gonna need a couple of helping hands.” You give what can only be described as a polite smile, wondering what on earth has gotten into you that you were willing to display yourself like that in public. But for whatever reason you’re walking back into the bedroom again - this time following behind Maggie. You’re watching her from behind, and though you’ve seen her in uniform countless times you’re suddenly left wondering if her shape has always looked that inviting to grab - or if the teddy had always revealed so much of her ass. She seems far more at home in Hugh’s private quarters than you ever did the first time, and you realise suddenly that it’s very probable this isn’t her first time back here with a guest. The realisation shoots a burst of anxiety through you again, that you try to immediately brush away, that this whole thing really was just expected of you. 

Elvis shuts the door behind him when he comes in, immediately setting the mood lighting. Before resting his hand on your back and pulling you in for a quick kiss. It’s strange kissing him again now, you expect for some reason his lips to feel rough in comparison to Maggie’s, masculine instead of her soft femininity,  but as always his lips are full and buttery soft a perfect representation of the juxtaposition of his personality. He pulls away too soon and you find yourself leaning into him, eyes still closed, chasing the sensation, pouting when he laughs at you. 

“You good to go honey, or do you need a hand givin’ me a show?” You’re confused by what he’s offering, until you notice he’s holding out his hand two little pills sat in it. “Just vitamins baby,” You shake your head, you’re a little nervous but despite the environment you’re working in you’ve not taken anything yet, and the concept of it scares you more than your nerves. You’re surprised though when Maggie’s hand comes from nowhere, plucking one of them out of his palm and swallowing it dry. He beams at her, “Atta girl.” Maggie giggles at him, 

“Thank you daddy,” and he glances over at you, sideways, again before swallowing the leftover pill. 

He claps his hands, before suddenly, playfully, throwing you over his shoulder and onto the bed. You’re shocked at the display of physicality - not expecting it at all, and even more surprised when a moment later Maggie is thrown in much the same manner, bumping onto the bed and knocking into you. He settles himself up by the cushions, looking expectantly at the pair of you of you sprawled out and he gestures to the rest of the bed. He shifts, settling his hands on his open thighs, the hard outline of his cock almost completely visible through his pants. He clenches them into fists, like he’s trying not to touch. He looks, with his hair wild and his glasses on, so classically - typically Elvis that it makes your heart rate increase just watching him.

“Go on then, pretty little bunnies - wanna see you two - wanna see you havin’ fun. Give me a show.” It’s not a request but a command, and even if you’d wanted to (which you didn’t) you can’t do anything but obey. 

Maggie responds with a “Yes, sir,” as you move to situate yourself, kneeling at the bottom of the bed and she crawls over to meet you. This time she takes control, kissing you, her hands moving over the little leather coat-dress. It feels different having her lithe, nylon covered leg pushing in between yours instead of Elvis’ thick thigh. You wouldn’t go so far to say it’s better, but the friction against your thin panties and the way it allows your legs and thighs to stay fairly close, to clench and move is appealing. You can’t help but rock against her, clutching at her waist -  she laughs into your mouth, pulling your hair a little as she presses gentle kisses down your neck. You gasp, head falling back, before you pull away to lean forward again, catching her face between your hands, you rub against her, drawing her front back towards you - you giggle, whispering, 

“Mags’ I can’t - can’t believe we’re doing this...” Elvis chuckles behind you, clearly you weren’t as quiet as you thought, and that makes you laugh harder. It’s fun and flirty and you haven’t felt this chill about something in a while - the ability to just zone out and enjoy the sensations without having to worry about the future. You start to unbelt your dress, trying to move quickly - frantically, and as soon as you’ve got it unbuttoned Maggie is palming at you, pushing it down your shoulders. She moves forward a little more, and you lean back - letting Elvis get a better look at your newly uncovered skin. She moves her hand to brush against your panty-covered mound and you gasp. Your head falling forward onto her shoulder at the feel, so different from your own fingers or his thick digits, she moves her leg and you’re suddenly humping against nothing - you whine into the air, Elvis interrupting you as you try to pull her back.  

“Sl-slow down girls, get tha’ dress off and go a lil’ slower - there’s no rush. No need to rush now - just slow - slow it down.”  You nod trying to still your hips, gasping out, 

“Ok, ok, daddy - well - we’ll slow -ah- down,” and Maggie pushes you, both of you tumbling backwards. You roll for a moment, the silk of Maggie’s costume rubbing against your skin, the coolness a welcome relief to your burning skin. You suddenly catch, out of the corner of your eye, Elvis shifting, his arm moving at a rapid pace and you don’t know why, considering what you’re currently doing, you’re shocked to realise he has his cock out, that he’s touching himself watching you. You accidentally make eye contact, and you’re taken aback by the look on his face, his lip curling in pleasure. To be watched with such burning desire is shocking, and would be enough to make you shy had you not had this overwhelming sexual confidence come over you from somewhere. You absently think that you should probably help Maggie out of her corset, the pufftail isn’t comfortable to lie in and she was probably wishing for more breathability right now, but before you can offer she’s stroking a finger down you and all thoughts fly out of your head. She looks up at Elvis, questioning something that you can’t hear through your single-minded tunnel vision and hearing, but you manage to catch his reply; 

“No - no, just - just, just over top, honey, not - no, that’s just for me.” And she resumes to touching you over the top of the growing dampness of your panties, you groan at the sheer level of objectification; at being spoken about as if you were just there for his amusement, that you were his. Maggie renews her efforts though, and her fingers quickly, even over the soft cotton fabric of your underwear, find the spot to make you squirm, hips bucking into her. She soothes you, and you wonder if you should be reciprocating in some way but as her delicate fingers push the tiniest fold of fabric into you, you’re lost clutching at the fur throw, the slight friction easing as it gathers up your slick. She moves her finger to circle around your clit, bunching the fabric between her thumb and fingers and rubbing it against you. You somehow manage to blink open your eyes, leaning your head all the way back to look at Elvis; his entire focus is on what’s happening between your legs - it causes a shudder to run through you, and your stomach tightens as you feel your legs start to cramp; 

“Go on baby, hold it for me, hold it - don’t - want you to keep her just there for me - that’s it. Stop stop, that’s just for me.” She pulls her hand away and your back arches as whine, so close to the edge. 

He leans in gripping Maggie’s neck to kiss her and you can hear the wet smack of their lips together, he pulls back, briefly “Don’t worry, honey, don't wanna make you jealous…just wanna say thank you for such a lovely show - that’s alright isn’t it?” You can’t do anything but agree and he returns to her, hands on her neck and head to hold her in place. Watching it up close you can understand why he wanted to watch himself, you wonder if that’s what you look like with him too; all teeth and tongue and lips. You squirm, still feeling the possibility of your orgasm. 

“Now go on, there’s a good girl, run along now, thank you darling - You gonna be alright? You want me to get one of the boys to uh, see to ya properly?” She shakes her head, almost fondly as if laughing that she might need his help to find a willing partner.  “Well - You tell ‘em I said it’s ok.” He sends her on her way like he’s pimping her out for the night, you hate how it makes your core throb a little, and you can’t help but glow at being the very obviously chosen one; not just one night but two in a row. Maggie looks back at you, still lying on the fur throw, winks and leaves - sauntering through the door. When she’s gone Elvis turns back to you, rubbing sweeping circles on your stomach,

“Just wanna get you goin’ again for me,” His hand starts to trail down, and you don’t know what’s come over you but you put your own out - grasping his wrist to stop him wanting him to know;

“Daddy, I’ve never - that was my first time with,” He laughs, 

“Oh, honey, I know, I know. Did you like it?” You nod, and he laughs again, “I’ll bring my camera next time baby, can’t believe Hef’s not got one installed in here somewhere. What a waste.” He tries to move but you hold his hand where it is, causing him to look calculatingly over you, one eyebrow slightly raised. “Was there something you wanted?” 

“I…” You squirm under the pressure of his gaze and the tone of his voice. 

“C’mon bunny, tell me what you want.” You nod, a bit nervous - but you had stopped his hand for a reason. 

“Could you, would you… you know.” He’s got a shit-eating grin on his face when he responds, 

“No, sorry, I don’t.” You whine,

“Ugh - would you, with your tongue?” 

“Ohh - you want me to go back down on you? Have another taste of that sweet yittle bunny cunt?” You wriggle at his harsh wording mixed with his babying tone, but you frantically nod. He grins, taking his glasses off and throwing them somewhere on the bed.

“Well ain’t today just my lucky day.” He manhandles you into a better position, ripping your underwear off, pushing you against the cushions and shoving one underneath your hips -  moving to situate himself between your thighs. He wiggles like a cartoon about to be served at a restaurant - almost certainly to make you laugh and you comply, nervously giggling, mind preoccupied with hoping that you taste alright now that you’ve asked for it. He spreads you open, kissing your inner thigh before moving closer to your core, and you can feel yourself pulse with anticipation.

He tentatively licks you, just a gentle, wet stripe and you immediately gasp - eyes flying wide open, startled at how sensitive you already felt. Although it shouldn’t come as any surprise, you’d been slick and swollen since you’d fucked earlier, and a bit sore since last night. He flattens his tongue, spreading your folds, and moves his fingers in to keep you spread open. Your hips buck of their own accord when he wets his lips and blows cold air onto you, watching you squirm and clench in response. You can feel his smile before he concentrates again his tongue lapping at your entrance. Your legs come up, needing more support to better grind onto him and your hands move down to grip his hair, thumbs digging into the side of his face, his sideburns, while your fingers find purchase in his long strands, gently holding him in place. He renews his efforts, flicking his tongue in your inner folds and he moves one of his hands to brace your stomach down as he moves to lick directly over your clit - your hips thrusting up enough in response for you to understand the necessity of his hand holding you down. You didn’t realise you could become addicted to the feel of something so quickly, but you’re not sure you’re going to be able to live without someone, preferably him, doing this to you regularly. The warm wet pressure builds, and on top of where you were already on the edge it’s quickly building to be almost too much. He pulls back just as you think you’re about to go over the edge and you groan, but he smiles at you, catching his breath, lips glistening with your slick. 

“Oh god - is that, is that me on you?” He grins, 

“Sure is baby, sweetest honey from my honey bun-bun.” He licks his lips, and you groan again, your tummy flipping from how close you still feel, 

“Elvis - Daddy - need you, need more,” He leans back down, whispering, crooning in babytalk to your pussy; 

“Oh baby, baby, poor little, yittle, baby bunny - daddy’s gonna take real good care of you now, no more games baby, no that’s right, gonna get you right there,” He presses his lips to your clit kissing it, nose buried in you. Your entire focus is on the sensations as he moves down to spear his tongue into you, so different from a finger or cock and you almost choke from the force of the puff of air you exhale, as he curls it just so; you didn’t even know it was possible to do that and you wonder how much practice at this he really has. 

You can’t bear to look down at him anymore, the sight of his long lashes brushing against you, reminding you of who it was between your legs, watching you almost too much and you throw your head back, eyes closing as he thrusts his tongue in and out. He moves to add his thumb in, rubbing over your clit as his tongue continues to do its job, soothingly licking where you’re sore around the entrance to your hole. Your stomach tightens as he maintains a steady pace and you clench around him, thighs coming to rest on either side of his head, as you rock on his tongue and fingers. It’s not long, only moments when the pressure and movement get you there, body jumping as you crest over the wave of your orgasm. He licks you through it, and it means you just keep going. It’s overwhelming, and not something you’ve experienced before, the extended shaking and shuddering as you jolt around, jumping with every fizzle of pleasure. Finally, he pulls back, allowing you to breathe again, panting as you force your body to relax. 

A minute or so later you’re able to sit up a little more, opening your eyes properly again. You look over at Elvis and he’s got his cock in his hand - you’re tired but you feel like you have to show him some kind of appreciation for the best orgasm of your life so you lean up on your elbows, reaching a hand down to join his, you pump it once or twice before whispering to him,

“Let me Daddy,” and you sink your mouth down onto him. He gasps in surprise swearing

“Lord hav- oh god baby, bunny, oh shit.” as you hum around him, swallowing. He was clearly already very close and it only takes a couple of moments in the hot, wet, pressure of your mouth and throat before he’s warning you, 

“Gonna, it’s, I’m gonna go off baby, it’s - I’m close, real fu-cking close.” And with that he thrusts once, twice, while you hollow your cheeks - sucking down hard and that’s all it takes for him to be spurting into your mouth. You flinch, surprised, despite his warning, at the speed the taste unexpected, but still you swallow it down. “Fuck - fuck, thank you bunny, thank you.” He’s sweet, offering more gratitude than you’ve ever received from a man. You kiss his tip as you pull away and once again fall onto your back. You lie back, panting, and he joins you, curling around you - cuddling into you for the first time since you started this whole thing. You roll into him, enjoying being cradled in his thick arms, trying to comprehend the events of the past forty eight hours and how you’re going to be returning back to your normal life in only another few hours, wondering what Maggie chose to do, when he starts to talk, fingers tracing circles on your arms. 

“You know - my daddy’s - I got ‘im buyin’ me my own jet.” Your brow furrows a little, unsure where he’s going with this - “I uh, I - you’ll still have a cute little outfit, I like - like to dress ma girls up but, but I promise it’ll be … stretchy and uh, I won’t - I won’t assume anything but - but I  sure would like it if you, you would come on board with me?” He perhaps should have stopped there but he keeps talking, “It also - it would mean more time together, bunny, fewer girls around. Well…fewer in uniform anyway.” You grimace a little - so what is he suggesting; you be his on call plane whore? You hate that you want it, hate that you’re so desperate for him, in any way you can have him - to whatever capacity he’s available that you’re going to agree. 

“Of course - that would, that would be a dream come true Elvis, I would love to,” You’re not entirely stupid though. You smile at him, agreeing but not believing - this happens all the time in the clubs too; men promising things that never materialise - the drunker they get the more outlandish the claims; cars, houses, vacations, jobs. You know of too many girls who quit because they were promised a job as someone’s secretary only for the role to never materialise to put too much stock into his question. Besides, you still have two more flights with Elvis already in Big Bunny’s calendar - you were sure there’s more than enough time for him to make the offer again if he was really serious. 

“Wha-what’s your schedule like?… You got a boyfriend?” You pause, uncertain where this is going, surely these were questions that should have been asked yesterday? You suddenly realise that you know he’s seeing someone if only from the overheard phone-call but that you also had no idea if you were turning into the other woman or something. Or if you were just a girl to pass the time with. 

“I - uh, no. No, no-one. I’m not, we’re kept quite busy…” He frowns, kissing the top of your shoulder,

“Would you, you could come watch a show if you, I’ll get tickets for you and the girls if you want?” You smile, 

“That would be lovely, thank you -” He continues, 

“You could come a little earlier if you wanted, I’m playing somewhere new tomorrow, well - uh,” he looks over at the clock, grimacing, “Today. So I gotta check the sound and things, you could come to the rehearsal? I want you there baby,” You register some shock at his last words but nod, agreeing, it sounds like the opportunity of a lifetime and you go to say it but you suddenly realise, from the little puffing breaths on your shoulder he’s fallen asleep practically mid-sentence. You look around for the clock, before you, with some wonder, discover there’s still ninety minutes left of the flight and close your own eyes too. The others can do the stewarding, you’re doing the main job - keeping Elvis happy. 

[kinitokisser]

Aaaand we're ready to go!

After hours of work on this blog's visuals, we can get rolling on polling! And kissing some adorable sea creatures! :]

Inspired by this poll I made and realizing just how limited the format was, I decided to expand it to a whole blog! Now you'll be able to individually interact with each design - and hopefully more in the future! You can even submit your own! (Just make sure to read the pinned post first!)

Here's the game plan! Expect a couple days wiggle room as I'm disabled lol

Day 1 - Canon characters Kinito, Sam, Jade, Sonny, and Mark will be posted in their base forms. Yes I know Mark's only in the files don't worry about it :]

Day 2 - Canon alt forms Web World Kinito, Nightmare Kinito, and Hide & Seek Sam will be posted. If there's any others you can think of please let me know!

Day 3 - Original poll designs 1-5 + 8 from the original poll will be posted to finally settle the score.

Day 4 - Fan designs will begin to be posted (hopefully!) Feel free to start submitting them! I plan on submitting 1 a day in order to keep a steady stream, though if I get an influx I might submit a couple at a time.

Day 8 - Stats page will be functional As the first polls come to a close, the stats page will have something to look at! I miiight start slapping numbers in early because I love numbers, but don't expect it to be accurate til then.

I hope you'll join in on the polls and have fun!!

[snek-panini]

Book time! This is On the Subject of Nests and Happiness by Nonesensed. I don't typically go for nesting fics, they tend to get a little silly for my taste, but this one is an old favorite. They put some very nice worldbuilding into it and I really liked their OCs, which is kinda unusual in fandom, at least for me. So I wanted to give it the book treatment, and it turned out really well! The cover is cardstock, with book cloth on the spine, neither of which were actually bought for this project but they looked so good together that I couldn't resist. The title is HTV and it was an absolute nightmare to get all those tiny letters to stick properly. Worth it, though. More pics under the cut!

Endpapers are scrapbook paper, also not bought for this book, but just. Look at them. They look so good. I had actually intended to make my own end bands on this project, but they fought me so hard that I gave up. And I already had these black-and-white checkered ones that matched, so it's not so bad. You can kinda notice my tendency to make covers too deep in this shot. I used to think that was a flaw but as I go on I'm kinda liking it. I get more wiggle room when casing in, and they feel nice when I read the books. View from the top shows how thick this one is. It's the longest word count I've done at this size and I want to do more like this. The textures and proportions make it very pleasant to hold.

Have some interior shots:

Title page, first page of first chapter with summary, and first page of actual chapter text. All the images came from rawpixel with minimal manipulation on my part to make the one in the third photo. I don't like working with images, I've never been that kind of artist, but I do very much like how things turned out. It's got three chapters and they all have a first page with the wreath image and short summary, then the actual text of the chapter starts on the following page.

This fic has so many footnotes. More than any other fic I've set type for so far, and some of them are very long. I discovered in the process of formatting them that footnotes are a pain in the ass to typeset. Again, though: totally worth it, they look so good even if they do make the line spacing a little weird. I think a lot of my frustration with them comes from trying to make Word do things it was not intended to do. It won't stop me doing more footnote-heavy fics in the future, but at least now I have a better idea of what I'm getting into when I do them.

Fun thing about this: I waxed and burnished the cardstock before I attached the cover, and the last thing I did after casing in was the title. I have a cricut mini press, which is shaped like a tiny iron, and when I was pressing the HTV it left an iron-shaped dark patch on the front cover. Cue panic. It looked so stupid, and it was already cased in so I was stuck with it. I think what happened had to do with the wax coating? Thankfully, pressing it again all over (instead of just where the title is) covered up the dark patch, but the result is that the front is a slightly different color than the back. Whoops. I may go back later and press the back too, to get the color even, but for the moment I actually kinda like it? Shows me what I'm learning. Another fun fact, thankfully less visible than the last one: while I was making the cover, I gave myself the worst papercut ever while working with the cardstock. There was actual blood, and right on the tip of a finger on my dominant hand. I had a mark there for weeks.

I'm very proud of this one. That's probably why the post got so long and ramble-y, but I just keep coming back to it. Colors, textures, size, nice sharp groove where the spine connects to the front. I'm just really proud of it.

[ghoulangerlee]

Post last ritual, Copia and Dew talk about the future :)

I'm a firm Copia doesn't die truther so don't look to me for death. Copia lives a happy and long life with his ghouls post retirement lmao

-

"So, that was the last one, huh?" Dew asks as he lets himself into Copia's dressing room, the last one of the long line of dressing rooms he'd found himself in over the last several months.

Copia, as always, is sitting in a chair in front of a vanity mirror, a nicer one than some of the previous, carefully wiping his papal paint from his skin, "Last one," he confirms after a long moment of silence, looking back at Dew through the mirror. "How does it feel?"

Dew comes further into the room, pulling his helmet off and placing it down on the first surface he can, "It's bittersweet," he admits, "This tour has been...enlightening. A lot more high energy than previous ones," he carefully rests his hands on Copia's shoulders.

He's already out of his show clothes and is wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants; he looks good like this, content and happy, comfortable. Settled into his skin after several long years of trying to prove himself.

"You've done well, Papa," Dew says, leaning down to press a kiss into Copia's hair.

Copia hums, a happy little sound as he places the paint stained rag on the vanity before leaning back into Dew, "I couldn't have done it without my ghouls by my side," he says, soft and full of meaning. "Having you here has meant so much to me." His hand comes up and he covers Dew's on his shoulder, bare skin on bare skin. "Thank you for never giving up on me."

Dew scoffs a little, but there's a smile on his face, "None of the mushy stuff until we're out of the venue," he says, "You know Rain or Cumulus are better suited for that shit."

This time, Copia laughs and he turns in the chair a bit so he can look up at Dew, a happy smile on his face, "I mean it Dewdrop," he says and then he grows serious, "Having you here has kept me sane more times than I could count."

And well, Dew's not sure what to do with that, so he leans down and draws Copia into a kiss that he hopes is able to convey that he's here. He will always be here. That he doesn't make arbitrary promises in the middle of a traumatizing elemental transformation for just anyone.

When they part and Dew pulls his hands away from Copia's face, he makes a face at the smeared mix of white and gray transfer on his fingers. "You missed some," he says, wiggling them at Copia.

Copia's smile is private, fond and smitten as he turns around and picks up the washcloth, handing it to Dew, "Take care of it for me?" He asks.

Dew rolls his eyes but takes the rag, carefully tilting Copia's head to one side so he can wipe away the paint and sweat accumulating under his jaw and behind his ears, quiet all the while.

"Aether used to do this for me too," Copia comments quietly, a far away quality to his voice. "It'll be nice to see him again."

Dew feels something soft tug at his heart as he thinks of Aether, waiting for them to return to the church. They have so much to tell him about the tour. About Aurora and Aeon's part in their pack now.

"I can't wait to see his dumb face again," Dew says, his voice full of emotion, disgusting human emotions that Dew can't help but feel being fed into his and Copia's bond. Love. Care. Admiration. Longing.

They lapse into a silence and Dew continues to carefully wipe away whatever paint he finds that Copia's overly eager swipes had missed.

"When I name my successor..." Copia begins after some time, slow and careful, tasting the words in his mouth like something foreign. A thought he hadn't considered in almost six years. "Will you continue on as a band ghoul?"

Dew hasn't thought much about it, beyond what happens when they return to the church. Beyond Copia assuring them—with paperwork, notarized by Mr. Saltarian, the senior most member of the Clergy, and the oldest living member to date, that Copia's place in the church was as elevated leader, beyond Papa—he hasn't really considered what he might do.

The Ghost project will always be around. It will always be the way they entice people into joining, into spreading the Word.

But as Dew looks at Copia, eyes closed and content in Dew's hands, trust apparent and love blooming over through their bond, he just knows.

"I think Aeon would be a fantastic lead guitarist," Dew says, his voice uncharacteristically soft as he pulls the washcloth away from Copia's skin and tosses it over to the vanity once more. "I think, my place has always been with Aether. With you. I think, I would be content to stay at the church." He brushes his thumb across Copia's cheek, "Maybe it's just my old age and all, but I think it might be time to settle down."

Copia opens his eyes and looks at Dew, "Oh?" He asks, "You and Aether finally ready to make an honest man out of me?"

"Something like that." Dew says, though the fluttering in his chest tells him just how much he likes that thought.

[yupuffin]

Quick series of fact checks on that "Miku Expo = dashcon" post, by an attendee who has been to at least one show in every Miku Expo in North America tour since 2014, because OP made a post rife with misleading and false information and then restricted replies which is not a good look

-- "tickets were more expensive/charged people for projectors/tickets used to be at most $160" Not sure where they are getting these stats. My ticket was the same price as it has been all previous years, if not CHEAPER. OP cites $300 as the cheapest ticket for this year, which is blatantly false as my ticket was not nearly that much. (My VIP ticket in LA 2014 was definitely that much, though, so the claim that previous shows were "at most 160" is blatantly false)

--"banned glowsticks and upcharged ... their own" Chemical glowsticks shorter than 6" are still allowed, as has been standard with all previous Miku Expo shows in other years. Miku Expo merch has never been cheap. Pretty sure the glowsticks this year were the same price as always as I bought a set in ... 2016, I wanna say?

--rumors such as 'stolen cutout'/piss on floor/car crash in San Jose Can't comment on these as they are instance-specific and completely unrelated to the organizers. I recall hearing rumors about issues with staff employed by the specific venue due to lack of communication but nothing that I can personally confirm and nothing that would have been under control of the event organizers. Comment about 'unlicensed merch' indeed seems to point to venue staff rather than expo organizers

--'hologram technology not particularly complicated' Yes, you can make similar shows in your bedroom with similar technology (MMD with scrim). No, they're not on anywhere near the same scale as Miku Expo live concerts. In particular, the glass screen that utilizes the projectors (which has always been two-dimensional, by the way. so anyone who complains that this Miku "isn't a hologram" just... doesn't understand that Miku has never been a hologram, I guess?? This also makes the 'fans are disappointed because miku is 2D' headline VERY MISLEADING.) in the previous shows has a specific shape to make it look good from some angles, but it's VERY vulnerable to visual distortion when viewed from other, more extreme angles (from way off to the side, or right beneath it in the very front) as well as the problem of reflecting the lights from most glowsticks to some degree. The LCD screen used in the ongoing North America tour has neither of these problems. I can't speak to how complicated the specific setup is for the ongoing tour, but when you look at the show dates and how far apart the venues are, they don't leave a lot of wiggle room for... any kind of setup, even a simple one. (The San Jose show, for example, was only two days after the Portland show, despite the two cities being at least a ten-hour drive apart. No wonder they purportedly have a different band for each location)

--'this is the first time miku expo has been so bad' Nope. As mentioned above, I've been to at least one show in each Miku Expo North America tour since they started in 2014. I can guarantee you every previous show was not without its issues, either. In LA in 2014, the expo included daytime activities other than the concert and was hosted at an outdoor venue in the sun... with no drinking water available until the second day. Seattle in 2016 definitely also had miscommunication issues with the event organizers versus the venue staff. Can't remember 2018 well enough to comment.

--vocalo-ps are mad because this undermines their capitalistic interests Just... no?? Vocaloid producers are not major corporate entities who make a lot of money like a lot of mainstream producers. (Neither is Crypton Future Media, Miku's parent company, for that matter, but we'll address that in a little bit.) The vast majority are hobbyists and make little to no money. Those who profit from it at all are largely indie producers, some of whom retired from mainstream music production specifically to become indie vocalo-ps because they didn't want to deal with capitalist bs. (the reverse is also true in a few cases though) Vocalo-Ps aren't mad for reasons stated in the original post; they're mad because the overseas uproar is based largely on the assumption that, since Miku is obviously so popular, Crypton is a megacorporation that brings in tons of money and hence is in full control over... (vague hand gestures) all the issues outlined in the post. It really isn't. It has a grand total of 130 employees in an office in Sapporo. There's reasons they had to "crowdfund out the ass" for the online concerts during the pandemic and partner with Crunchyroll for the ongoing tour. That's why Vocalo-Ps are mad. Wouldn't be surprised if most of the issues that people are mad at could actually be traced back to crunchyroll tbh because they were apparently responsible for stuff like which venues were booked and when (which are just one of many issues that could be addressed aside from...)

--the whole thing with the screen??? I'm gonna be super honest with you. I'm in the minority here but I CANNOT understand why everyone is so mad about the screen? They make it sound like it looks SO bad but... it really isn't. (And as mentioned above, the presence of the LCD screen fixes a lot of issues that the glass screen has, so it's not without its perks.) It wouldn't have even occurred to me as an attendee of several previous miku expos that the screen was different if there hadn't been such a weirdly entitled uproar about it. So the fact that most of the words in the post and so much of the 'outcry' is about THE SCREEN when there are so many other logistical issues behind the concerts that could be addressed that are arguably more important than the type of screen they used baffles me, honestly. I could not describe this issue to my coworkers in a way that didn't make them think Vocaloid fans need to go touch grass which I think says something

People can try to sue crunchyroll over... whatever but I really don't think there's a basis for it??? I think this tour is not without its screwups and i'm conjecturing based on the evidence i have that most of them can be traced back to crunchyroll specifically but very likely NOT crypton or the individual vocalo-ps which... op seems very intent on villainizing for some reason.

[nt-studios]

Jam is over... so, now what?

Welp, the eighth Strawberry Jam has officially come to an end. Because of this, I wanna take a brief moment to share what I've learned the past month-and-a-half and my future plans up to this point...

As you may recall from my previous post, I made the choice to pause production on my current project to enter in this year's jam. I did this because I thought it'd be the perfect opportunity for me to take a small break from working on the same game I've been putting all of my attention towards for the past year now, and instead explore newer ideas that I've been wanting to tap into for a while.

I knew ahead of time that with a full-time job outside of game dev, this was gonna be a struggle. I would have to find the right amount of wiggle room within my busy day-to-day schedule to work on a fresh project under a tight deadline. And welp... the results kinda spoke for themselves. I ended up with an untested, unstable, nearly unplayable game by the time submissions closed. No matter how many bug fixes I tried to make postmortem, the game's concept just didn't work.

I'm gonna be completely frank here... this made me really upset the last couple of weeks. It completely shattered my confidence as a game dev and I nearly scrubbed my submission from the judging panel because I wasn't happy with what I made. But ultimately, I had to remind myself of just how much time and effort I put into this thing already. It would just make me feel worse thinking I did all this work for nothing.

All in all, though, this experience has made me understand my limitations a bit more. I felt trapped in my current project, like Mornin' Firebreather was the only thing I was meant to work on and nothing else. I was starting to feel a bit fatigued, so I used this opportunity as an excuse to break out of this cycle I've created for myself. But now I know that relying on a timed game jam to scratch this itch I've been having wasn't the right approach.

So now, what does this mean for the future of my game dev journey? The jam is over, so what're the next steps from here? Well... now I have a second project under my belt. Despite its flaws, the story is still something I'm quite proud of and honestly one I can't discard just because the game itself is crap. Therefore, I'm gonna be taking additional time to do some serious maintenance on The Makeup Exam (*without* a time constraint). I'll keep the original jam version up until maybe the end of this coming weekend, but then I'll remove it from itch and eventually do a re-release with an actual, playable product.

With that being said, I'm also gonna turn this Tumblr blog into a general game dev one, where I'll be posting devlogs and updates for ALL of my games instead of just Mornin' Firebreather. Now, this doesn't mean that I'm quitting production on Mornin' Firebreather. I still have big plans for that game that I haven't forgotten about 😜

But yea... that's pretty much it. I know this update was a little longer than usual, just had a lot going through my mind as of late.

[heyclickadee]

Yeah, okay, here goes:

I think some fandom infighting would be less toxic if we a really understood that all of us are here for different reasons.

And I don’t just mean that different kinds of stories are going to be helpful for some and hurtful for others and vis-a-versa, or that different people are going to tell different stories, you know, differently, and that should do our best to let people enjoy things. I mean that, at the end of the day, there’s a spectrum of the parts of fandom people enjoy.

For example, I have a sibling who’s in some fandoms strictly for the transformative aspect of fandom. Canon is more like a jumping off point and, to some extent, an afterthought. Their primary interaction with whatever a fandom is centered on might be fanfiction and other fan works. The characters and world they interact with in those fandoms are often completely unrecognizable from canon. The goal is often to create characters—self-inserts or otherwise—to exist in completely new stories that are (vaguely) informed by canon, but not beholden to it in any way. Most everyone in that fandom has a self-insert OC or a Y/N. The whole point is taking something you like, or wanted to like, and shaping it to fit you better. That’s fandom for them. And that’s great!

And then there’s me, who’s almost the exact opposite. Canon is more of a focal point. I love seeing fanfiction and fanworks that completely veer away from canon events and characterization, I appreciate them, but I don’t like making them myself. I love to write, but I have a hard time writing fanfiction, I couldn’t write a fic-it-fix to save my life (no, not even in the highly unlikely hypothetical scenario where it turns out a lot of us are wrong and Tech is dead for real). The closest I get to fanfiction are either short little half analysis/half story blurb posts, or doodley fanart that’s either a theory for something I think could happen in the future in disguise, or silly drawings about scarves. I compartmentalize fanon, my headcanons, and actual canon a lot. And I love seeing people’s OC’s, including the self-insert ones, but I dont want to make one myself. I don’t want to be in the story, because it isn’t about me; one of the things I love most about interacting with fiction I didn’t write is that it helps me get outside my own head and see things from a different point of view. I write a lot of metas and theories, but my favorite thing is being able to look a story that’s completely told and done, and getting to tease it apart. And that’s also okay.

Now, the two points I’m using as examples aren’t really opposites; there’s a ton (A TON) of very good character analysis and interpretation in fanfiction, and there’s often (maybe even usually) transformative aspect to analysis/intepretation. And I’m betting that most people in fandom fall somewhere in the middle of the range between transformative and interpretive when it comes to what they like about fandom. A lot of people write great fanfiction and equally great meta posts, and honestly, I think being good at the one makes you better than the other. But they are different approaches to enjoying and interacting with fiction, and I think at least a little of the friction in fandom can come from not recognizing that we all often have different approaches to this fandom thing.

Edit: I need to also mention that when it comes to interpretation and analysis, there’s a lot of wiggle room for contradictory conclusions that are all equally valid. Do I think that interpretive conclusions not supported at all by the text exist? Oh boy howdy, yes. But I also think there’s a lot of space before you get there, and a lot of ways for even one person to interpret the same thing, let alone an entire fandom.

Edit 02; I should probably also acknowledge that, as a lifelong Darkwing Duck fan, I also really enjoy shows or even books where ‘canon’ is more like a loose set of guidelines or a basis premise and the whole idea of the show is to do wacky things with that premise. I’m way more likely to get involved in the transformative side of things when this is the case.

[cloveroctobers]

ANGEL REYES x black! READER / Summer Prompts !

A/N: ofc I had to do a summer prompt for this highly frustrating man and you can absolutely guarantee this is about to be some bullshit! Lmao. Enjoy!

#16. Cannonball + #22. water park adventures from this prompt list here: https://hailing-stars.tumblr.com/post/653205377012367360/summer-prompts-heres-a-list-of-thirty-summer

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•**•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

You’re probably wondering how we ended up here (being thrown out of a water park)…and of course you blamed the one and only, in usual circumstances, Angel Ignacio Reyes.

It was a spur of the moment idea, midnight was here and you were half asleep surrounded by your children—since your bed was basically their bed in their eyes, meaning everyone was spending the night in your room. You weren’t sure when Angel got up from the bed but you were aware that your daughter now clung to you instead. Which unfortunately added more heat to your sweaty body than you needed, it wasn’t until the clicking of the AC that you peeled your eyes open to see Angel now blocking the air, with his bare tatted chest.

“What’re you doing?” You hissed, with your daughter’s copper hair tickling your eye.

Angel wiggled his hips, dancing in front of the unit, “my back needed some air.”

“So do my titties but yet your big headed daughter got that covered.” You reached up to smooth her hair and peeked down, searching the bed for her scarf that you mistakenly allowed your fiancé to tie for the night.

Angel snorted, moving to the bed to pry the chunky four year old off you to cradle in his arms, back in front of the air conditioner. You switched the arm that was wrapped securely around, “Mavy” (you refused to call that baby, “Maverick,” respectfully) and slowly pushed yourself up into a sitting position to place the sleeping infant into the nearby bassinet.

That’s when the whining started but you weren’t backing down this time. Your limbs needed a break from the weight of the children and so you caressed his skin with patience until he dozed off. You spun back around, raising your arms above your head and arched your back with a nice satisfying crack before you slid over to Angel and bumped him out of the way for a cool breeze.

The fan above the bed was not cutting it. And you were the main one who commonly said this but angel didn’t mind sitting underneath or right next to multiple fans…yet here he stood blocking the AC you bought.

“Hey, how about we do something fun as a family tomorrow? Well today. I have the day off.”

You rubbed at your neck, “okay?”

“Let’s roll to the waterpark. There’s one about a hour away so we gotta be outta here by ten.”

“Do they have spiked slushies?”

Angel blinked as he slowly twisted your baby girl back and forth in his arms, “I’m sure they do but like…you’re not about to walk around with a black umbrella strolling all over the park right? I know you can get in the water, you just got those braids last week. I saw you sticking your head in the sink later that night for whatever reason.”

“Shut up.” You moved back to plop down on Angel’s side of the bed, reaching over to your son who rested in the middle, “I will, but if we have three kids with us at a crowded park in the heat? Imma need a drink.”

“…do we need to schedule a AA meeting on top of that?” Angel joked, making you send a solid middle finger his way.

You could drink Angel under the table but he was more of a smoker and you preferred a edible instead every now and then.

“Okay, let’s say we’re going. Did you check the weather?”

“Does it matter? It’s hot either way.”

Of course he would say this, you made a mental note to stuff some ponchos into his backpack later.

Sighing you carried on, “you need to get in touch with Adelita and let her know then…she’s away on business but keep her updated.”

“Yeah, I’ll text her in the morning.” Angel shrugged.

Shaking your head you corrected, “call her.”

Angel sucked his teeth and thought about it, “yeah, you’re probably right.”

Humming you peeked over at the alarm clock on his bedside and lifted your legs to get comfortable on the bed. Angel poked your shoulder making you slap his hand away, “hey, that’s my spot, Cariño.”

“Let me have this Angel, you’re the one who blocked the air for a solid ten minutes.”

“And I’m the drama queen?” Angel huffed, “it was at least three minutes, stop it.”

You were already falling back to sleep when Angel placed your daughter right beside her little brother, kissed Mavy on the back of his neck, and finally climbed in on your side.

It was 11:13AM by the time all of you got out of the car. The sun was already roasting all of you and you were reapplying all of the sunscreen on the kids and securing them into the stroller and wagon.

“C’mooon, y/n.” Angel complained, bouncing on his toes as he closed the trunk to the car.

You stood up straight after handing Mavy his bottle, and adjusted the bucket hat on your two year old son who sat right beside the infant. Sending Angel a glare you carefully circled around the stroller and wagon, with a hand raised and smacked some sunscreen right against his neck.

“What the, fuck? Ow!” The taller man flinched, holding onto the handle of the wagon which carried your daughter who was too involved with her tablet, while you chuckled beginning to rub the protectant in making Angel want nothing more than to get out of your grasp.

“None of us are getting sunburned, not on my watch!”

“I already put this shit on thirty minutes ago before we even entered the park, why are we wasting more time doing this?” Angel huffed.

You continued applying more to his puffy cheeks as you answered, “The instructions say fifteen minutes before you get exposed to the rays. It doesnt hurt to reapply, you know? you should be thanking your wife to be because you’re the main one out of all of us that gets fucked up by the sun, so stop bitching.”

All Angel could do was suck his teeth. He knew he couldn’t argue, the sun do be beating his ass majority of the time. It was never much of a factor to him since his mind was always set on getting into some shit. He had vague memories of his own mother applying it to his skin whenever they would go to the beach—his mother loved the beach. Then on occasion, EZ would encourage Angel to do it but he basically told his little brother to, “fuck off!” Yet with you? Ms. Part-time esthetician, he didn’t have any choice. Sunscreen was to be applied daily and there was only a three percent chance that he got away without it.

Once satisfied, the five of you were off to quite the adventure. The last time you were at an amusement park was when you were pregnant with your son, two years ago…let’s just say it was not a good experience for you. You didn’t have the highest hopes for today since it was already eighty-three degrees but you kept that to yourself knowing this was mainly for the kids, including your fourth child, Angel.

At first it was a nice stroll through the park, which was slowly becoming filled with other attendees. Angel decided he would take your daughter onto the spinning tea cup, claiming that the carousel was too boring for him. You snapped some photos with your camera before taking a seat near by, cheering them on.

Hearing the laughter of your child was enough to make you happy for the moment.

The both of you took turns playing the arcade games before meeting EZ and Sofía? By the donkey riding? Portion of the park. You weren’t expecting to see Sofía here since it seemed that she was repulsed by children and you weren’t entirely sure where her and Ez’s relationship was headed. Not that it was any of your business but Ezekiel was basically your idiot brother too.

“Dario, you wanna ride the jackass?” Angel talked regularly to your son, who’s birth name was Marcellus but he preferred Dario so thus calling the boy by his middle name.

Checking your phone you answered, “he’s been on your back before, Angel.”

Which earned snickers from both Ezekiel and Sofía. You smirked to yourself, getting ready to respond back to a text message when Angel snatched your phone out of your hand holding it above both of your heads. Folding your arms you sent him a glare, you were not about to scrap with this man in this humid environment— that’s for damn sure.

“I know you won’t mind us using your phone to take a photo of us on donkey, right?”

Ez cut in, “you do know adults cant get on the donkey right? That’ll be cruelty to the animals with that big ass head you got. It’s just for the kids.”

“In that case, let’s all send well wishes to that donkey.” Sofia chimed in.

It was your turn to send a look to Sofia who caught your eyes, you gave her a thumbs up at the jab before Angel raised both middle fingers to you all. He pulled Marcellus-Dario out of the stroller and walked up to get in line for the donkey ride. It was humorous watching Angel trying to bargain with the teenage woman at the entrance, who was clearly not in the mood for his antics. So once your two year old was placed on the animal and watched over by another worker, Angel was snapping away photos like a proud dad and even got a video in there.

Time seemed to pass by quickly with Angel and Ez rushing off to a rollercoaster, going on a few more kiddie rides, and once Sofia and Ez went off to tend to a few other rides themselves, you, Angel, and the kids settled at the food court for some lunch. After spending a half hour there you finally made it to the water section of the park, which instantly made your Pisces daughter, sprint off to the large pool with uncle ez laughing, who made his own show of pulling off his shirt to follow after his niece.

You settled on a lounge chair in your own bathing top with Sofia near you and Mavy was chilling with you two. eventually Ez came around and snatched Marcellus to hang with him and his big sis. You and Sofia didn’t bother with small talk, you tending to your phone and her snorting at the women who were gushing at Ez with your kids. When you caught on, you snickered with Sofia before plucking up your cocktail and checking on a napping Mavy, who you kept positioned away from the sun.

When Angel came around drenched and causing chaos around the pool: tossing your daughter around like she was a football, shooting water guns at Ez and Marcellus to the point Marcellus was full on crying from the pressure, Ez wasted no time handing Marcellus over to you while you got ready to cuss this man out in front of the entire park, however Ez and Angel got into a fighting match in the pool which made Marcellus giggle at his uncle almost drowning his father by the large dumping buckets.

Rightfully so, Angel knew Marcellus was a sensitive thing. He ended up apologizing to your son with some tickles only to continue being chaotic as he got to the largest water slide with your daughter. He went down with her twice, no problem. It wasn’t until he went down on his own that you realized he was up to something. You sensed it before Ez called out to you in the pool, arm locked around his niece moments after he went down the loopy slide himself.

Standing with Marcellus on your hip, you lifted your shades from your eyes, shielded the sun from your forehead, and peered into the distance watching as Angel seemed to cut the line in front of what looked like some teenagers and began sharing words with the workers and the teens.

“The hell is he doing?” Sofia commented.

You watched in horror as he put his fingers up in the air and moved to the slide. Instead of sitting down, he gripped onto the side of it, perched like a damn frog and leaped from the slide. You heard gasps from others that seemed to notice the commotion but you barely realized his name bleeding from your lips.

It didn’t take long for security and some medics to arrive to the scene but Angel was clearly laughing them off. It was without a thought that you handed Marcellus off to Sofia as you stomped over to the group. You could see his mouth was busted and some bruising forming on his stomach as you approached him.

“Hey, querida! Did you see that shit?” The dark haired man greeted you.

You gave him a sweet smile as you stood in between two security guards and eyed the medic who pressed on Angel’s stomach, making him wince.

A rich dark skinned guy asked, “Do you know this man?”

“Yeah, unfortunately I do. He’s my husband. Is he okay?”

The medic answered, “he’s fine. With minor injuries but just to be safe, we can take him to the hospital to make sure there’s no internal injuries.”

Angel quickly looked away from you, ���Internal? Man, I’m good! There’s no fucking injuries from a simple cannonball.”

The security to the right of you added, “maybe he suffered from brain damage awhile ago.”

If your spirit wasn’t deeply irritated, you might have let out a cackle.

“Thanks for the advice,” you sighed stepping towards Angel, “I’m gonna kill my man now.”

The blond man reached out for the back of your arms, “Enough! We don’t need anymore public disturbances, so we have to ask the both of you to leave.”

“What?!” Angel yelled, “I just bought my family here to have some fun and now you’re tryin’ to tell me that you’re kicking us out because I made a splash in the pool?! That’s what the fuck it’s for aint it?”

The dark skinned security guard chuckled, with his hands resting on his belt, “maaan, don’t you realize you could have broken your damn neck from that stunt you just pulled? Save that for your backyard.”

The blond man rapidly shook his head in disagreement, “I wouldn’t recommend that, honestly.”

The security guard to the left continued, “You could influence the kids to think that what you just did was acceptable. Not only that, we were informed that you were about to square up with some teenagers?”

“I don’t know about all that,” Angel scratched at his hair, “alright look, they were talking shit so I shoved them out of the way and told them I ain’t no punk. They dared me so what do you want from me? In fact, those little turds owe me twenty bucks.” His eyes searched the park, while keeping a great distance from you.

Molding your lips together you clasped your hands together and spun around, not bothering to meet the eyes of the security guards. They already knew you were fed up and honestly felt a little sorry that you “married” this man.

“I’ll grab our things.” Was all you said to the men, as you silently excused yourself, walking back to Ez, Sofia, and the kids.

Ez opened his mouth to round off some questions but Sofia silently shook her head, advising that wasn’t the best idea. He cleared his throat and decided to head over there himself as Angel began to get loud, pleading his case to stay at the water park.

Sofia placed Marcellus beside a wide awake Mavy and helped dry your daughter off while you downed the rest of your fruity cocktail. Taking silent breaths and ignoring the judging stares from other people, you slipped on your floral chiffon robe. Placing your shades back over your eyes, you glossed your lips and tossed it back into your purse, before turning back to your daughter who was wrapped in her towel.

“It’s time to go, baby.” You picked the 4C four-year old up into your arms, quickly putting her back into the wagon. You caressed the once twist-out and noticed the tears beginning to swim in her eyes, then you handed the stuffed banana Angel won her, “it’s okay. We’ll blow up the pool for you tomorrow and we’ll have our own adventure, I promise.”

“Okay, mommy.” The girl hiccuped going to lay down in the wagon.

Giving a small smile you began pulling on the wagon while Sofia admired how you handled this.

“Is it okay if—?” She started, motioning to the stroller which carried your two boys.

Dipping your head you began leading the way, until a Karen blocked your path.

“You know…I hope you and your distasteful family never come back here. This is a place for well-behaved families and I know those men are nothing but outlaws just scaring the children away.” She slurped on her blue cocktail.

You didn’t bother taking your shades off as you replied, “bitch. You mean the same outlaws that you were drooling over not too long ago? And isn’t your kid the long haired lanky redhead? I just saw him vaping by the bathrooms, which I’m positive he didn’t get from my distasteful family. Also…you might want to ease up on the blow in your cocktail, it is a family park isn’t it?”

Smirking at her, you moved forward making her step out of your way and made sure to have the wheels of the wagon run over her bare foot.

“Ouch!”

“Mommy?”

“Sorry baby, just a little bump in the road.”

That’s how you ended up being escorted out of the park, despite angel’s efforts to stay but you were already over it. The guards watched you in the parking lot, making sure that you wouldn’t enter back in—or else they’d have to, “call the authorities.”

“So the real pigs? I thought that’s what you guys were.” Ez egged them on, which made you cut your eyes at him too with a shake of your head.

As you got to your car, Mavy started crying while Angel and Ez were getting ready to light up some cigarettes. Angel moved over to you while you started unbuckling Mavy from his spot all day.

“That’s his diaper cry, he definitely needs a change. Let me see.”

Putting your back to Angel you hissed, “I know, Angel. I got it! He doesn’t need you in his face with blood in your teeth and smelling like that shit. Just stay out the way, I’ll change him.”

Ez inhaled air through his teeth, mentally signaling that this wasn’t good for Angel as he watched you throw the backseat door open to lay Mavy on his back.

“Oh, she’s pissed at you, dude.” Ezekiel remarked, his eyes briefly watching Sofia as she awkwardly went to the other side of the car, socializing with his sleepy niece.

Angel licked his lips before wrapping them back around his cigarette, inhaling, “yeah, no shit. Its about to be a long ride back.”

“Aye, at least you’ll beat the traffic this time ‘round,” Ez grinned at him with a nudge while Angel rolled his eyes.

Keeping quiet, you and Sofia got the kids into the car while the men put the belongings in the trunk. You gave Ez a quick hug, thanked Sofia for her help, and climbed right in the car with nothing else to say. Angel shook his head at you before he turned back to his brother, dapping him up, then gave Sofia a short side-hug before he climbed into the car too.

It was only five, maybe seven minutes into the ride back home with your daughter and Marcellus fast asleep and Mavy quietly cooing, and your late night r&b playlist on the aux, that Angel had enough of your deafening silence.

“Talk to me already, cariño.” Angel groaned, rubbing at his eyes.

Running your tongue over your teeth, you inhaled as you shifted in your seat to face the man you were going to marry, placing your hands together into a praying motion, you got your words together.

“Because our kids are in the back, I’m not about to yell at you. Just know that I do want to wrap my hands around your neck, more than ever.”

Angel smirked, “you know I’m into that, tho.”

When he peeked over at you, he noticed that you did not crack a smile. You simply pressed your elbow into the console and stared hard at him.

He gulped, “alright! Why are you being like this? Can’t a man have some fun?”

“Fun? You thought jumping from a slide high up is fun? In front of our kids? What if you died? Then what? I already have to worry about your safety when you spend hours at the club but the one moment we get of freedom, you decide you’re gonna do whatever, with no regard for anyone else?” You questioned, brows furrowed.

Angel tilted his head, “I see your point…I wasn’t thinking about all that alright? Like I said to ren and stimpy back there, the kids dared me. What am I supposed to say, no?”

“Yes! Because fuck them kids, but don’t say fuck our kids. That’s why.” You strained to level your tone.

Angel rubbed at his beard, “I’d never say fuck our kids.”

“You did when you decided to play leap frog in front of us.” You fired off, pointing behind yourself.

Angel exhaled, “okay, fine! I’m sorry for wanting to have a grown ups moment.”

“What?” You were confused, more than ever.

“The movie. You know with Chris rock, the other guy who always dresses like this is still the early 2000s, and the chunky dude from mall cop. I watched it for the first time the other night and got inspired by that.” Angel rambled.

You felt your eye twitch.

“So let me get this straight,” you scratched at your brow, “not only were you taunted by some kids way younger than you, you wanted to have a reenactment from a scene in a movie?” 

“…kinda.” He shrugged.

“They were on a fucking zip line and guess what happened to Steve Buscemi’s character? He broke every bone in his body!” You couldn’t help but you raise your voice at this point.

Angel blinked as he looked at you, “he didn’t die tho.”

“HOOO MY GOD! You’re unbelievable!”

“Girl, you love me.”

“I honestly don’t know why when you do stupid shit like this.” Your head rested against the head rest, exhausted.

“Alright, alright! Listen, I’ll make it up to everyone the next day I have off. Summer is still going and I have time to create more memories for the kids. I’ll apologize to them later and make sure I didn’t fuck them up, maybe they’ll even get a kick out of it, huh? Unlike my stressed out wife.” Angel rested one hand on the wheel, as he looked over at you.

Shaking your head, you leaned against the window not saying anything more. Angel took the initiative to reach for your hand, although you tried to fight his touch away, he interlocked your fingers and brought your hand to his lips.

“I’m sorry that I thought about the thrill more than the kids or you.” He started, “I can’t promise that it won’t happen again but I can promise that I’ll think a little harder before doing whatever I want.”

Scowling you lifted your head, and mugged his head to the side, “I always said you needed to work on your sorry ass apologies and I see you haven’t learned anything.”

“Pop always said I was hardheaded.”

“He probably dropped you a few times to determine that, you think?”

Angel laughed at that, “I honestly wouldn’t be surprised. So…you forgive me?”

“No.” You leaned towards him and smiled, “not until your ass goes to urgent care and they can confirm there’s no internal injuries…then we’ll talk.”

Angel groaned as you backed away from his face but noticed you squeezed his hand a little tighter that afternoon.

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•**•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

Continue along with my summer anthology prompts here.

[cross-my-heartt]

Crosshair’s ‘rise and fall’ in the Empire

Episode three: Replacements

(This is part two to this post where I explain what this series is about, please check that out if you’re interested.)

Finally found the time to write this! Now, episode three is really cool. We get a lot of important exposition from the conversations between Rampart and Tarkin but more importantly we get Crosshair being present for one of those conversations which gives us more insight into his perspective on things going forward.

Crosshair’s first scene in this episode opens with him waking up after a chip enhancement procedure. This removes some of the responsibility he carries for his actions later on in the episode but as we’ve said before, it doesn’t mean he won’t have his memories from the time he was under the chip’s control.  

Shortly after this he’s walking alongside Nala Se, Rampart and Tarkin and is witness to the following conversation:

Rampart: A strong ruling government requires an increase in soldiers to maintain order throughout the galaxy. Nala Se: Our facilities are fully capable of creating more clones for the task. Rampart: Sustaining such a vast engagement is not one clones must do alone. There are other ways of producing loyal soldiers. May I present our first Elite Squad: top soldiers from across the galaxy. Imagine more squads like this being trained by skilled clones. Together they would make a formidable army. Tarkin: A partnership such as this could have promise. Rampart: I believe it will strengthen the future of this burgeoning Empire.

Note the wording here: an increase in soldiers, not a replacement. A task the clones can’t do alone, squads being trained by clones, together, partnership. All of this suggests that the clones are still needed by the Empire or that at the very least, the Empire still has use for them. Use being a key word here.

Not only that, Crosshair is currently being put in charge of the first elite squad, made up of the Empire’s top recruits. He’s being entrusted with the Empire’s supposed best while being promoted to the rank of Commander (the benefits of which we’ll see on Bracca).

All of this is a significant step up from his previous position and all he has to do in order to solidify that position is follow orders.

Before we get there though, there’s a brief moment where one of his subordinates mouths off to him in the shuttle:

This is some great foreshadowing for the future but having seen Aftermath, we can also draw some parallels between what we see here and what we already know.

Once again, this treatment is nothing new. Whether it’s the regs’ disdain for the batch as different defective clones or the natborns' derision for clones in general, it’s no surprise Crosshair doesn’t react in any way here. He’s used to this.

And ironically, being numb to such treatment is probably what blinds him to the forewarning it serves as; to how he’s going to be treated and eventually discarded in the future.

(Another little detail I’d like to point out: it’s definitely no coincidence that ES-01 is the one who taunts Crosshair here and later gets shot for disobeying him. Almost like a sinister implication that Crosshair finally has the power to silence those that look down on him. Of course that's not why he did it but it does look like some clever subtext on the writers’ part.)

Next we have Onderon and we all know what happens there.

The chip may have a hand or two on the steering wheel but in a way, Crosshair is given the chance to avoid what happened to the batch the first time around and he certainly corrects that.

To put it simply, this is Crosshair’s first taste of the control he has over his own fate while being in charge. Or more specifically – while he’s able to exercise the power the Empire has put into his hands.

Something that will become more and more clear with every episode where he uses his authority and the wiggle room his new position affords him to twist the situation into his own and the batch’s advantage.

Follow orders, reap the rewards. The chip talking? Or the person behind it? Who knows.

We next see his squad return to Kamino and Rampart promptly glossing over ES-01’s absence. And to Crosshair, who is already established as seeing the Empire and the Republic as one and the same, this is likely also very familiar:

The Empire, like the Republic, doesn’t seem to care how things are accomplished as long as they are. The Repulic tolerated the batch’s unorthodox methods as long as they achieved their mission objective.

Of course we as an audience know that the Republic would have objected to what happened on Onderon but Crosshair’s morality as well as what he thinks of the Republic’s morality are both wonky at this point.

Rampart and Tarkin acknowledge Crosshair’s success and his position in the Empire is solidified. His squad seem more obedient than before, following at a nod of his head.

There’s another conversation between Tarkin and Rampart, this one more telling of the Empire’s future intentions for the clones:

but this one notably happens out of earshot.

All in all, Replacements establishes several things for Crosshair: that the Empire seemingly still has use for the clones, that it offers an even more secure position for clones like him, that said position comes with a considerable degree of influence and control and that following orders, whatever he might think of those orders, pays off.

A very good start, one might say.

(And now for tags! @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @lightwise Don't hesitate to say if you'd like to be added.)

[songmingisthighs]

Cache

introduction pt. i | pt. ii | pt. iii

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ch. lxxxvii - you know nothing

wooyoung × reader, ??? × reader

buy me coffee ?

in a school filled with the affluent, it would only make sense for birds of a feather to flock. but what if your new status doesn't immediately buy you a way into said flock? what if instead, it bought you sure rejection? to the rich and powerful, having different masks is a must. despite some people knowing your true self and your secrets

Ever since you got home, you felt uneasy. The talk with Wooyoung might've been a bad decision on your part but you're not really sure why. You were so sure that you wanted to bring your former friends down but... are you being too harsh?

What they did to you was inexcusable but you were about to threaten to ruin their lives. Threaten to ruin their futures. It hadn't occurred to you what your plan actually was until you talked to your potential victim.

Victim.

That's what Wooyoung and his friends will be to you after this.

Not to mention Yeosang.

In all fairness, Yeosang gave you permission to post everything, he put the decision completely in your hands. The bastard.

You were so wrapped up in dilemma and guilt that you failed to notice two guys on your bedroom window, pressing their faces flat on the (dirty) surface, showing the ugliest expression you could think of. A little warning would've been great, but of course, life isn't as great or fair to you.

"HOLY FUCKING SHIT BALLS," you exclaimed, jumping slightly when your eyes met the uglified handsome faces of Yeonjun and Soobin, scaring the living devils out of you.

Once they heard you exclaiming in surprise, they removed their faces to cackle happily, pleased at their action. You rolled your eyes at your friends as you walk over to open your window, allowing the sound of their absolute delight to fill the room.

"You tricked an unsuspecting teenager, proud of yourselves, jackasses?" you scoffed, crossing your arms on your chest in a dissatisfied manner. They both stopped their laughing (or tried to at least, they were still giggling like lovestruck teenagers) when they noticed the look on your face. "Aww come on," Yeonjun's hands reached to poke all over you jokingly, "We were just teasing and you can't blame us for knowing that your reaction would be priceless," he defended as he wiggled his eyebrows teasingly. "Yeah, (y/n)," Soobin added as he managed to stop laughing, "Besides, you'll forgive us once you see what we have planned for tonight," he grinned widely.

You furrowed your eyebrows, confused, "Planned for tonight? It's... 9 pm, you know that right?" you asked, unsure if you were hearing them correctly.

Yeonjun nodded confidently, "Of course. We're irresponsible, (y/n), not stupid," he scoffed. Soobin rolled his eyes and smack his older friend's shoulder gently, "What Jjun hyung is trying to subtly say is that we're gonna show you what we've been doing whenever we're up and out until ungodly hours," he smiled proudly.

At the mention of the one mystery you've been wanting to know all this time, you perked up and they immediately noticed your interest. "You're kidding," you muttered, feeling like they were just getting your hopes high. But both of them shook their heads firmly, "Nope, not at all. We decide that it's time you know where we go and what we do," Yeonjun shrugged, nonchalance exuding from his posture.

You could feel your heart beat slightly faster, excited to know whatever it is that they had been so reluctant to tell you.

"So? You ready?" Soobin asked, offering you a hand to take.

° . ° • ○ • ° . ° • ○ • ° . ° • ○ • ° . ° • ○ • ° . ° • ○ • ° . ° • ○ • ° . ° • ○ • ° . ° • ○ • ° . °

"You've got to be kidding me," you stated, looking at both of them in disbelief.

"What?" Yeonjun asked, confused.

Both he and Soobin were standing in front of you, nearer towards a 10 ft wire fence that clearly had an entrance restriction warning. To the paranoid, it looked more like somewhere people go to dispose of corpses. You were not about to reenact Megan is Missing.

"I'm not going in there," you scoffed, crossing your arms, glaring at them, "If you guys think this is funny, pranking me by making me go to an abandoned building in the middle of the night, I'm gonna ram you both with a wild ram that I'm gonna catch with my bare hands and rage."

Soobin and Yeonjun looked at each other confusedly, not knowing why you were acting like that. Yeonjun walked over to you and exhaled sharply, "We're not pranking you, (y/n). If we were, we would definitely not drag you out here just to do it, okay? We would've dumped a bucket of rubber snakes and spiders or something, you know? Juvenile bullshit," he stated matter-of-factly.

But you still don't quite believe him as you can't imagine why anyone would want to be in a place so creepy. Let alone two guys who can't even watch a horror movie without demanding a sleepover afterwards. "I'm not about to be sacrificed to satan in exchange for fame or whatever you both want, right?" you knew it was a stupid question, but you just had to ask. Yeonjun rolled his eyes in exasperation before he took your hand in his, guiding you to catch up with Soobin who opened a seemingly unsecured gate.

Even with the two of them next to you, towering over you and literally, anything that might pop up from the darkness, you still don't feel quite safe. Both of your hands were securely in Yeonjun and Soobin's hands and you had somehow pulled them so close to you that they were basically shielding you. To think that all the horror movies you've watched would've been able to help reduce your fear of the unknown in the darkness. Reality is really different and it made you uncomfortable.

"We're here," Yeonjun announced proudly.

You looked around and noticed that you three stood in front of a tunnel. A very dark and seemingly endless tunnel.

"And where is... 'here'?" you asked, voice lowering as the echo of your own voice in the tunnel sent chills down your spine. Truly, you cannot fathom what horror movie victims must've been thinking when faced with a creepy situation. Reality and fiction are different but you believe fear is still fear.

Seeing the skeptical look in your face, Yeonjun smirked and moved over to the side. You heard a click before light illuminated the tunnel.

The tunnel was long, it stretched quite far but not too much that you can't see the end. The fairy lights allowed you to look at the creation on the walls. Shapes if different colours and characterd littered the grey-ish background. Your eyes scanned over the drawings and one particular caught your eyes.

Near the entrance of the tunnel was a drawing or a doodle. It looked childish and old and it was of two boys with wings and other random things like basketball, gaming console, cat, dog, hot dog, and two initials; cyj and jwy on each of the doodle of boys. You couldn't help but trace over the drawing and felt your heart clench a little, thinking about how cute child yeonjun and wooyoung might be and what they both turned out to be. Specifically Wooyoung.

Soobin stepped up next to you with his hands in his pockets, "This is our wall," he said proudly. "Well, technically it's MY wall," Yeonjun added as he picked up a stray spray paint on the floor and began spraying patterns on the wall, "My parents own this land and because i like doodling on it, they let me do whatever I want with it," he said with a gentle smile on his face. "So... You drew all this by yourself ???" You asked, admiring the art there. Soobin tugged your hand gently to another pile of art supplies, wordlessly telling you that there are supplies available and you can join in on making your mark. Compelled, you took a medium sized brush and a paint that caught your aleye and started drawing anything that first popped in your head. "Actually... We ended up dedicating this place for anyone and everyone who just wanted to... Express themselves," Yeonjun said as he put the can back down on the ground, tapping your shoulder to see what he did.

Your eyes widened and a wide grin bloom on your face as you realized that Yeonjun had put your initials on the wall. "And now, you're part of it too," you looked and saw him staring fondly at you and you couldn't help but pull him into a hug as you muttered a thank you to him.

Soon Soobin started showing off the art there, showing which was made by whom, telling stories of how they know who made them. It was something you never expected them to do. They disappear here on some nights to meet some regulars and see if they can help them in any way. Usually, a lot of them need someone to talk to, poor abandoned or neglected children who are high risk to ruin their lives. Or even misunderstood children who don't know how to communicate.

When you reached a section with less drawings. You assumed it was the newer section, freshly added maybe. As Soobin drawled on, telling you what he hoped the place could be, you noticed a symbol of the satanic book from The Babysitter and you were immediately reminded to the time when you watched it with Wooyoung and then again with Kyle. Well, Yeosang. As much as you want to cling on the good times, somehow it just reminded you of the betrayal they did. Wooyoung with using you and Yeosang with tricking you. You might be angry at them but is threatening them the right choice ??? You talk shit about how wrong their actions were but here you are trying to pull similar shit with them. Isn't that hypocritical? Petty?? You want to be better than this but you felt like what you planned on was right. Yes, Wooyoung, Yeosang, and the others were misguided and were provided with too many easy escapes by their parents but that doesn't mean it's too late for them to be responsible for their own actions. But is this responsibility for them? Living in fear and oppression and stress? God, are you as bad as them?

You jumped slightly when Soobin landed a hand on your shoulder carefully. "Hey," he called out, you snapped your attention to him and saw the worried look on his face, "Are you okay? You're spacing out," he pouted. You shook your head, trying to rid your mind off the plaguing thoughts and replaced your expression with a genuine smile. "Sorry, I was just focused on these art, they're... Meaningful," you lied.

You decided that it wouldn't be beneficial to share your worries with him. It's not even that you were worried about the plan, but it was more about what it'd mean to you. You don't want to burden him and Yeonjun with anything unnecessary.

From behind, Yeonjun jumped and glomped on Soobin's back, making the younger stumble forward slightly. "You should see the first art Soobin put here," Yeonjun teasingly nudged the guy, "it was some namby pamby crap about losers and lovers or something, not sure," he smirked. Soobin pouted and shoved his friend off of him, "it was from IT and I'm very proud of it," he muttered. Hearing him mention the horror movie, you perked up and told him how much you wanted to see the art. So with much pride, Soobin took your hand and guided you to where he first put his art.

The mention of the horror movie referencr seemed to effectively rid your mind off your worries. Maybe you're a sucker for horror movies, or for your friend. Whichever it is, you were grateful.

After all, let tomorrow's worries be tomorrow's.

Right now, you're allowed to distract yourself from remembering the potentially horrible thing you'll be doing the next day.

taglist :

@rdiamond2727 @miaatiny @baguette-atiny @kpopnightingale @dear-dreamie @potaeto-writes-on-wp @kwanisms @qghosty @charreddonuts @noonaishere @bbymatz @maddiebabyxoxo @kawennote09 @woo-stars @treasure-1117 @starjoongie1117 @linhyyboo12 @kodzukein @dreamlesswonder86 @glitterhongjoong @kitty4hwa @ateezourstars @starlight-channie @jo-hwaberry @yla-aira @hyuckilstan @phenomenalgirl9 @flamingi @gxlden-bxbyy @kirooz @leagreenly @memorymonster @purenjuniverse @meowmeowminnie @star1117-archives @ilsedingsx @kkayfan @ckline35 @jaxavance @yoongiigolden @jayeonnature @hwanchaesong @thesolarplanetarysystem @multihoe-net @jwnghyuns @moon-gyus

@cutie-wooyo @rubberduckieyourtheone

[callmearcturus]

Hello archtaurus can you talk about the consent situation happening in ktowl asking for a friend

golly gee, for a friend huh

(reminder to all: i lowkey wrote KTOWL as an attack on this motherfucker.)

I know I have a few people still reading KTWOL who are following me. THIS POST ISN'T FOR YOU. DO NOT READ THIS UNTIL YOU FINISH THE MAIN STORY. SPOILERS FUCKING ABOUND.

Also disclaimer death of the author blah blah, you know what it is

Okay lets talk about KTOWL and Consent.

So I tagged KTOWL as "Meaningless Consent" for a lot of reasons and a lot of them have nothing to do with sex at all. But some do!

The most obvious aspect of this is Dave and his tenure at the Umbra and the matter of tokens. I have frequently had people ask for clarification on this, which I'm sometimes a little gunshy to spell out explicitly because I do like leaving some things to the reader to puzzle out and to make inferences about.

But the thing about the Umbra that is a running thread through the entire story is how it erodes people. It rubs off everything that resists it like a constant river rushing over everyone.

In Dave's case, he's in a uniquely fucked position. The Umbra explicitly serves all comers and all tastes, both for a business and because it thrills the Cherubs and fulfills their terrible appetites. Dave is trapped in that system because he cannot leave the Umbra.

"Can't Dave deny someone a token use?" is a very common question people have, and one I intended KTOWL to tacitly answer, thought it's never Stated Outright. Because lets say Aradia is handed a token and she doesn't want to fulfill it for whatever reason. She is contractless and can literally leave the Umbra at any time. She had leverage to say no.

Dave, on the other hand, has no leverage, so he tries to carve out his concessions with a blunt knife. When Karkat gives him a green token, he immediately grabs it and tries to give Karkat a really good time because, in the future, he wants Karkat to keep picking green. Green is way more palatable to Dave than red.

On the other hand, there's Cronus, who wants red tokens because he has pitch designs on Dave. If you would like, you could infer that Cronus once upon a time flush flirted with Dave, but as Dave started to openly dislike Cronus for his many many many many faults, instead of stepping the fuck off, Cronus started employing the red tokens to try and build a pitch relationship with Dave. And it fucking sucks, and Dave is back into a corner because as someone stuck in the Umbra, someone under Calliope's avaricious eye, he doesn't have leverage.

There's a very purposeful recurring theme with Dave and how he interacts with Karkat. Dave enforces his boundaries bodily and verbally with Karkat. He pushes against Karkat's boundaries to see what he'll do. He directs the relationship, both in the sense that Dave is routinely the 'dominant' force during sex, and also that he grows to demand affection and attention from Karkat when he wants it.

So, was Karkat and Dave's relationship consensual from the word go? No, because they're stuck in a place where that is meaningless. What is hopefully admirable is the way they both meet each other and do their best to claw out a space for themselves where they feel like the have control, even if its in a delicate bubble they have made for themselves. As evidenced by how Calliope pops it when she's finally fed up with Dave's moodiness and the fact he's not playing along with her anymore.

SO YOU KNOW WHO HAS IT EVEN WORSE? FUCKING DIRK STRIDER.

And here we come to The Point.

Less hardened hearts may balk at the question: Is Jake and Dirk's relationship consensual?

Nope! But for Dirk Strider, consent is even more meaningless than it is for Dave, and i would character the difference between the two that Dave has wiggle room to carve out something equitable with Karkat, but Dirk's hands are tied and he can't do fucking anything.

In the first Abraxas Intermission, Jake has a conversation with his gran about the Umbra and mentions how he dislikes the desperation. It's a word that gets stuck in Dirk's head and haunts him. When Jake goes to the Umbra to meet Dave, he tells Dave what's been done to him is gruesome, and twice in that chapter, Dave unconsciously repeats Jake's phrasing, like Jake has somehow seeded a virus in his mind.

This is very much at the core of how Jake operates, honestly, and he does it to everyone. He presents a new reality to people and his viewpoint slowly infects them, until Dirk breaks his Executor's Code, until Dave has his full tilt breakdown, until Rose can only entertain the idea of murdering Jake instead of doing the deed. His power is charisma, and I cannot overstate how dangerous it is in his hands. There's nothing more powerful than someone who knows exactly how dangerous he is.

So anyway, back to Dirk. This is made very explicit in the second Intermission, but Dirk has lost everything. The Umbra has eroded more of him than it has of anyone else. He has no desires other than Caliborn's whim and Dave's safety (both not related to Dirk himself, you should note). He has no hobbies he doesn't share with Dave. He doesn't want things. He has been raised to be a tool and then he has been used as a tool for so fucking long, there is nothing left.

I'm trying to put into words the affliction that Dirk has been struck with, that has been forced onto him by the Cherubs. Like, one of the most horrible things that Calliope ever does to my personal estimation is a throwaway line Dirk shares when Jake is interrogating him:

Dirk's voice shook with anger as he told Jake about her: her lingering glances, about the armband she wore that kept her within five miles of Caliborn, about how she lured more people into confinement with her, about the time she said Dave's eyes looked like maraschino cherries, about the time she'd asked Dirk to hold her as she cried over the latest stupid thing Caliborn had done.

Even the sanctity of Dirk's emotions has been violated to the point he doesn't have them. His body, his work ethic, his skills, his emotions have been fashioned into a tool for the Umbra to use as it likes, and he has no end in sight. He is never getting out. He's not even trying to get out! He has no desire to escape the Umbra, just to get Dave out of the Umbra.

[huge breath]

So when I think about Dirk Strider and consent, my truest, most honest thought is "what fucking consent." This is a person who doesn't have anything to consent to, doesn't have anything to consent with, so for him even more than anyone else in the story, Consent Is Literally Meaningless. There is nothing he can give and there is nothing you can take from him, he is a desolation shaped like a man.

Enter Jake "Abraxas" English.

And I want to be very clear: Jake is not and has never been The Good Guy of KTOWL. He was, in my very first draft notes before I wrote a single line of the story, was simply A Comparatively Better Monster, comparing to Caliborn and Calliope.

The one virtue that Jake has, that drives the story and in my opinion makes KTOWL function at all is that Jake does want Dirk's body. He wants his desires. He wants his emotions. He wants his talents. He wants Dirk as a person in a way that is anathema to what Dirk has become.

When Jake drugs Dirk and wrings the truth out of him, it is technically a transgression, but to me it doesn't feel like one. Dirk doesn't even come out of it thinking of it like one because... why would he? He has nothing you can inflict on him.

But that leads directly into what Jake does in the second intermission, of course. Yes, Jake is capturing Dirk to give Karkat the shot he needs to wreck some fucking havoc, but also Jake sequesters Dirk away and--

lol there's a subtle joke about this that some people caught actually, in Rose's POV chapter when she thinks about Jake and Dirk's little 'vacation' she imagines it's very an extremely vigorous sex romp. But in truth, they fuck a few times but mostly...

Jake wants Dirk. He wants to find the core of Dirk that has been neglected for probably over a decade, and he wants to get his hands on that thing. He wants to know what Dirk's scars came from. He wants to see Dirk laugh. He wants to know what Dirk thinks about when he is not thinking about being an executor. He wants Dirk to be a fucking Real Boy again! He sees himself in Dirk, because Jake himself was Made rather than born, and he knows a thing or two about what that's like.

It's not... noble. It's still selfish. It's still rooted in Jake's rule-based morality. He doesn't want to save Dirk and Dave because Rose told him to or because it's the right thing to do, he sees their situation as a severe and dangerous breach of the rules, and he's offended and he's righteous. Jake believes/knows he can do it better, and he will make that happen, hook or crook.

So when I think about "is dirk and jake dubcon? D/s? some kind of 24 hour arrangement of power?" it's all interesting to think about, but on some level I think it's entirely besides the point. You are welcome to disagree, this is my opinion.

Then, KTOWL the main story ends, and Dirk signs on with Jake, and it's not even a question. Now, technically, Dirk.... didn't have to do that. He could have, technically, put the pen down and walked away and been a normal contractor or something. His weregild debt wouldn't vanish, but he didn't have to be Jake's executor.

But the thought never crosses his mind. The ability to say "no" is one of the many things the Cherubs removed from Dirk's mind.

Is that a sad thing? Hm. I'm not sure. Maybe it is for some readers, but to me... it's not a secret that KTOWL is a continuation of an idea I first explored in pump your veins in gushing gold. In GG, Dirk does manage to escape Jake's grasp, but then turns around and puts himself right back into it, on his own terms, and accepts what is basically ownership by a fae.

Jake Abraxas English is not a fae, and yet he's far more dangerous than one. But he is, in a sense, the only person who can handle Dirk Strider. Which... includes Dirk himself.

I'm going to explore this concept in a Dirk-centric coda that I'm working on (and posted a preview of last week I think) but Jake is invested in Dirk as a person and wants to see him.... become a person again. In some ways, Dirk is much more feral than Jake is. (I said in the comments of the second intermission chapter that the core of the Dirk thing is that Dirk feels like he's the sanest person in any given room, but really he's shithive fucking nuts and everyone else knows it.)

But it's a long road, and it's going to be a longterm project, the reconstruction of Dirk Strider. He has spent so long living for Dave's sake, taking that way without any kind of fallback or safety net is frankly extremely dangerous for a man like Dirk. But luckily(?) Jake is ready to catch him and to try and resocialize Dirk into something other than a tool. But he does and will continue to use methods that would be severely fucked up if employed on anyone else.

Because we joke about how Jake is a horny weirdo, but the thing is, so is Dirk. They are the only people who can handle each other. And Jake is an obsessive amoral freak who will put all of his talents and resources into... saving Dirk Strider. Even if it takes the rest of their lives.

And that is why consent in KTOWL is meaningless. /jazzhands

Oh btw is is one of the many ways in which Jake and Karkat are foils.

[mythica0]

OMG IM SO IN LOVE WITH YOUR FANFIC!! Hwo about this idea with the Turtles and Casey Jones from the future. They are turtles so their feet are different from humans (of course they know that) so how abiut they try to cheer up Casey with the exuse to "observe" this difference? XD Of course only if is okay with you!

Observation

🎂; ROTTMNT

🧁: Casey jr.

🍫: Leo, Donnie, Mikey , Raph

Summary: The turtles use the fact that Casey has different feet than them as an excuse to tickle him.

A/N: ajajsjan I can’t take compliments- Asjdba. Anyways, enjoy! (PS, sorry for my followers for flooding your dash today woop-)

TW: this takes place post-movie… so possibly spoilers!

Observation

“Hey Casey?” Leo called out.

It was another day that Casey was in the quote on quote “good timeline” and not in an apocalypse, and he was still adjusting.

April helped show him around the city and figure out at least some semblance of social capabilities. He was settling in. But, he still liked to hang out with the turtles.

“Yeah Sens- I mean Leo!”

Leo chuckled a bit at the slip. Casey was still getting used to calling him Leo or Leon instead of authority titles. It was kind of endearing.

“Do you want to watch a movie with us tonight?”

Casey nodded. He still had quite a bit of pop-culture to catch up on, afterall.

“Alright! See you then!” As soon as Casey left the room, Leo grew a smirk.

Little did Casey know, they were planning more than just a movie night.

The turtles were talking about how Casey was adjusting to life, and realized that he probably had never been tickled before.

This was a fact that must be remedied! So they all decided that they would figure out a way to get him.

And later that night, the plan was ago.

At first they let Casey just enjoy the movie, but after about an hour, Donnie started the plan.

“Y’know. I’ve always wondered why humans have so many toes, like what’s the point? We only have two and we balance just fine.”

The others caught on to the start and played along.

“Yeah, I mean, look,” Leo started, poking under each one of Casey’s toes.

“One, two, three, four, five, so unnecessary!”

Casey froze up. He had been told what tickling was by his sensei, but he had never truly experienced it. However, he knew that was what this was. The slight tingle that shot up his leg and made him want to laugh.

Mikey added on, “yeah, and their heel is so short! See!” He dragged a finger down Casey’s sole, stopping at the edge of the heel.

That got Casey to let out a few giggles. “Guhuys!”

“What’s the problem Case, we’re simply making on observation.” Donnie smirked.

That’s when Casey knew they were doing this on purpose.

The four mutants then converged on the kid from the future, taking turns scribbling across his soles in the name of “observation”

“Hehe! Guhuys quihit ihit!”

“Hmm… no!” Mikey called out as he wiggled Casey’s toes.

“Tktktktktk!”

Casey then squealed a bit, covering his blushing face with his hands.

The turtles stopped, Raph went to get him some water.

“I’ve nehever beheen tickled befohore.” He breathed through leftover giggles.

“We know.” Raph started.

“That’s why we did it! Now you know what it’s like!” Leo finished.

“Heh. I guess I reheally am part of thihis family now, huh?”

“What an astute observation!”

———THE END————————————————

[popo-licious]

Calculating Your Worth as a Freelance Artist

Hi all, I originally posted this on Reddit but wanted to share it here as well.

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There are many different approaches you can take to charge for freelance work, and I'm sure every artist will have slightly different advice. Here is what has worked well for me personally. :)

Method

I bill my clients by the hour as opposed to billing for the entire project upfront. I used to bill a flat fee when I was just starting out, but discovered that I was undercutting myself significantly. Here is the formula I use:

(Hourly Rate x Hours Worked) + Materials = Total

Rate

Determining your rate is tricky because you're essentially defining what you think you are worth. Most of us artists tend to undervalue ourselves, especially when first starting out. As a starting point, figure out the absolute lowest acceptable rate that you would be willing to work for. Ideally this starting rate will be equal to or exceed minimum wage. You and your art are worth it and you shouldn't be expected to work for pennies. <3

Once you determine your baseline, you can add markup to your rate based on your skill level, years of experience, and any additional benefits you bring to the client. Markup is important because it allows you to a) make more money and b) have some wiggle room to negotiate with your client.

Below is a handy formula for calculating markup.

Minimum Rate + (Minimum Rate x Markup) = Final Hourly Rate

For example, lets say the lowest amount you are willing to work for is $20/hour. Additionally, let’s assume for this example that you're a reasonably skilled artist with several years of experience. If you were to markup your minimum by 75%, your hourly rate would be $35/hour. Here is the math:

$20 + ($20 x 0.75) = $35

or

$20 x 1.75 = $35

In this scenario, you can present your client with an hourly rate of $35, and if that isn't in their budget, you have the flexibility to negotiate down as low as $20 without feeling cheated.

Estimating Hours

In order to accurately estimate your hours, its important to ask questions that will help you determine the scope of the project and what will be expected of you.

Here’s an example: a friend has asked you to design the cover art and packaging for their new album. Some good questions to ask are: 

- Do you already have a concept in mind for the design? 

- Will the art be needed for future projects such as merch? (This will dictate the final size you provide.)

- Will you need assistance with setting up the files with the print vendor? 

- Will you need assistance with adding any text to the packaging?

- When is the deadline?

Once you have that information, it will be much easier to determine realistically how much time it will take you to fulfil the request. (Also, build in some time for edits as well!)

Materials

Materials includes any expendable supplies you need to purchase specifically to complete this project. If you are painting, this would be your canvas, paints, brushes, etc. If you are sewing, this would be your textiles, thread, needles, etc.

Make sure to let your client know about these added costs ahead of time, as they are separate from your hourly rate. 

Additionally, I normally wouldn’t charge clients for any non-expendable materials that can be used infinitely, such as software. You can expense those to your business.

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I hope this helps, good luck! :D