#george sure knows how to pick em

[balladofthe101st]

i know joe went up to the bar just to flirt with george with the classic, "you come here often?" but george, seeing joe walk towards him, looking so handsome and lean in his class a's, panicked, and before joe could use his line, george blurts out, "corporal toye, there will be no leaning in my company. are those dusty jump wings? how do you expect to slay the huns with dust on your jump wings?" joe, bewildered and flustered, plays along, straightening up and dusting off his jump wings, just to see that sweet smile on george's face. that night didn't go as joe planned but between a couple glass of beers, sharing a smoke, and spending the rest of the evening until the next early morning with george and that goddamn sweet smile of his, joe wouldn't have spent the night any different. next time, he thinks wistfully, next time maybe he'll get a kiss

[crazy-only]

the grid meeting your parents ! (fluff)

pairing: f1driver (hamilton, norris, piastri, russell, tsunoda, verstappen) x reader

premise: how six f1 drivers would interact with your parents ! (fluff, fluff, fluff, and more fluff)

preface: YOU GUYS ARE SO SWEET AHHHH like seriously i don’t understand how im getting this much love just writing my horny/love-deprived thoughts but nonetheless i’m close to tears ╥﹏╥ thank you !! anyways who should i write for next ? a pt. 2 with the other drivers ? enjoy <3

hamilton

babe would be experienced with this, know all the right things to say, and when to just nod and pretend like he agrees with your parents. even though he’s been through the same motions of ‘meeting the parents’ a few times before, he knows you’re the right one for him, so lewis will take this opportunity seriously.

that means bringing bags of designer clothes, perhaps a watch for the dad, and, of course, an expensive bottle of wine (he still hasn’t disclosed the price to you (｡ŏ_ŏ)). your boy’s classy and will match his attire to yours. and maybe get your mom to crush a bit on your mans as well. but don’t worry, boy is loyal!

✦✦✦✦

norris

aww i think bby acts confident about these sorts of things in front of friends, but when it’s just the two of you, he shrivels in your lap, anxious at the mere thought of meeting your parents.

he doesn’t want it to go wrong! he needs you for the rest of his life, so he spends days before the actual event asking you what your parents’ interests are, things they would ask on the big day—lando panics big time. and on the day he actually meets the parents, he realizes it was all worth it, because now he can spend the rest of his life with you! (*ˇωˇ*)

✦✦✦✦

piastri

okay this boy knows his personality is special. he knows he can’t exactly be as straightforward as he would prefer to be because there’s a big chance your parents would take it the wrong way. so, as he gauges your parents’ tolerances to sarcasm, jokes, etc., he grows more confident. at first, baby will be quiet, but with time you’ll be dragging oscar away from your parents just because they can’t stop talking so much!

✦✦✦✦

russell

similar to hamilton, this man is ✧classy✧ and makes sure it seems that way. whether it’s a casual dinner or a barbecue, george dresses up in a suit, all pretty, because he wants your parents to know he’s serious! don’t take him wrong though, he’s not afraid to get on his knees to help your parents out. sink is broken? baby is inside the cabinet fixing the faucet as we speak. need more charcoal? he’s already gone back to the gas station to pick a bag up (he’s an f1 driver, i mean what’d you expect?). and don’t worry about if your parents approved of him or not, he’s got ‘em asking when he’s coming back!

✦✦✦✦

tsunoda

aw yuki would be so shy meeting your parents. his relationship with them would be more sweet than anything. less chatting, more jokes! if he burnt the dinner he was supposed to cook for your parents (low chances, but bear with me), yuki would be close to tears. he takes it very seriously!

thankfully your family would laugh it off, and yuki would start laughing as well. if the power went out, jokes would float around the dark room and your parents would see how much he cares about you as he grabs blankets and tea for you. (≧﹏ ≦)

✦✦✦✦

verstappen

baby could simply care less about your parents. all he wants at the end of the day is to be with you. his heart only wants you! how can you blame him? ( > < ) for this reason he tolerates your parents. if they happen to be nice, then he’ll get along great! if they’re not his style, he’ll still pretend like they saved his cats from a near-death experience (eating the wrong cat food).

as long as he has you, max can meet a hundred sets of rude parents and still be happy. <3

[countrymusiclover]

2 - Possible Futures

Part 3

It's About Time

Tags just ask - @lover-of-books-and-tea @bvbwestfall l @bubble-blu @liesanddreams @bethanymccauley @skeletonontheroad

Rain was pouring against the windows of the Cooper house. Georgie and I were laying on his bed since I had finished my homework earlier so my parents let me go over to hang out with the oldest Cooper. Georgie was reading a magazine of women in bikinis and I was looking at one of Sheldon’s comic books from his room. “Georgie. Dad told me to help you study for the math test.”

“I don't need your help. Get lost.” Georgie grumbled eyeing his closed bedroom door.

His father George Sr hollered from the living room. “Georgie, let him help you!”

“Come in!” Georgie yelled and his younger brother came in seeing the dirty room floor. “What's your problem?”

Sheldon started picking things up by the end of his pencil. “No problem. I'll just...tidy while we talk. Before we start, I'd like to get a sense - of how much algebra you know. Do you understand solving and graphing - linear inequalities?”

Georgie flipped to another page. “Sure.”

“Explain it to me.” Sheldon challenged him.

Georgie paused before he answered. “Uh...first you solve 'em...and then you graph 'em.”

“And how do you do that?” Sheldon challenged him a second time.

“Uh, you know, carefully.” Georgie answered him before Sheldon left the room in a huff.

Rolling my eyes at my best friend I closed my book rolling over to hold myself up on my elbows. “You do realize if you fail the test you won’t play football anymore right?”

“Yeah I know. But I’ve got this.” He answered me closing his magazine.

I glared at him, eyeing his uniform hanging in the corner closest of his bedroom. “Just let him help you. Otherwise I’ll have to deploy my secret weapon.”

“Oh yeah and what’s that?” Georgie challenged me.

I smirked getting up in his face grabbing at some locks of his curly brown hair. “I’ll cut your hair.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Georgie gasped sitting upright on the bed.

I sat upright getting in his face even more so where our noses were touching. The smirk didn’t drop from my face. “I bet I can run to the kitchen and get them faster than you could.”

“Don’t start a fight you won’t win.” Georgie got up from the bed and I scrambled to my feet too.

He narrowed his brown eyes at me. “Sounds like a bet to me, Cooper.” I bolted out of his bedroom door slamming the door in his face where he flung it open chasing after me down the short hallway.

The wooden floor underneath the carpet creaked until my feet hit the kitchen floor and I yanked open the drawer inches from grabbing the scissors. “Ah Georgie!” I screamed, feeling arms wrapping around my waist and we stumbled to the harsh tile.

“I won’t let ya cut my hair.” Georgie pinned me on the ground holding my wrists down with his hands.

I glared for a second before I busted out laughing. “I’m only messing with ya, Georgie. I love your hair.”

“I do too.” He smiles down at me releasing my wrists hearing someone coming in our direction.

Missy stopped in her tracks carrying her doll named Celeste. “Woah. We’re you two about to make out?”

“No.” I quickly answered her, blushing like a tomato.

Georgie snapped, waving her off and getting to his feet helping me up afterwards. “No we weren’t. Get out of here!” I tucked my hair behind my ear thinking back to our last year of middle school.

“Woo-hoo!” I giggled hanging off the tire swing that my dad had put in my family backyard of my house.

A bicycle skids to a stop in the driveway where I stopped swinging around super fast to see who it was. “Y/n, I finally know what I want to be when I grow up.” Georgie dropped his bike in the grass rushing over to me.

I kept slowly moving the tire swing around, holding tightly onto the rope to not fall off. “Oh yeah. What ya got?”

“You know the rich bad guy from Back to the Future who has the hot and skinny wife?” He asked me.

I replied back. “Yes.”

“I want to be like him.” He said back.

I leaned my body into the rope that I was holding onto. “So where am I in this future of yours?”

“If we're lucky my hot and skinny wife might have a hot brother you could marry.”

I snorted out a laugh. “Marriage and kids don't sound too bad.”

“With a hot and rich husband.” Georgie chuckles climbing up on the tire swing beginning to sway us around where we were pressed up against the other hoping to not fall off.

Lifting my gaze up to his I felt my face starting to turn red and it was in that moment I realized that I had my first ever crush on my best friend. “Right with a hot and rich husband…” I mean who would be foolish enough to turn him down.

“Hey, I got some matches and fireworks in the garage stored away. I was thinking we try'em out.” He jumped off the tire waiting for me to follow him. Getting off the swing I grabbed my bike and we rode back to his house.

Peddling my bike by his I got a little distracted thinking back on what he said about his future. If i was lucky maybe down the road in a few years he would feel the same. “I was thinking I might marry you when we get older.” We pulled into his driveway and that night we accidentally blew up one of the neighbors mailboxes which had to be the coolest thing ever.

The next evening after we had all passed the test Sheldon knocked on his door again. “Georgie? I need to ask a favor. It's private. Can I come in?”

“Come on. What do you want?” Georgie was reading another one of his magazines and I was just laying beside him. We had been chatting until he interrupted us.

Sheldon came to stand at the foot of the bed. “It occurs to me you have something in common with Captain Kirk.”

“We both have cool hair?” Georgie asked him.

Sheldon corrected his brother’s statement. “In order to succeed, you both play fast and loose with the rules.”

Georgie shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, I suppose we do.”

“When you cheated on the math test, what was your strategy?” The nine year old genesis asked.

I made a face at the younger boy. “You’re asking him for advice on how to lie. I thought I’d never see the day.”

“Me neither, Y/n.” His brother glanced at me thinking back on his plan. “Well, I guess the most important part was not stepping on anything wet before the test. And not getting an "A."

Sheldon knitted his brows. “Why wouldn't you want an "A"?”

“'Cause that would raise suspicions. Who would believe I got an "A"?” Georgie shakes his head at his ridiculous question.

Sheldon gasped. “Wow. Tell me more.”

“Okay, when you're telling a lie, it's important to throw in some details. Like, when I was wanted to spend the night at Ricky's house, and Mom asked me if his mom and dad were gonna be home, I said, not only are they be gonna be home, his dad was gonna teach us how to cook turkey legs in the smoker.” Georgie explained his story.

Sheldon responded, making me facepalm my face into my hands embarrassed. “I like turkey legs. Were they good?”

“There weren't any turkey legs, you dope. His parents were in Branson.” Georgie chuckles slightly annoyed at him.

Sheldon walked over to the door opening it to leave the room. “That's incredible. I totally believed you.”

“Now get out of here, I got to finish reading this.” Georgie opened his magazine once more when the door shut behind Sheldon. He could feel my gaze focused on him so he sat the magazine down in his lap. “What you gotta say?”

I shifted to lay back down against his pillows. “You know you teaching him to lie ain’t gonna end well for him.”

“I don’t care. He never gets in trouble for anything. If he gets caught maybe he won’t be such a pain.” He shakes his head, sending me a half smile.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[cherry-pop-elf]

Weasley Siblings With A Chubby Partner

Yes I’m projecting. Shush. It’s hard to lose weight when you have heart problems lemme have this

Warnings: 16+ There isn’t any sex, but there will be sexual themes. Also talks about fat phobia, bullying and such. Along with a small bit of food struggles and topics of eating problems

Writing Comission’s Open

William ‘Bill’

There is just something so nice about it. He himself is a, rather, thin and lanky man. The job quite literally sucks the life out of you. So you are always such a massive comfort to him. How you are able to help him stay so warm, and how he can just wrap his arms around you. Let his bones rest, after a long day, and embrace you. To be able to share a big meal with you, and have it adored. Since being a curse breaker is so draining, it’s a given that comfort food is left and right. So there’s something so kind in sharing it with someone, instead of eating alone. There is also something so thrilling about it all. Whenever the full moon comes around, and he has handfuls to enjoy. To have so much flesh and skin to bite and claw at. Make sure everyone’s knows who you belong to. He likes it, he won’t lie. Especially the morning cuddles. Letting his head rest on your soft chest, and holding you close. Fingers tracing the scars he’s left behind. It’s soothing, to the wolf in ginger clothing

Charlie

Oh he loves himself someone with meat on their bones. He himself has some too. Muscle is tense when flexed. When it’s not? SQUISH. So he damn well knows that just because someone’s got some extra squish, it doesn’t mean they aren’t able to still kick your ass. Oh he loves himself a partner that’s got meat on the bone. Mans is always behind you, with his hands on your stomach. Playful squishes. Never to insult. Just always very all mine. Not to mention a good excuse to show off his cooking skills. You gotta be creative when always camping. Finally someone to enjoy the meat he always endlessly has. That’s something he loves. Sharing food. Especially meat. Oh you bet your ass there’s alot of meat in your future. Along with aggressive claiming, and not being just a man who watches dragons breed. He’s gotta claim his own mate, and enjoy all that they can give. What can he say? He’s about as much dragon as he was Weasley. He likes em big, warm, and dangerous. The fact you thought it was smart to date him? Oh yeah. You are dangerous alright.

Percy

He’s a bit of a mama’s boy, so having a partner on the softer side certainly isn’t the worse. Not to mention there is a strange pride to it all. That his job is high paying enough to never have to worry about food. Every Weasley has money paranoia. Even the twins, despite their beautiful jobs. There is extreme comfort in knowing neither of you need to worry. That you can be on the softer side. It helps him sleep at night. To hold you close, see your sleeping face, and hug you. Feel how warm and soft you are. To know he is able to provide enough that you didn’t have to become dangerously thin. It’s a sign of pride, really. To know he can support his family. Make sure all he cares about is happy, and safe.

Fred

Twins, of the Wizard kind, share it all. Such as the enjoyment of someone soft. Fred sure does like to show you off, in a sense. To brag about how pretty you are, and how much you joy you bring. He’s similar to Charlie, in a sense it’s hard for him to not keep his hands on you. He just loves the security of it. The feeling of love. It’s soothing to him. To just hug you, and you hug back, promising to never let go. How you give him this comforting weight, as you cuddle. It helps ground him. Brings him back to earth again. His big, sweet, security blanket. He also adores cooking for you. He picked it up from Molly. He was the one who cooks, and George is the one who bakes. Nothing screams home more than cooking for someone. Expect lots of it from him. No hungry mouths in his house!

George

Very similar to his twin. You provide him a security, and comfort. But, they don’t always share everything. Especially not after the war. He can understand the insecurity. Missing a ear isn’t exactly hard to miss, especially since the spell that took it is famous for leaving deep gashes. It can be nauseous. Having people stare at you, for only doing so much as existing. He can tell the difference in the looks. He knows. And he knows he can hold onto you close, and find support. Along with someone who would enjoy his baking skills. Someone to share his love again. It’s hard to live with out a twin, but having you in the kitchen with him lightens the load by a lot. Like he never left. Your sweet teddy bear. His favorite co-baker

Ron

What can he say? He likes someone who likes to eat. When you grow up with food being scarce, you develop some food paranoia. Can you blame him? He is rather self conscious about it. Always teased for eating so much. You understand him though, and he understands you. You learn to appreciate food, when it can be hard to get any. Never fear about your eating habits around him. He’s more than happy to share a big meal with you. There’s a comfort in talking over tea with someone. To snack and snuggle after a long day. He gets it. Life is to short to worry about people’s views. Never know when you can’t even get food. Find pleasure in the little things

Ginny

As a Quidditch star, she definitely has to eat alot to fill in her calories. Like a lot a lot. So having someone who can keep up? She finds it fun. She also damn well knows that a little extra padding on the hips is not a death sentence, or even remotely means you are unfit. She sees so many different types of athletes, and grew up with family who all played Quidditch. She knows where muscle and fat goes. Like how Bill needs to keep up his calories for his job, why Charlie had more muscle in his legs while the twins have it in their arms. She knows how the body works a little better than most. So she damn well knows her athletic butt adores your squishy one. To come home, shower, and just slam her face into your stomach. Groaning about her aching muscles, as she snuggles into you. Able to enjoy how soft you are, and the emotional support it gives her. You are just perfect in her big brown eyes.

[aconflagrationofmyown]

but then… Gigi

Chapter 2 - An Elvis Presley fanfiction

Thanks: to the little rascals who schemed and kept me pumped the entire time I was whacking my way to fruition on this project: Bri and Elise. And to Birdy and Ally and Christi and all the rest of you darlings who are so dear to me and whose shared love for this man has brought such joy to my life. I hope you enjoy, your feedback means the world to me and there’s nothing I enjoy more than getting to incorporate some of y’all’s schemings and theories into the story itself. So don’t hold back! Xoxo

Caveats are the sign of a insecure author yet here I go…: in this chapter there are highly unflattering references and portrayals of Pricilla Presley and Ginger Alden respectively -they are not necessarily my opinions of them, they are my dramatization of Elvis’ headspace during the summer of ‘77 when many report he was breaking up with his “fiancée” and there was already a substitute picked out to come with him on the impending tour. Y’all can debate those rumors all ya want and I honestly don’t know what to think of them myself, what I do know is that man told his father he was terribly lonely days before he died. And I want to remedy that, so the narrative is unreliable here and it’s in his head. Love at first sight, love that obsesses, love that has a childlike quality to it as presented in this fic is often selfish and even cruel towards the feelings of others. If you’re not fond of Elvis as a flawed, moody bastard of a man on occasion, this fic may not be for you. Cheers.

Warnings: 18+ no actual sex happens but my goodness -it’s sure wanted and thought on so much that sometimes it felt like a fifteen year old boy was hijacking my keyboard -Big daddy was that you?! Apologies for the, uh, crass body descriptions?! Salami will never be the same again…also, use of the word “fat” in the narrative as being thought of oneself, good ole fashioned chauvinism and mild infidelity on Elvis’ part

Chapter 2

“Do ya think it’s too, I dunno, too, too on the nose?”

“E.P., ya have people over here all the time, man.” Charlie murmurs gently from where he sits on the floor, not bothering to look up from the spread out sheet music he’s rustling through. “Why would it be on the nose to do it now, all the sudden?”

“Well I-I-I was thinkin’ maybe havin’ a pool day, maybe that was too forward.” Elvis has been rethinking this since he told George Klein to wrassle up that young bunch again, and specified the pretty young Artemis whose freckles had been covered last he saw her.

“How’s that forward?” Charlie seems genuinely confused and Elvis figures this has got to be one of those times he’s so far in his own head and foggy from pacin’ the pills that he’s not thinkin’ like regular folks.

It’s just that he couldn't take this eager young one turning him down, or shying away from him. It makes him timid in a way he hasn’t been in decades.

“I thought maybe, maybe invitin’ ‘em durin’ the bright light of day would be less, less, ya know, less susp–would raise less eyebrows.” Elvis tries to explain and Charlie really gives it the old college try to understand why his usually very entitled friend is suddenly reverting to teenage levels of strategizing to hang out with some chicks. “But now it seems like it could, could be t-taken wrong.” He’s thinking of Gigi in a swimsuit, he’s thinking of her bouncing through his trophy room headed to the pool like she bounced on the sidewalk, he’s thinking of how knowing Tammy had looked when he’d badgered her for information on her folks. Tammy has him spooked, he supposes, has him second guessing his own motives a little.

“Which nose are we worried about bein’ too ‘on’?” Charlie asks gently, and Elvis hates him for it.

“Ginger’s! And fuck you Charlie you know already, it’s Ginger’s.”

“If it’s Ginger who you’re concerned about being put out by your guests,” Charlie doesn’t bat an eye, “then I suggest you worry about her chin, not her nose. The thing’s huge, bound to be too ‘on’ it no matter what ya do.”

Elvis chuckles weakly out of sheer appreciation for Charlie’s loyalty, “Is that where I been goin’ wrong with that broad all this time? Lordy, I ain’t even tried to sit on that face, what’s she so put out for? Just anticipatin’ me bein’ too on the nose? Didn’t seem to think all that fuckin’ jewelry was too on the nose, coulda bought her one a’those Indian nose ring thingys and I reckon she’d have snatched it oughta my palm fast as anythin’.”

“Some folks are born put out.” Charlie philosophizes and continues rummaging some more in the guitar case, pulling out picks and wadded sheet music.

“I invited them today, they turned me down; they’re busy with somethin’.” Elvis admits softly, because he had tried to put this off for about five hours without her knowledge, then the Bible verse this mornin’ happened to be a little too ‘ the nose’ regarding deceitful intentions and he’d rung her up, been straight up about wantin’ her over.

Ginger said no. Declined. That’s how she put it. She was always havin’ to decline him. Except for his money and his trips. That she had an open sieve of a purse for.

The fact Charlie is as unsurprised by her avoidance as he is, suggests Elvis really is a sucker. He gnaws his cuticles bloody. “I should call it off.” He realizes.

“Yeah, what’s holdin’ ya back?” Charlie doesn’t even sound remotely sympathetic and Elvis thinks maybe he hasn’t been sly about lining up a replacement if even his friends know not to pretend to be sad.

“Her family spooks me.” He admits softly, “I got’a feelin’ about them, like they’re gonna raise a ruckus if I don’t go through with it.”

Charlie looks uncomfortable for the first time in this little gossip session. “Sounds familiar,” he ventures so carefully Elvis immediately knows he’s referring to Cilla and her folks. Referencing the day that won’t be mentioned and the threatened law suits and the getting wrung dry and the whole fuckin’ mess he’d made of what ought’ve been a blessed endeavor. Instead, he married a woman outta compulsion and reaped the seeds of it six years later.

“Reckon you’ve tried this before–pacifyin’ folks.” Charlie sounds scared but whether it’s of his decision or for offering an unasked opinion, Elvis doesn't know. “Reckon you should think about what you want, E. What you want for your life. Hell man, you may be halfway done already, you really doin’ what ya want? Maybe ya are, I'm just sayin’–you’re Elvis Presley! Ain’t anything worse they gonna say about ya than they already have, and nothin’ more tragic than havin’ all you’ve got and not doing what’s good for ya.”

Elvis thinks about the deluge of infamy that’s coming his way in a few months, not a single publisher bending to his coaxing or demands for a retraction of Red and Sonny’s little tattle-tale novella. Bastards. Those disloyal bastards.

Gently ditching a frigid woman back outta his home into her daddy’s paid for and well-furnished house is hardly gonna be the most breaking news. And by that time, ain’t no one gonna wanna come over here for pool parties or game nights or stop him on the street for an autograph. No one’s gonna want him by then, might as well enjoy the company while he can.

“Looks like it’s gonna rain today anyway,” he adds in glum summary.

“So?” Charlie tries to cheer him, “I’m sure the gals have noticed the weather and they’ll bring stuff for it, change of clothes and all that. EP, we’ve never run outta stuff to do here, have we? It’s your home, you don’t gotta perform. Can always make it a movie night or somethin’.”

Watching a movie sat next to Gigi in a skimpy bathing suit cover might be worse than watching her frolic in his pool. Elvis gnaws on his thumbnail and smashes the piano keys. Charlie doesn't even jump from the sudden noise. “What time is it?” he asks Charlie even though he has a wrist watch.

“It’s still before noon,” Charlie looks up at him from his place on the floor pointedly, “they won’t be here for another three hours. George’ll be here maybe a half hour before, since ya asked him.”

Elvis's stomach will be in complete knots by then, he knows it, and his mood will be foul for the pinching pain of it and then sitting out in the baking, humid summer heat under a gray sky that won’t rain will sound like shit. He growls and starts playing that classical piece he was trying to learn last tour.

_____________________________

Gigi’s head already aches from the plastered-high ponytail Tammy hair-sprayed her wavy locks into and she knows her face is coated in far too many layers of makeup for a pool party. It’s not what she would have chosen but she considers it a win to be walking out the door of their apartment in something more decent than the nylon scraps suggested to her as a swimsuit by her friends. It’s one thing to be aided in a little primping by one’s gals who seem hell bent on depositing a buddy into Elvis’s bed, it’s quite another to feel more than a little pimped out.

Gigi has a feeling that half of this hilarity may be selfless giggles over one of their own catching his eye, but the other half is definitely some old style sorority cunning. Whoever the mythic, absent and supposedly current girlfriend of the King is, she’s been earning Tammy’s hatred since grade school. And Gigi has a feeling that she herself is but a gilded instrument of destruction for said girlfriend. It gives her pause. About five seconds worth before she’s clambering into the back of the ride sent for them, trying to keep her swim skirt down so she doesn’t flash Lamar.

Gigi may be a bit jaded from personal loneliness, but she figures it’s free-game to pick up something someone left on the sidewalk. Things that are precious to somebody are tucked in pockets or kept in safes or worn around the neck like a talisman. They never get a chance to end up on the sidewalk.

Precious things aren’t sent off to college with no roadmap and only the weekly phone call or left to rot away in their own sprawling houses utterly bereft of company.

She pulls at her ponytail and determines to have fun. And be a little bold. It’s why she wore a skirt and razor back swim top that is more sporty than seductive–she figures that if she can keep his attention by her behavior, that’ll be the only way she can manage to tolerate it. Too much male assessment turns her into an idiot, the other night proved that, and she’d like to feel free to act in a way that might make him laugh like he had at other folks' charades.

She wants to laugh at these flimsy precautions against Elvis’ legendary hypnotizing capabilities. She just tugs at her skirt bottom and admires the way Tammy’s red swim top has her spilling out like a Bond Girl. She kicks at the duffel bag holding their change of clothes hoping it rains, she loves swimming in the rain. Bike riding in it, too, anything but these ironclad skies that trap the thick air down here but don’t send a refreshing shower. She’s got her face pressed to the Cadillac’s window when the wall whizzes by her view and then the car is turning and there’s Graceland, up on its hill, looking a little somber in the pale afternoon light.

They aren’t dropped off at the front this time, “That’s for guests and the boss himself.” Lamar explains as he pulls around to the side and slots into the humongous garage.

“What’s that make us?” Dinah asks, unabashedly enjoying the way she makes the amiable fella wait for her to adjust her bikini bottoms before stepping out the door he opens for them.

“Friends, silly.” Lamar has seen a thing or two and while coral neon high risers on gleaming chocolate skin might be pretty eye-catching, Dinah’s got more work cut out for than that, if she wants to fluster him.

Which Gigi isn’t sure why anyone would, he’s nice and keeps to himself and is good humored. She gives some frantic thought as to whether she can recall meeting a wife of his or not before she’s being herded with the rest through the sea of vehicles parked in Elvis Presley’s garage and in through the back door.

They’re immediately in the cozy dark upon stepping inside. The cool, crisp air-conditioned breeze cuts through the thick of outside and Gigi feels like she’s finally able to breathe. Next comes the unmistakable smell of burgers and through low lighting and dark painted paneling she realizes they’ve stepped into the kitchen.

There’s an immaculately polished black woman at the sink and leaning next to her, beside a row of sweating sweet teas, is Elvis, making conversation and caught by his guests mid-snicker.

There’s something so strangely mundane about the scene to Gigi that her heart lurches. The domesticity of fresh-cut onions and the comfy slouch of yet another tracksuit–it has a powerful effect on her and she finds herself beaming in gratitude at being invited back. The fact the kitchen is carpeted registers about a minute later as she scuffs her sandaled foot nervously across it, her toes dragging against the plush as she waits for the crowd in front of her, one-by-one hugging their host hello, to thin out enough for her to get at him.

She’s gonna hug him this time, she’s sworn to herself she will.

“What? No Keds? Where’d the Keds go, darlin’?” is what happens instead, Elvis frozen with his arms wide open to hug her and his eyes pinned to her french-tip pedicure like she’s Liberace and done forgot her piano.

“I thought this was a pool day.” She scrambles, and that’s enough for him to drag his eyes up the leggy length of her to meet her own blue ones, still looking like he’s in great consternation over her omission. “Is your pool bottom really that rough?” She teases and is pleased when that wipes the silly pantomime of alarm off his handsome face.

His thick sideburns draw up with his smile, pulling towards his ears like the creases around his eyes and he grins, “No doll, neither my pool or its bottom’s rough. You c’mon through right here, make yourself comfortable. You like burgers, honey?”

“I do!” she replies and obeys the outspread arm that sabotages her intended hug, directing her to the barstools at the counter instead.

“Sit yourself down and I’ll get’chu one.” He assures her earnestly before leaving her side and shuffling around the industrious lady he’d been caught gossiping with.

“I’m Gigi,” she offers to the lady from across the counter, watching as she slides the plates around and sets out the usual condiments in a tidy row.

“Mary darlin’, this is Gigi,” Elvis spins halfway through his trek to the fridge , the quick movement belying his bulk and he throws an arm around Mary’s shoulders while making the introduction as if Gigi hadn’t begun it.

“Lovely to meet you, Mary.” Gigi carries on normally as does Mary herself, warmly shaking her hand over the bun basket.

“Miss Cherry Coke?” Mary’s eyes glimmer mischievously up at her boss who tucks his head shyly in response, “Miss, we’ve got the whole top fridge stocked with the stuff, you give the word and I’ll have a case poolside for ya.”

“Oh, that’s awfully kind,” Gigi splutters, “and not at all necessary I-I can make my own burger too, let me help–”

“Sit down, you’re in my house, I’m makin’ your burger.” Elvis commands and Gigi’s bottom has barely left the barstool before she flops back down with a plop that makes the deflated cushion wheeze. “What’cha like on it, baby?” He asks then, suddenly soft as butter.

Between the pet names and the unlikeliness of Elvis Presley actually making her a burger while wearing an unzipped track suit and a king's ransom worth of rings in his own kitchen, Gigi is liable to forget whether she likes ketchup or frog legs on a burger.

“How do you like it?” She counters as if they’re in some argument and he looks surprised by that before leaning towards her, belly pressed into the counter, explaining in loving detail his preference for the onion/pickle ratio and the importance of cooked meats. The sheer amount of thought and stubborn preference for his food prep that comes out in this explanation takes her by complete surprise, not expecting him to care so much about something so trivial. His music or his career or films maybe, she might not have been so surprised, but he seems very much in love with cheeseburgers and helplessly she murmurs, “I'll have it however you like yours done.”

The moment is interrupted by the loud slurp of Tammy’s straw running out of carbonated beverage at the bottom of her bottle. Gigi had quite forgotten there was anyone else here for a minute. She spends the rest of the wait trying not to be obvious about the way she drools at his elegant hands as they meticulously pile on diced onion and bacon bits, sparkling ruby rings and glinting emeralds the only reds or greens let near the food.

He slides the plate her way, determined not to be shy but hopes she doesn't notice the way he watches her from beneath his lashes as she bites into his creation. Her cheeks bulge from the size of her bite and her puffy lips strain to keep her manners and after a few workings of her jaw he sees her eyes light up with childlike enjoyment, then roll back in her head with an appreciative moan. He chuckles and pushes his glasses back up his sweaty nose.

Damn affection, he’s in love. Oh merciful Jesus, not again.

Out by the pool, a few folks sit beside it with their toes dipping in, sloshing at the crystal clear water while a few brave and stupid souls take to the loungers as if the sky overhead wasn’t implacably slate colored. Tammy had told Gigi not to dunk her head in, to keep her shoulders at least above water or else the makeup would run. Gigi thought maybe the makeup should have been left off altogether but it’s too late now and it looks like no one’s going in all the way anyway, her little perch on the diving board isn’t conspicuous with everyone else staying out. A pool is a pool in Gigi’s mind, sunny weather or not, but she feels like it would be childish to jump in and no one else follow. She feels young enough here, so, demurely, she hangs her legs off the diving board and makes conversation with Mr. Hodge about Elvis’ army days.

Elvis himself is still in the house, something about cigars and Sam coming over. When he comes out the pool house door he has his tracksuit undone and an added navy t-shirt beneath it, swim shorts replacing the tracksuit bottoms and Gigi’s mouth starts to water from…nostalgia…she thinks. Beside him is a terribly tall young guy with a mustache and two kids trailing after them. And then there’s two young women, followed by a mature couple; their parents it would seem by the familial resemblance in the jaw.

“Y’all, this is my friend Sam, and his lil critters.” Elvis announces for the girl’s benefit, “He’s a cop, so don’t y’all go tellin’ him nothin’ ‘bout the charades the other night.” He taps his nose as if they’d gotten up to obscene rituals and Sam just rolls his eyes before shaking hands. “And these here are the Aldens, Mister, Missus, Ginger and Rosemary; this is Tammy and Dinah and Marie and Gigi–” he points out one bathing-suited beauty after another with studied nonchalance.

“Nice to meet y’all.” Gigi gives a wave, wondering if she should get up off the diving board to greet them or take a cue from Elvis's casualness and stay put.

Judging by the Superman-level beams of hatred forming between Tammy and Ginger, she figures it’s best to hunker down next to Charlie Hodge and keep her head down.

It makes her jump when Charlie outs their little haven by piping up with a, “I thought E said y’all were gonna be busy in Nashville today, Ginger.”

It makes Ginger look over at them and while Gigi has done nothing but have her head patted and swallowed down every greasy pound of the burger made for her, she feels like a skank under Ginger’s burning assessment.

“We didn’t wanna miss it.” She replies off-handedly after her inspection and turns back to Elvis who is shuffling her along the patio towards a lounger like she’s some decrepit grandma.

“Here, Ginger dear,” he’s got the same voice on that he uses with interviewers and it makes Ginger scowl and Tammy smirk, “how bout we set ya all up nice and comfy here, there we go. We’ll getcha all set up and you can watch from here, know ya can’t go in, it bein’ your time of the month and all.”

It’s funny how his tone is discreet while his volume is anything but, reaching even Gigi and Hodge at the far end, making the slight man snicker at some inside joke Gigi resigns herself to not get. He sees her confusion.

“Ginger here happens to have her period about ten times a month.” He whispers conspiratorially and Gigi gasps.

“Poor woman!” She winces at the mere concept, “Has nobody found a remedy?”

“Not yet.” Hodge shrugs, “Elvis has paid for her to be seen but no luck yet. Still, doesn’t seem to slow her down much, a hearty sorta girl. Except for pool days and sleep overs.” He adds before sipping his Coke noisily.

Gigi turns crimson at this backstage confession from so polite and circumspect a man as Charlie Hodge. She feels like Tammy may not be the only one trying to maneuver her into his friend’s arms. She sighs; she’d like to end up there, she’d also just like to swim in Graceland’s pool without a load of drama surrounding it.

“Why are we all out here anyway?” Ginger asks loud enough for it to carry to Gigi and Hodge on the diving board, “It’s been cloudy all day and the forecast is rain, if you wanted a pageant I coulda taken you to New York, baby.”

She pats Elvis' shoulder in that curious way that Gigi has noticed non-tactile oriented folks use to try to make connection with touchy folks.

Pat pat pat.

Body entirely angled away, no lingering weight after the pressure, no squeeze at the end, no dip down that broad back–it’s the sorta touch that’s worse, grating even, than nothing at all, in Gigi’s experience. Isolating, lonesome, a mockery of what it ought to be. Her heart slams in her throat like she’s watching some old trauma, and maybe she is, but she feels a compulsion to put the pressure back on, laying hands on the wound, steady and firm and untiring.

It’s stupid. But so is the silence that follows Ginger’s criticism of the weather.

“Don’t have to have the sun out to swim.” Gigi observes cheerily, looking around hopefully for someone to agree, Tammy won’t stop smirking and glancing back and forth like watching a ping pong tournament.

“No, but nobody likes to without it.” Ginger frowns at her in confusion.

“I don’t get why?” Gigi presses, genuinely confused herself. “It’s not like we can tan when we’re up to our necks in water. I’d know, I had a blistered face and pasty legs in June, last year, from a monkey in the middle game that lasted too long." She laughs and Hodge and Elvis glance down at her mentioned legs before they laugh too, maybe just to break the tension that seems to be forming in the humid air.

“You’re just sayin’ that to humor this guy.” Ginger cracks a joke of her own, thumbing at Elvis who sits at the foot of Rosemary’s lounge, looking as absolutely glum as the rest of them feel.

“No, no, I’m not actually.” Gigi’s soft voice insists and in a frustrated little huff over the way everyone’s behaving like kids but not in a fun way, decides to stand up on the diving board, her posture purposeful.

“Whoa, whoa oh, ok wait, Gigi no!” Hodge takes in her determination a touch too late as those track hardened legs start a bounce on the board that threatens to send him flying like a kid letting go of a see-saw.

The last bounce sends them both, Gigi in a gorgeous tan legged arch into the water with her swim skirt fanning like one of Renoir’s tutus, and Charlie Hodge splatting beside her a split second later, polo shirt soaked and flat on his back.

The spray of their splash dilutes Ginger’s martini and through the haze of her bitchin’ Elvis licks the chlorine drops off his upper lip and lumbers himself up and over to the pool side in time to see her surface.

She’s laughing. Sopping wet and mascara running, entirely in her element now, Gigi’s laughing.

“How’s the bottom baby?” he asks her with a grin, crouching down to her level and desperate for this to be more somehow, for her to be humoring him like Ginger said. He thinks he’ll be done if that’s all, though. He hopes that Gigi just so happens to enjoy burgers the way he makes them and swimming beneath clouds. Like he does.

“Smooth.” she grins back after dragging her eyes away from the spread width of his crotch, something calculated in her eyes soothing the tiny part of him quibbling over her youth. She ain’t a baby, she’s a big tittied young woman. “S’real smooth Mr. Presley.” She's treading water and it makes her voice breathy.

“Well, go touch it f’me baby.” He tells her.

“Why?” she perks up.

“Why?” He repeats, rhetorically, standing up from his crouch and throwing off his tracksuit jacket with all the show he puts into fanning out his capes on stage. It’s too late the little kohl-eyed bambi begins to backpedal in the water, “Cause–CANNONBALL.”

More chlorinated water splashes up Gigi’s nose and into her eyes, making her gasp and wheeze, blinking through a burning film of melting mascara as Elvis Presley surfaces like a leviathan of the deep not even a full two feet away from her. He shakes his hair out of his face and grins at her like a little boy immensely pleased with himself. Jet black hair pushed back and glasses lost in the dive, he looks unbearably soft. Gigi thinks she may have cooed as she tried to clap when he made his appearance.

“C’mere lil one, your eyes’r smartin’, ain’t they?” He swirls his arm out in the water and effortlessly, like scooping up a partner in a tango, hooks his arm around her and draws her closer. Electrified by the beefiness of his arm around her waist, she almost misses when he raises his thumb to his mouth and sucks on it before bringing the spit-slicked digit to her face. Swiping at her under eyes, gently following along the water line, returning the black finger tip back to his pink tongue, then back again to her eyelashes. Again and again until he’s satisfied with the tidying and enough of the goopy cosmetic has been removed for her to make out each individual pore on his godlike face. “There, thas’ more like it,” he examines his work and she sways towards him in the water like she’s been hypnotized, her face still buzzing from the electricity of his touch, “more like a pretty Southern peach, ‘stead of a raccoon.”

“I told Tammy it was silly.” Gigi whispers, the bulk of him so near her blocks out the rest of the world and her voice dips accordingly, feeling intimate.

“Tammy, doll,” he spins round and the motion releases Gigi, she floats beside him bereft and suddenly cold in the pool without his nearness, “sugar, don’t go makin’ this pretty gal look like a rodent when God’s given her plenty on her own.”

“I do not look like a rodent.” Gigi protests through giggles as Tammy slithers into the pool with a shrug, careful to keep her own face out of the water.

“Sweetie, I’m the one lookin’ at ya.” He points out in that fatally parental way and reaches for her neck once more, taking a good grip before he dunks her backwards in the pool, with barely time for her to hold her breath. Bizarre and a bit threatening as the action is, all Gigi can feel is his warm hand again, and the press of rings biting into her throat, the promise of his body that she’s not yet been jostled close enough to feel, but looming ever near her.

“Elvis baby, you’ve lost your glasses.” Ginger is saying when Gigi is finally let back up after her extended baptism and, with a little flail, she regains autonomy from his grip as he lets her go like he’s been burned.

He hadn’t seemed that worried about the glasses before Ginger pointed it out, but his hasty movement away from her makes Gigi think that it concerns him.

“I’ll get ‘em.” She reassures Ginger before wheezing back in a breath and arching into the water, the splash of her little footsies upending the last anyone saw of her for a brief moment until she appeared in the shallow, holding them up triumphantly.

The solitary, slow clap that could be heard belonged to Mrs. Alden.

“Oh shove it where the sun don’t shine, ya big–” Tammy was snapping at the older woman suddenly and Gigi, freshly discombobulated from resurfacing, decided against figuring that one out, the feud going beyond her even at her most mentally capable periods.

“Get in here fools, Ricky, Charlie, Dinah, c’mon.” Elvis was motioning to his fellas, conspicuously ignoring the venom spitting between the ladies, “Sam, you’re gonna be our monkey.” He directed the overly tall cop to the accompanying protests of the pool’s occupants. “Lotta sissies you are, can’t take a challenge head on.” Elvis chided them and the game was on.

For the next half hour Gigi treaded water in the deep end and tried to help Dinah and Ricky get the ball past the unreasonably tall cop in the middle. Trying to smack it into the shallow side where Elvis was waded around waist deep, in the water, T-shirt clinging to the dip of his pecs and adhered to the swell of his belly like a second skin, effortlessly hefting Sam’s young kids up to take a smack at the ball themselves from time to time. Gigi didn’t think there’d ever been a fella as entranced by the sight of bikini clad babes bouncing around in aquatic sports as she was with such effortless masculinity displayed in the good humor of his backyard. Her heart hurt at the sudden gaping hole in the house, in the pool, in his life–his little girl! She should be here, his child should be here.

Before Gigi had known how domestic and serene life could be at Graceland, it had made sense the rockstar probably wouldn’t have full custody of a kid. She’d imagined wild parties and coke tidily lined up on the back of the toilet in the bathroom for convenient snorting, stripper poles in the living room festooned with real live women of the night. But instead, there was just a beautiful, vigorous, sweet man throwing pool parties to any who would come to keep him from being lonesome.

That old feeling of wanting to hold onto him and not let go, make him let go first, came back. Maybe she’d been staring too long, or more likely, maybe Gigi hadn’t noticed half the spray sprinkling them was now raindrops and not pool splash–either way, Ginger and her familial entourage made a rather large to-do about the little shower. Encouraged to go inside they refused, and while slightly miffed by the needless interruption, the pool’s occupants varied their sport to a rather unorthodox version of Marco Polo.

Ricky led the way by closing his eyes and calling out “Marco” to which every girl, with the innate sense of those being hunted, tried to flee in the water from his grabby hands while answering “Polo” in barely audible titters.

Dinah escaped a close call by diving underwater and slithering away while Sam went on the defensive and splashed water at the kid’s nose until he could barely call out “Marco.” Gigi wasn’t as lucky, trapped between the steps and Hodge she was cornered on the third round, helpless to do anything but press against the poolside and answer “Polo” to each one of Ricky’s ever leering calls, closer and closer to her.

“Time out, time out!” Elvis snapped and Ginger peered over her glasses with knowing suspense but Ricky, quite caught up in the game kept swashing forward in the shallow towards Gigi, blindly reaching out for her shoulder only for at the first tiny touch to it, he got slapped upside the head by a very proactive Lamar who wanted to save the kid from a more fatal fate.

“Boss called a time out, idiot.” he grumbled loudly, pulling him away from Gigi’s glistening tan shoulders.

“Yeah, time out!” Tammy faked a sigh of exhaustion even though she’d done little moving through the game, “Can we get some drinks out here? Got any papaya juice left, E?”

“Oh I swear to God!” Ginger’s sunglasses landed on the cushion with a clatter, finally losing all patience with some inside barb thrown her way.

“What?” Tammy asks with far too much innocence.

“You know what!” Ginger snaps.

“Drinks? What?” Tammy scoffs, “I wasn’t asking you to get them, don’t get all huffy at me.”

“The papaya shit–”

“Hey language, ladies.” Charlie tries to intervene.

Elvis knows Tammy is weedling a fight outta Gingersnap and a month ago he might’ve had it in him to play the gentleman and defend his supposed gal, and an hour or two ago he might’ve found it fun to sit back and watch the cat fight, but there’s rain droplets splattering the pool surface and he knows she’s gonna suggest going in and he wants to make everyone else regret this about as much as he is until he sees her face.

Gigi’s.

Looking for all the world like she’s sad and scared this shitty little party is gonna end. Looking to him to keep her playtime going. Up against the pool wall as the rain splatters her freckles, mostly put out that her turn has been cut short because Elvis's jealous streak can’t take Ricky or anyone else touching her besides him but he can’t bring himself to touch her for fear she won’t purr under his hand.

Gigi’s eyes leave Tammy and Ginger’s verbal sparring and seek his own out pleadingly. His command for everyone to shut the fuck up and go inside or else leave his property dies on his lips. Instead he tries to smile back at her, finding it’s been a little while since he played at accommodating anyone, but he’s willing to try for her, to give her back her playtime. She reminds him of his younger self, such a live wire, attuned and vibrating to every emotion. She needs a calming hand, a weighted presence to tether her. Instead he just reminds the squabbling pool’s occupants,

“Gigi’s it.”

And just like that, the decision is made. Ginger can bitch and Tammy can poke and everyone else can go to hell, he’s gonna play in his pool. With Gigi. It’s her turn to play Marco. Those blue eyes dance back to life and she’s smiling so wide he feels like maybe he’s unleashed the sun, fully cheerful and fully lethal all at once.

Her eyes close but her mouth stays wide and smiling and she utters “Marco” with giddy excitement and Charlie gives him a look he knows, a look of a sure-fire backstage hookup but Elvis isn’t sure, not sure this time until she’s weaved through multiple “Polo’s” and is hunting him down with giggling ferocity. And Elvis is fucked, he’s fucked and his heart is beating in wild excitement and panic as she begins to splash towards him and her palms land squarely on the now squishy mounds of his chest.

He used to have such a nice physique. Strapping, some said, maybe never a real ripped fella but fine and toned and lean. But now all he’s got are man tiddies and his cheeks flame hot under the cool splash of water as her hands splay against his soft chest, the contact winding him, grounding him, making him yearn and shrink all at once.

She’s merciless, hands trailing over the dips of his chest and over his shoulders and down to the beginning of his belly, dragging his wet t-shirt across his sensitive skin, patting him down firmly in the way of someone who savors flesh. He thinks he’s found one of his own.

“Hmm, Lamar?” Gigi guesses but the coy lift of her lips tells him it’s a joke. Still he wants to wince.

Gigi hopes he knows she is teasing, she doesn't even think to make it a barb. Lamar is lovely and so is Elvis and she would do and say anything to prolong the contact she has on the wet material of his shirt, wiry chest hairs faintly ticklish beneath the soaked cotton, the heat and the heft and the way his chest is heaving beneath her hands–Gigi is struck with the reminder of how she fantasized about him, about the bulk of him and the sturdiness she’s now mapping out. If only he was shirtless and–there’s a nipple–his breath is ghosting over her face, she’s so close and she’s being shameless, she knows, but he’s lovely. He’s so lovely under her hands, and she can feel the thump thump thump of his heart soaking up her attention and she knows he’s been lonely for this. She hopes he can feel it through her playful hands–

You’re lovely, this has been lovely, thank you for this, can you feel how fond I am?

–she thinks she hears someone sneeze and she thinks she hears talking but it’s his breaths, labored and fast, that she listens to, senses attentive, squeezing at the soft flesh of his bicep. There’s corded muscle beneath the fluff, she barely gets a squeeze in before she’s palpably reminded that it’s Elvis she’s pawing at when he drawls, thick and forced,

“You got a strong enough grip on that honey? Did I not feed ya enough in the house that ya gonna start pulling meat off the bone?”

She pops her eyes open at that, mortified at first except he looks so pleased by her squeezing, more pleased and happy than he’s been all day and it makes her brave.

“Why, it’s Elvis!” She teases in surprise and is comforted by the hot flare of temper she sees in his face as he entertains the brief concept of her groping anyone else like this, “I could eat you up.” She admits lowly, and it feels like a natural thing to say, the sorta oddball shit you say to cute little babies–or to Elvis Presley when he’s soft and firm and giving and impossibly broad beneath your hands.

“Ya watch y’self lil baby or I’ll eat you first.” He responds careless and calm before snapping his teeth at her in a way that both scares her from its sudden shift and sends molten heat down between her legs at its possibilities.

She chooses to squeal and instead of fleeing in the water, takes refuge from his snapping mouth by scurrying behind him in the water and hunkering down from the threat, plastering herslef to his wet back. The grunt he makes when she pulls herself up by his shoulders is that of a middle aged man playing at being put out over being used as a jungle gym, but like most things he does, teeth snapping and grunting and meticulous burger layering, she finds it obscenely attractive and moans a little herself, finally getting a good press on some part of him, even if it’s just his back.

Elvis has quite forgotten anyone or anything else besides the playful little critter plastering her tits to his back and giggling breathy in his ear. He thinks he notices the way the boys resume the game and Dinah tries to revive the sport while he and this minx just float like mama and baby otter on the sidelines. He doesn’t notice much else beside the fact that she’s taken to tidying him like he tidied her, fingernails rubbing his wet sideburns back down and thumbing at his eyebrow when a commotion on the pool deck gains his attention, tearing him away from the lovely yet mortifying ordeal of Gigi humming over the discovery of too much grease in his rain sodden hair.

It appears Mrs. Alden and Ginger are having it out between each other again on the pool patio, without Rosemary as a referee for once, and Elvis would like to ignore it in favor of thinking of something to talk to this sweet girl about except that there’s a slight tussle on the sidelines and before he–or Ginger it seems–can process anything, Ginger herself is being encouragingly shoved into the deep end by her mother.

Upon surfacing, Ginger makes for him like a downed airman would an atole in the vast pacific, whining all the way like she got dumped in acid instead of saline. He’s always been this way with folks, with women and with men, puzzled as to why he tolerates shit for so long when the breath of fresh air is clinging to his back. It’s a free country, Ginger can whine about pool water all she wants, doesn’t mean he’s gotta feel bad that there’s something about the way that twenty year old gal hasn’t got a lick of child left in her that makes his affection for her curdle like spoiled milk. The giggling limpet on his back laughs before registering that Ginger is unlike her, and the pool is causing her distress. Gigi starts to let go of Elvis’ back in an unconscious reaction to aid her, he finds himself trying to clutch her hands to keep her pressed to his back.

They fumble, they clutch, Gigi slips from his back and it’s as if the water has gone freezing to him. The replacement of Ginger hanging off him does nothing to replace that soothing warmth, though he pats Ginger soothingly, wondering if now would be a bad time to tell her it’s over. It was over ever since a while back, but not being able to make it today, then able to make it only to stake her claim, and now this fawning over him -he’s done. It’s over, he starts freezing and suddenly the raindrops aren’t so playful. He hopes to god his gamble won’t leave him burned and alone again.

“Shh. S’alright honey, gimme your hand.” he mumbles as he leads Ginger to the shallow end, to the pool steps and railing while the rest of the pool’s occupants clear out as fast as rats from a sinking ship when the murky pool water shows she’s not bluffing on her period this time.

Ginger gives him a withering look and he thinks he’s gonna get blamed for her mother’s poor choice in house manners when he finds her staring down at his shorts, and maybe the water wasn’t cold enough cause he’s chubbed up and bent to the side beneath the wet fabric, acting up despite the embarrassment of being felt in his whole entirety by Gigi. He clears his throat and finds himself tugging at his pant leg as they toddle off together, not even trying to act like it’s for her–they’d both know better than that. It’s over, it’s past that. It’s over.

Gigi lags behind in the pool and Elvis doesn’t know why until she’s jogged back up to them, almost to the trophy room doors before she’s kneeling in front of Ginger, her lost sandal in her hand. “Here, I got it, ya don’t have to limp all the way back.” Gigi smiles up at her from her crouch, feckless crinkling and eyes guileless and even Ginger doesn't have it in her to be sour in the face of such unstudied kindness.

“Thanks.” Ginger gets out and digs her nails further into Elvis’ forearm as she leans her weight on him to slip the sandal on, acting as if a dunk in the pool left her mortally wounded.

Fast as lightning, he notices Gigi use the towel slung round her shoulder to dab at a trail of blood running down Ginger’s shin, a womanly little comradery to keep her from being embarrassed but Ginger says nothing and moves on, hastily, Elvis attached to her by her talons, and he hardly blames her. Kneeling -Gigi kneeling- isn’t what Little Elvis needs to be thinking about right now.

In the squelching wet walk back into the big house Elvis feels the compulsion to distract from the menstrual cause of the pool’s evacuation -and his offending boner- by making conversation between the two,

“S’alright,” he repeats, “Hodge and I were thinkin’ movie night or Monopoly if it ended up rainin’. And it was bound to, bound to start rainin’.”

As if that was the reason for getting out of the pool -it’s so gentlemanly of him, despite his palpable exasperation with the whole situation, that Gigi falls a little more in love just watching him be nice to another woman.

“Oh I love Monopoly!” Gigi offers with a genuine little skip in her step, fanning out her sporty swimskirt, half distracted as she passes by the glass showcases housing the awards given to him over his career. They glitter harshly under the low ceiling of fluorescent bulbs. It’s oddly tacky for such a wealthy man. It makes them seem more personal, like a fella got a lotta medallions and plaques for being lovely and stashed them in his pool house. “What’s the longest game you’ve ever played?” She asks since the silent trudge is getting oppressive.

“Lordy, back in ‘66 I think we had one last over three weeks.” He reminisces fondly.

“No way.” She swears.

“Yeah, yeah kept the board all set up in the music room.” He assures her. “Reckon our banker was crooked.” He divulges and Gigi giggles.

“We do a lot of reading.” Ginger offers randomly and Gigi perks up at that bit of information politely.

“Oh? What on?”

“Any and all sorts of subjects.” Ginger smiles sweetly, the sorta sweet smile he used to try to earn, now it makes him wanna shake her off his arm.

“I used to enjoy it but I think college is burning me out on books.” Gigi admits.

“That’s right, you’re in college.” Ginger reminds with a significant look in Elvis’ direction.

“First year.” Gigi nods, looking a little shell shocked.

“Whatcha majoring in?” he asks her earnestly and Gigi realizes they’re near the same height, her long limbs finally giving her an advantage as they lock eyes over Ginger’s head.

Embarrassment floods her as she has to admit to this older and unbelievably successful man, “I still haven’t decided.” She is lost and tired and lonely and that is probably why she gets off to the thought of him telling her he’s gonna baby her. Shame scorches her cheeks and he tsks before reaching over Ginger’s shoulder to pat it calm, rings chilling her fevered flesh, “My parents wanted me to go,” she finds herself purging the sentiment under his kindly eyes despite Ginger’s judicious stare, “but now I’m in, the subject -it’s up to me and I- well I don’t know yet.”

Elvis pauses in his swaying gait to relieve Charlie of the duty of holding open the side door into the main house, ushering Ginger in with a flick of his wrist and Gigi follows, limp necked and chastened. “You’re just a baby.” He is suddenly rumbling right in her ear as she passes him, as if picking up the conversation naturally but it makes her shiver in a hard, wanton shake at the sound of his voice so near. It has his eyebrow raising in some suspicion. “That’s a whole lotta weight to put on youth, ain’t no way you know what you’re fit for this soon honey, dontchu fret over it in the least.”

“Really?” She begs and feels his hand leave the door, no longer needing to be held open, and land on her back, smoothing her wet hair down her spine, rings catching and snarling in the waves.

“I mean it, you’re just a lil peanut, ain’t fair to ask ya to figure all that out right this minute.”

The sentiment mimics the mantra of Gigi’s homework meltdowns and four am panic attacks and she beams at him with utter relief, as if him having spoken what her gut tells her makes it gospel truth. She shudders and melts into that hand, covering an entire half of her face it feels, and the rest of her erupts in gooseflesh from the Arctic levels of AC he keeps in his house. She needs to be closer, she needs him to hold a lot more of her—

“We’re going to change before we get pneumonia.” Ginger announces loudly and they both jump, Elvis once again forgetting that there’s others hereabout, and Gigi from the cold shock of Ginger’s icy hand slithering into her own, tugging her to the hall bath. She trips over her own two feet to keep eye contact with him as long as possible, her cheek still glowing from his touch and reveling in the sight of him in the narrow hall with his belly outlined in stark relief by the clinging, wet t-shirt and his tiny shorts that have a little protrusion of their own…she hadn’t noticed it till now, and she wants to whimper, not from Ginger’s implacable grip on her hand but at the sight of that chubby little package pointing at her while tucked behind his inseam. She’s grinning wide and accusatory at him by the time Ginger hauls her around the corner and out of his sight, grinning as if glad that he was as big a pervert as she was, growing impossibly excited just by little touches and sweet banter.

Gigi’s not proud but she’ll admit she lost some valuable time staring into space, her mouth watering and her lips pursing at the thought of that little bulge. Staring into space as she waited for first Dinah and then Marie and maybe another to finish with the hall bath under the stairs, staring straight ahead at the paneling thinking about nothing but cock, plain and simple cock beneath a pendulous belly, as if she wasn’t currently occupying a most envied space in one of the most interesting houses in America. The portraits and gilding and artifacts were lost on her, catatonic she just thought of cupping it. She was almost entirely certain that she had been able to make out the fat little head of it beneath his shorts, the cone-like little–

It wasn’t any better in the privacy of the bathroom stripping out of her wet things and trying to rub off the cloying wet to slip into her sundress. Malleable and chilly in that post swim haze that often comes over children and dreamy young twenty years old girls, she meandered out of the bathroom and right into a spitting match.

Ginger Alden had deposited her by the hall bath after dragging her away, only to then leave herself and go upstairs to avail herself of the amenities up there. Only to be gently informed by Sam that those weren’t for her use any longer. Upstairs was for family and intimate circle: boss man said she wasn’t that no more. Boss man himself was in the downstairs room to the side that had once been Gladys’ room, slipping on a comfy tracksuit without the hassle of climbing the stairs, thinking about how Gigi relabeled a baby duckling tucking herself into the hollow of his palm and how he’d like to nuzzle at that fuzzy little head and-

So there was a spitting match going on. It was chiefly between Tammy and Ginger, although Rosemary and Missus added their own hits when the occasion afforded.

“Do your friends not mind you whoring them out for your own personal vendetta, Tammy?” Ginger enunciated very clearly in the front hall, just a few feet from the understairs bathroom.

“I dunno Darlin’, does your mama?” Tammy drawled.

“Where’s her boyfriend hmm? Doesn’t he care she’s throwing herself at another man?”

Gigi cracked open the door and hoped to God maybe the discussion was about Tammy’s house cat and not her.

“She doesn’t have one.”

“Oh great, oh perfect!” Ginger’s bangles rattled as she threw her hands up to the heavens, “Let me guess, she’s a pure as the driven snow virgin too, hmm?”

“If anyone can still be a virgin after getting eye fucked that much in a pool–” Tammy cackles and Gigi winces before slipping out of the bathroom fully and trying to make herself small against the wall.

“Language, young lady!” Mrs. Alden reprimands.

“That’s my fiancé!” Ginger wails, not to her supposed fiancé himself but her rival beauty queen contestant. “She’s all over my fiancé!”

“He sure ain’t all over you for bein’ a fiancé.” Tammy points out without a shred of anxiety over the point, eyeing the damage the pool did to her nails. “Where’s the ring, by the way?”

“Here!” Ginger held up her hand and the massive rock adorning it.

“Nah, I meant like, one he gave ya after that one.” Tammy’s chewing gum smacks with her sentences, “Not the ‘I’m desperately lonely marry me after three weeks and I’ll never mention it again’ ring. I meant like, another one, he’s given you a real promise ring hasn’t he? Oh c’mon he’s gotta, he’s so in looooove! You said so yourself, he’s sooo in loooove he’s gotta be pressin’ you for that date every second and loadin’ your hand up with promise rings. C’mon Ginger, show us, c’mon”

“I'm not above punching you, Tammy Anderson.” Gigi felt in her bones that Ginger meant it and stepped up, trying to gently pry the girls apart in their toe-to-toe verbal sparring just as Elvis issued out of the bedroom clad in a deliciously slouchy baby blue version of the black tracksuit he’d been wearing when they arrived. He looked so soft with his hair drying in tufts and his sideburns too, and the vast expanse of his chest the only cuddly looking thing in this frigid house. The soft tracksuit pants also conformed to every ripple of his steps and jiggle of his obviously unconfined package that was still faintly chubby and Gigi ogles him like he’s the display lollipops in an Ice Cream truck window.

“We have a connection!” Ginger is still protesting to the unfeeling jury that is Tammy’s gum smacking smirk. “A real, soulful connection–”

“–yeah, yeah sure cause reading books on crystals downstairs is a real connection.”

“–you aren’t here for it! you don’t know! We have a soul connection!”

“You sound like you’re talkin’ about someone’s grandpa.” Tammy wheezes, “Like, that’s exactly what some gal who don’t wanna give out talks about, like he’s some ancient little granddaddy and you read him shit while he’s in his rocker–”

“You bi–”

“–because getting treated like a nursing home inmate when he’s in the prime of life has sure gotta help that connection. Lord I’m shocked he hasn’t eloped with you yet, a real keeper.”

Gigi sees Elvis scan the surroundings judiciously before anyone notices he’s entered the main rooms again, clocking everyone’s position and attitude and when they lock eyes over the feuding gal’s heads she can’t help the compulsion she feels to lighten his mood, erase the furrow between his brows. She rolls her eyes over their drama and watches those pillowy cherub lips quirk up in reply.

“I dare you to try to handle what I’ve had to handle with his mood swings and his temper and getting goddamn shot at! I dare ya–”

“Maybe you should take an interest in shootin’ his guns, maybe he won’t point ‘em at you then.” Tammy suggests, “Gigi here’s a pretty good shot, actually. Grew up on her daddy’s big farm.”

Elvis is still smirking at her and she wonders if he is like her, only tiny portions of the conversation actually making it all the way into her ears, too preoccupied with things unsaid to be of any use for public conversation. Watching him walk across the room is only worse, the atmosphere changing as he passes, despite his casual demeanor and bulk he moves with a shocking amount of grace and poise –more than Gigi’s ever noticed another man carry.

“Would y’all like some refreshments?” Mary’s butting into the little squabble with a tray from the kitchen laden with poured up sodas and sweet teas as if anyone needs refreshing in this ice box of a house.

“Cherry Coke? Are you kidding me right now?” Ginger’s voice finally pitches up to near hysteric levels and Mrs. Alden grabs the half empty bottle off the tray to inspect the ingredients as if it’ll give her a recipe for dealing with freckled homewreckers.

“I-I-I didn’t choose it.” Gigi whimpers under Mrs. Alden’s glare, feeling compelled to defend herself under the withering derision.

“Mister Elvis stocked the fridge with ‘em jus’ for her visit.” Mary confirms helpfully with a beaming smile and if Mrs. Alden could turn any more ashen under her pancake makeup than she already is, she’d be positively ghastly.

“Oh shit, oh shit, he’s out!” Ginger suddenly hisses to her mom, catching sight of what Gigi’s been making bambi eyes at for over three minutes already. It’s amazing how efficiently the ladies put on a mask of decorum for Elvis’ benefit, all simpering smiles and polite acceptance of the drinks. Except in the criss-crossing of arms and the passive aggressive pinching of fingers around bottles on the tray, somehow the Cherry Coke tips over and spills its contents down the light, pretty patterned front of Gigi’s gauzy sundress.

Cherry-pink nipples, pebbled from the cold shock of a refrigerated christening, suddenly replaces anyone's objections regarding Cherry Coke. It’s obscene those breasts of hers, large and pendulous but curving upwards with obstinate perkiness as if preening hopefully for a compliment, salam-sized areolas emblazoning a landing strip for a tongue to lave… or maybe that’s just Elvis’ perception. Maybe they’re just Coke-soaked titties and he’s a gentleman so he disengages from his chat with Hodge about film selections and comes up, solicitously cooing which makes those nipples–somehow–perk even more.

“Elvis, don–”

“You did that on purpose!”

“No, she didn’t!”

“No, I didn’t! Why would I wanna do that?”

Gigi really has to focus. This was worse than her attention span on homework. “Come on, let’s be nice.” She begs the girls, succeeding in pushing Tammy and Ginger apart just a little, which also gives Elvis a clear path to her. She’s so humiliated at this point that when she sees his determined gait towards her and compassionate face as he eyes her chest that she goes to him like a child with an owie that needs fixing, utterly sure he has the anecdote.

“Oh darlin, s’alright, we’ll get ya sorted with somethin’ else to wear.” He behaves so familiarly as he comes up to her and tucks her into his side that she melts into the gesture, following his lead as he steers her away from prying eyes as she willingly follows, not processing that they’re nearing the foot of the stairs, “You brought somethin’ else to wear?”

“This was it.” She whispers in defeat because it was supposed to be a swim date and she only brought along something beyond a scrap of fabric to wear–despite Tammy’s protests–because she suspected rain and being housebound.

“S’alright little dolly, I’ll get ya covered again,” he says very gravely and it makes her shiver, “modesty is a virtue, darlin, glad to see ya have it naturally.”

She stalls at the foot of the stairs, suddenly realizing his intention is to take her up there. Her cheeks flame red at the implication of both being invited to his private space for God knows what purpose and being invited while his supposed girlfriend is barred from such spaces. Everything in her being longs for it but suddenly there is a nagging, a real fear she’s doing wrong somehow and that if she gave into this, it would taint what oughta be a blissful first time in the arms of a man she’s fantasized about for years. It isn’t fair and she wants to stamp her feet, instead she feels her eyes pooling with tears and her lip wobbling and that ole cry baby nickname sure proves its mettle as she drags her feet and makes him pause right before the first step.

“Elvis this isn’t–I’m not comfortable with this–I wanna but–” she stares miserably up at the portrait of a young, golden haired version of himself on the landing and vaguely wonders if his sons would look like that, if anyone were to give him one.

“Oh, naw, naw don’t cry lil one, tell me what’s wrong?” his hands flutter over the outline of her shoulders as if he’s unsure if his touch is welcome. She wants to glue them onto her body but instead she glances back at the crowd behind them that aren’t even bothering to act preoccupied. Elvis gets the message loud and clear. “Aww I see,” he mutters, “let’s step right in here then, fix ya up with somethin’ at least. Won’t be nice and girlish like intended,” he sounds like he’s moping a bit but he leads her towards the room he went into to change into his tracksuit, sidestepping their onlookers, “but it’ll keep ya cozy. And ya won’t have to go to no bachelors room alone, keep ya reputation all clean.” He loads Gigi’s clouded concerns with heavy amounts of motivation and moralisms she’s never even considered but she doesn’t care as she savors the feel of his hand on her waist, guiding her to a lavender-shaded room.

On the purple quilt of the solitary bed lies a rumpled tracksuit jacket, the one he’d been wearing when they first arrived and Gigi seizes it lovingly, like a child might a long lost stuffy, holding it to her nose and smelling it. To her relief it’s every bit as musky as she hoped. Maybe that way she can be surrounded by him without making an absolute fool of herself. Elvis watches her bury her tear stained face in his old jacket and has to heave in a breath to steady himself. There’s something akin to the adoring fan about Gigi that unsettles him but coupled with that unique irreverence she showed him in the pool, he could craft something here, from this young girl, something that would fill the slot he needs filled so badly.

She might as well be a child, his own Yisa, her eyes are so vulnerable when she raises her head and meets his, jacket still clutched to her chin.

“Ya can wear it.” He affirms, helpless in the face of it, addicted to the beaming smile that catches and spreads across her face like wildfire at his permission, despite the watery red rimmed evidence of her turmoil. “Use it, put it on, that’s right, be all right. That’s a good girl.” He cups her freckled cheek, making sure to keep his fat gut far away from her and she burrows into his palm again, hungry for touch and he remembers now that her so-called parents are cold fucks who don’t care about the fact their daughter is alone in a room with him. Maybe if they did she would be more carefree. “You scared of me, lil one?” he asks gently, thumbing at a dappled cheekbone and swiping down to those plush lips he wants to acquaint with his own. All in due time. For now, “You scared of me?”

“No sir!” She gasps, terribly pressed to make him understand her conflicting emotions, “I just worry–Ginger! We shouldn’t be–not if she–I don’t know.” She trails off and is back to crying again and it affects him strongly, far more than female tears usually do.

“Listen to me, baby girl,” he tilts her chin up to his face solemnly, his tone and commanding the utmost respect and she listens reverently. “This is my house; I can do as I please in it, and so can my guests. Now, some folks don’t wanna be my guests ‘till they sniff a competitor. What you and I got lil one, it’s pure and it’s good, ya feel it baby?” And Gigi did indeed feel him run those ring clad fingers over her face like a hypnotist, mapping out each feature and dragging her eyelids shut momentarily. She didn’t know what she felt except for starving hunger and utter surrender. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with our connections, and we ain’t gonna let the world tell us otherwise, are we, darlin’?”

Gigi felt his fingers trailing over her lips, pulling the blush bottom one away from her teeth before trailing further down, back to her chin, releasing it with a wet pop. She sucked in a noisy breath and whimpered in her exhale.

“Tell me ya feel it, come on sugar, if ya feel it, let ya daddy know.”

Gigi would have blamed some substance laced into her drink for the way her body reels like a mind controlled little mouse, except that she was wearing said drink and she could recognize what he was doing but was powerless to argue against it. He could have asked for her help to bury a body at this moment and she would have complied. She had long been prepared to be accepted and wanted for being smart, she had no equipping for how to navigate or negotiate with an established man who found her desirable. It sent her reeling. It set her alight.

“Yes, sir.”

“Hmm, whas’ tha’?” he coos, his hand sliding to her throat and squeezing a little.

“I -I feel it, sir. Elvis, I, I feel you.” Gigi gasps, tilting towards him only to find him withdrawing now he has her. Playing at cat and mouse when all she wishes for is to be a willing sacrifice, laid out for a hungry god to devour. “Please I feel you!” she pleads, trying to regain him but something has switched in him, he is confident and commanding–and a little cold as he steps back.

“That’s a good girl.” He commends and she shudders again. “You get dressed, then come on out and I wanna see ya wide eyed and bushy tailed for some fun. Ain’t gonna let the bastards ruin our day, are we?”

“No sir!–I mean, yes sir, to–to the first part–” Gosh, she’s adorable and her breasts are huge and ought to be held.

First things first, he’s gotta kick some asses. He tries to put on his most kindly face before backing out of the room and shutting the door fully again to give her privacy. When he turns around, it’s like the Spanish Inquisition in his own living room.

“E’eryone currently in this house,” Elvis speaks low and measured when he is in the midst of them, his index finger pointing to the hollowed foundations of his home, “is here at my pleasure and ‘cause I invited ‘em to create a lil fun. Anyone who ain’t willin’ or able to aid in that endeavor needs to go right now. I mean it. I don’t want no bullshit today, gonna deal with schedules and tour dates and all that bullshit another time. I want some fun. That’s all I’m askin’ for, e’ryone’s actin’like it’s hard as hell to have a good time. It ain’t. Just don’t be bitches. That goes for men and women.”

And with this admonition, having said his piece and politely ignored the inflammatory presence of the young lady currently stripping out of her soda soaked dress and donning the silky material of his tracksuit jacket.

“Charlie, Ricky,” he addresses them, “one o’vya go an’ grab some tapes, bring ‘em up here and we’ll have a vote on what movie we’re gonna watch.”

Ricky bounds out of sight and down to the basement with an alacrity that Elvis feels proves he has something to make amends for. With this brief interlude of quiet, Elvis sits himself down in his chair and enjoys a bout of smirking eye contact with Mrs. Alden that leaves the estimable lady shaking in an impotent rage across from him, so much so her vibrations rattle the opulent necklace around her neck. One he happens to have bought for her.

Next girl he tries his luck with will be motherless. Or nearly. He’s had it with courtin’ the family and not getting shit thanks in return for it. Well, that ain’t fully true, Linda’s people are good people. He’s reminded of that as Sam sits down next to him and asks if Elvis wants him to run to get some more refreshments. Ice cream, he suggests, and Elvis would have voiced his approbation of the idea if Ricky had not landed back in the room with a hamper full of film reels at the same moment the opposite door opens and out comes Gigi.

Elvis underestimated the length of those legs of hers. His tracksuit jacket just barely covers what he prays to God are swim panties under that thing. As is, there’s miles of track-sculpted and sun-caressed stems on display and they go on and on, all the way down to the pretty little footsies with the French-tip pedicures and–God help him, before this he never noticed the anklet. Suddenly it’s all he can see, that dainty gold chain encircling her delicate bones and graceful sinews the way his hand oughta be if there was any justice left in the world. When he tears his eyes away from the sight all he’s left with is the sight of her, freshly pool scrubbed and clean wearing just his jacket. Or to all appearances, just his jacket.

“That poor girl was cussing me out and praying I die the other night.” Tammy’s voice shakes him, she’s gotten so near without him noticing, lost as he watches Gigi pour over the selections of movies Ricky brought up. With the way she’s bending over he can only be grateful that she’s got her ass facing a wall and her front zipper fully zipped to the chin. Otherwise Ricky would be dead for having such prime seating.

“Not that lil innocent baby.” He disagrees, sure of it even though Tammy seems to be warming up to a business pitch.

“Oh yes she was!” Tammy Anderson insists, “Praying mighty hard for my downfall and in turn askin’ that a ‘daddy’ somebody would ‘give it to her’ good.” She sips noisily on her straw while leaving Elvis to aspirate on his spit.

“Bless me.” he mutters while patting down his pants for a cigar, unable to take his eyes off both Gigi and Sam–the latter to make sure he’s at a good enough distance not to hear this.

“The problem was,” Tammy goes on serenely, “at least as far as I can make it out, the problem was she thought I was getting to stay the night with her childhood hero while she got sent home like a little girl.”

“She is a little girl.”

“Is she though?” Tammy scrunches her nose and Elvis is reminded why he’s not going after this one. Too worldly wise for her own good. “Or just enough?” she adds in a way that makes his cheeks burn.

“I don’t need you helpin’ me feel like a dirty ole man when I ain’t done nothin’ to deserve it, Tammy Anderson. You mind your own garden.”

“Damnation, you’re such a gentleman, Elvis!” she laughs loudly which attracts a glare from Ginger for it, “Using all those lofty metaphors while shamin’ me at the same time. Hell of a talent ya got there, ole man.”

“Tammy, I like you,” Elvis begins gravely and Tammy straightens her spine and her mouth trembles with suppressed mirth which attracts even Gigi’s attention from the far corner, “but I like you from a distance. Don’t tempt me to make that distance a hell of a lot greater, you hard up bleached thicket lil hussy.”

Tammy’s eyes go wide and for a minute it seems she struggles to breathe till peal after peal of raucous laughter greets his cutting remark the way it was intended. She’s pretty when she smiles, Elvis can admit, damn dazzlin’ in the bright white of day but it’s like a shark. His eyes drift back to the bambi his heart is set on and watches with a growing frown as she and Ricky tug at one of the films, neither seeming ready to relinquish it.

“What’s goin on?” Elvis demands in a booming voice that can carry to the far reaches of a stadium and is downright deafening in the closed spaces of his home.

Everyone freezes at it and Gigi looks like she’s just seen God on Mount Sinai from his tone alone, so Elvis endeavors to clear his frown and gestures for Charlie to sort it out. By it he means Ricky. The hell is the kid thinkin’?–Playin’ tug o' war with his damn films? And with a guest! His guest!

No sooner does Charlie walk over to the two young folks before suddenly they are allies, when Gigi relinquishes it to Ricky in her moment of fear, Ricky dodges Hodge and when Hodge pursues, Gigi makes a waving motion behind ole Charlie’s back:

“Ricky, Ricky give it here!” Gigi hollers, hands up and body elongated to catch the boxed-up reel like a football at the end zone. The move flashes a peek of white swimsuit bottoms underneath the inadequate jacket. Elvis groans around his as yet unlit cigar. He’s still ineffectually patting his pockets for a light when Gigi makes the catch and for that split second she’s holding it, Elvis gets a glimpse of the slipcover. And of all the movies she coulda gotten her hands on-

Elvis is up and rushing at her before he can even think about what he’s prepared to do, how far he’ll push this, the only thing he can think of besides the acres of honey toned skin caressed by his jacket, is that sweet little baby Gigi is holding his copy of Deepthroat.

“Lil girl!” he growls at her and the way her eyes fly wide as saucers makes him think she’s actually terrified of him right before she breaks into a grin and spins on her heel, headed out the room on those track hardened legs.

He chases, ‘cause of course–what else was there to do?

“Lil girl, you give that here!” he feels the disadvantages of his bulk in this hot pursuit but it’s been awhile since the last tour and his knees have recovered in the time off and it ain’t so bad, he’s still flexible and he’s still got stamina for all that his joints feel like they got hot coals in them most times. Every painful jog is worth it for the happy shrieks she lets out as he lumbers behind her, intent on a takedown.

She’s barely gotten to the foyer and stalls for a brief moment to contemplate taking sanctuary in the kitchen or music room when suddenly she feels the jolting contact of his hands on her waist. It’s fast and grabbing and not a light touch, she’s being gripped and tugged and squeezed by those large, hot, unyielding hands before being spun and tackled to the ground.

Soft carpet and his hand cradles her head, keeping the landing from being too harsh. But even if she’d snapped her neck, Gigi would still be acutely conscious of the feel of him, all of him, so much of him, thrumming with such potent aliveness atop her that she feels herself catch fire at it, her own pulse syncing with his, heightened instantly. It’s brief, horribly brief, that instant of complete contact with his entire weight smothering her, but it’s intoxicating for life. He’s sweaty, even in this freezing house and after so little exertion, he’s sweaty and warm and he smells both so wonderfully clean and manly at the same time she wants to moan. Maybe she does, she isn’t sure, all she knows is that she does fuss, like a clingy baby, she fusses at the way he immediately props his top half up and away from her.

It makes him pause.

Unable to express anything right now except that she will be heartbroken if he pulls away, that it would be worse than those stupid little love pats Ginger gives him if he acts cold now that she’s felt his warmth, felt what he can offer her. Shelter, stability, satisfaction.

She takes advantage of his pause to wrap her legs up and around his hips, caging him in, defiantly attached.

“Don’t leave me now.” She begs softly, unable to keep up with the game of it all. If she wanted that uncertainty she could just go home.

“Oh, Gigi.” He whispers, sounding almost heartbroken, seeing in her vulnerable eyes and clingy neediness a glimpse of his old self.

Flashes of memories and rejections flood his mind, dashing home from school to find she moved, dashing back from tour to find her dancing with another man, invited back to her place just to get shoved into a glass coffee table and breaking the thing with his poor back, finding her fuckin’ the man he paid to teach her how to defend herself… he’s tired, but he remembers how it used to feel, how it used to nearly strangle him, all that youthful hope.

The film reel slips from her nerveless hand, no longer the subject of interest anymore, and she brings it to his face instead, stroking his cheek with all the lingering fondness of someone who wouldn’t rather do anything else at this moment. Elvis wishes he had such restraint, his breath puffs heavily as he tries to keep it contained and not gasp and huff atop her like some lumbering oaf, trying to keep his fat gut up away from the beauteous length of her, but she winds her arms about his neck and tugs him down despite his playful protests and stiff necked obstinance.

If she wants a kiss, she can fight for it, same as the girls at his concerts.

She can feel him slowly bending to her will, hunched over her in an attempt to keep from smothering her and she isn’t having it. She’s not a small or frail little thing, she’s an athlete and she uses it to her advantage, interlocking her legs around his waist and registering with searing satisfaction that his interest for her is dangling heavy and drippy in the silky hammock of his tracksuit pants.

Her sharp smile could rival Tammy’s at this confirmation and with a pounding heart Gigi cranes her head off the carpet and leans, closer and closer to him till her eyes go cross eyed focusing on the cupid's bow of his pouty lips and she can feel the hot puff of his breaths on her lips and–

–the rascal ducks his head to the side at the last minute and burrows that marshmallow mouth in her neck before blowing raspberries into the ticklish skin there.

As if his sending her home, his coddling of her in the pool and his distance in the bedroom had not made her feel like an absolute child, this last bit truly did. To the point where the endearing aspect of his blowing on her neck was lost in the heartbreaking need for assurance. Bucking and writhing beneath his tickles she gasped and begged and thrashed while never once letting go of her hold on his hips with her legs, keeping him near, his belly heavy and solid on top of her butterfly-filled one.

“Darlin’, stop buckin’ like that, ain’t decent.” He took a break from this torture to remonstrate as if he wasn’t to blame.

“Then kiss me.” She breathes out a challenge.

Now it happened that around this time, Jerry Schilling found himself free of commitments to Brian and his Beach Boys and, finding himself in Memphis, decided to call on an old friend and benefactor. Despite what his boss often insisted, Jerry was not an idiot, and so as he opened the front door to Graceland on this gloomy and sticky summer day he came equipped for any and all moods–his muscular arms bulging out of his thin t-shirt under the strain of carrying numerous, loaded bags of steaming Barbecue from Elvis’ favorite local pit.

Jerry Schilling had walked in on many a scene in the course of his run with Elvis Presley, temper tantrums and ecstatic jubilees and the unforgettable instance where a certain chimp was beating off against a poor gals shin much to the drunk audience’s amusement, the air thick with hooting and hollering and cigar smoke–and female shame.

But nothing, nothing had been quite as bizarre as what he saw this day when stepping into the foyer ready for anything–or so he thought. What he didn’t prepare for was the sight of his usually rather decorous boss laying atop a leggy young thing, grappling and necking her like a teenager, and getting it back in spades, which was a little more shocking considering his recent state. Whoever was under him was a moaner and more surprising still was the fact Elvis wasn’t shutting her up, or even getting up off the floor since–and here’s where it got bizarre–they weren’t remotely alone in the place. Or even the room.

Although, unlike that ill fated and depraved chimp, the two horndogs swapping spit on the floor don’t have much of a captivated audience, though Jerry bets they were captivated or at least attentive to the floor shenanigans at one point. That was before the fighting and clawing and kicking and scratching and screaming and–holy shit, Ginger and a bleach blonde are clawing at each other like they’re in for blood, Mrs. Alden beating the gal with her purse in defense of her daughter while Dodger smokes her pipe on the couch keeping Mr. Alden captive by her side with a death glare through the smokey haze of tobacco. Sam Thompson remains wringing his mouth, standing unsure beside Charlie and Ricky who can’t seem to believe what’s going on down on the foyer floor at Jerry’s feet.

It would seem Ginger’s out, and Miss Leggy is in. And Jerry suddenly feels the weight of the barbecue and the whole world pulling on his shoulders as he goes to aid Rosemary in pulling the girls apart, figuring that’s probably the one thing he can do here and not get his head bitten off by Elvis for it.

It’s easier said than done what with Mrs Alden’s purse pummeling the blonde, Ginger’s last vestiges of despairing pain and the blonde’s shockingly strong core when he grabs her from the back and tries to haul her up and away. Blondie kicks at Ginger’s face one last time and succeeds at landing a blow to the nose by the time Jerry staggers back with her somewhat restrained, feeling like he’s cradling a mountain lion to his chest. She’s shredding his forearms with her acrylics and, unsatisfied with the bloody damage she’s done, this little hottie grabs at the bags still hanging from his arms and begins to throw sticky, juicy, red globs of smoked meat at her grade school nesmises.

“Let me at her, ya goddamn sunnuvabitch!” Tammy screams, head butting him to try to make him let her go–and Jerry finds himself feeling a little funny, like the feeling his folks told him to look for when ‘the one’ wandered into his life looking like sunshine and smelling like a spring day washline and holding daisies. Except that ‘the one’ is a dangerous bottle blonde with a foul mouth and his skin cells under her fingernails.

God moves in mysterious ways.

Speaking of, no sooner has he gripped this chick right enough to preserve some flesh on his arm when he hears Elvis voice booming:

“Enough with the goddamn food! For fucks sake, Tammy! Enough! Ginger put that down or so help me–”

Everyone may want to kill each other in this room but no one, absolutely no one, wants to see Elvis grab a gun. And so, just like that, utter quiet and peace is restored.

He looks quite impressive for a man in a tented tracksuit and ruffled hair, a man who just got off the floor with a grunt and creak of his knees, no doubt. But that don’t matter now, none of those human things apply when The King is pissed. And holy shit, Jerry thinks he’s rarely seen him so angry–it’s that chilly blue suppressed sorta fury that freaks the boys out more than the hotel room trashing fits of red rage.

“Jerrah, the hell’s goin’ on throwin’ food in ma house?”

Jerry looks down at the blonde in his arms and his shredded forearms hoping Elvis will maybe take pity. Unlikely. And so he man’s up with, “Sorry boss, so sorry, we’ll get it cleaned up ‘fore ya know it-“

“Goddamn right y’all will.” Elvis seethes and Jerry sees the pretty young thing he had under him shrink behind him in the foyer at this glimpse of his wrath. As if sensing her movement with those eyes in the back of his head that only Elvis Presley seems blessed with, the boss man pulls himself together with all the haughty showmanship that only he can possess and holds his finger up as if to freeze everyone in their current position before turning around to his little sweetie.

“Baby girl, I want you to go outside an’ get in the passenger seat of the Stutz, a’right?” Elvis directs and underlying it is the explanation that the ugly work of throwing out her predecessor ain’t for her pretty eyes to witness or sweet lil ears to hear. “Lamar’s probably still eatin’ in the kitchen, ya can get the keys from him.”

A whimper sounds from behind him, and it’s Ginger’s. The genuine pain of the sound makes Gigi waiver, a pained look of sympathy and torn intentions flashing across her face. Then his ringed hand cups her fresh young cheek and it seals her fate, submissive as a lamb she melts into that touch, and her eyes drift back to his. They’re so sure, those burning sapphire eyes of his, so sure of where her future is and so intense in their intention for it. Someone who looks so beautiful can’t be as cruel as he feels capable of, surely? Surely.

Jerry watches Gigi’s bare feet patter to the kitchen, looking like a kid shuffling to time out in their dad’s jacket. He can’t think on it for too long because as soon as Elvis hears the suction of the back door opening and closing he turns around to the mosh pit that his living room had become.

“When I get back,” he's addressing those of his boys present–they know he is– and Jerry considers himself one of them still, “I expect this mess,” he gesticulates to the spattered food and his once intended in-laws with a single, bejeweled, disdainful finger, “tidied up.”

It’s not until he too has disappeared out back amidst deathly quiet in the living room that Jerry realizes he’s still holding Tammy Anderson. Not that he can think on it for long. Not when he has a PR nightmare sized mess to clean up.

Hopefully Elvis’s drive is worth it.

Taglist: (let me know if you’d like to be added)

@prompted-wordsmith

@parodsal000

@ab4eva

@stylespresleyhearted

@presleyenterprise

@kendralavon7

@coolgirl462

@colahola

@lillypink

@stephthestallion

@vintageshanny

@landmermaid12

@ashtag2887

@notstefaniepresley

@butlersluvbot

@steph-speaks

@eliseinmemphis

@lookingforrainbows

@dkayfixates

@ellie-24

@memphisflash1935-1977

@marriedtopresley

@powerofelvis

@thatbanditqueen

@elvisabutler

@butlersxbirdy

@heartbrake-hotel

@fav-fanficssss

@austinbutlersbaby

@freudianslumber

@kxnnxy

@kingdomforapony

@be-my-ally

@crazymadpassionatelove

@that-hotdog

@missmaywemeetagain

@fallinlovewithurlove

@richardslady121

@lilycherries123

@18lkpeters

@xenaspace3-blog

@lil-mamas-obsessions

@father-of-2cats

[georgegraphys]

WARNING : OPINIONATED, AGREE TO DISAGREE, some speculative things. Mercedes shooter/snowflakes who hate getting their opinions hurt/who close their eyes blind fuck off

I'm a Mercedes defender but you CANNOT say that at ONE POINT in George's career, they can be manipulative af.

Two things can be TRUE, AT THE SAME FUCKING TIME:

1. Mercedes helps and choose George, George loves and choose Mercedes

2. At some point of his career, there were manipulative acts performed by Mercedes.

Let's talk from the beginning

I don't think i need to tell the story about George's powerpoint presentation saga anymore because all of us know it. But shortly,

His manager got a hold of Toto's email > George sent his CV > Toto saw em and invited George > George came ALONE to Toto's office and there were other higher ups > presentation > Toto mesmerized because of how George is very brave to go inside his office and present his "why you should pick me" CV alone without parents/manager > Toto want him in the junior team but can only offer an ass team > George refused for an English team (Carlin Volkswagen) > Toto say "i told you you're wrong but let's keep on contact"

Then George blew his expectations. Did a pretty good season in F3 EU first year. But he got into a financial problem which he later resorted to testing for BMW in DTM as he looked for plan B. He cooked their. First on the record, allegedly beat Audi and Mercedes too. BMW liked George so much that they threw him a $$$,$$$ contract directly. But the testing saga was leaked by an ex-BMW employee who moved to Mercedes and Mercedes came back to George.

Okay, if you're saying "oh awreeee, but george chose mercedes" oh amandaaa, for the second time, it was mercedes who approached george.

Although George in the end DID choose Mercedes, you can't look at this statement and tell me "oh my word! this is so pressure-less! i bet they're having tea over this talk!" 🥰🥰🥰 "Oh but Ari this is normal-" you're talking to me here as someone who will NEVER be in the position of money-less and your dream in the verge of getting over.

The keyword here is "It was absolutely clear from Mercedes-Benz". You are EIGHTEEN or SEVENTEEN with a career most possibly focused on racing. And a powerhouse company said "there won't be an option with Mercedes Benz in the future (if you pick BMW)". And if you look at it, you don't need to be a Law Student or a Comms Student to know that the deal they're offering to George is so fucking ass. Do ALL the sims for Merc, they test you on and off the track. All that and they say "oh but we won't be so sure tee hee~ we'll get back to you in October 🩵🩵🩵". All that while not letting him keep the BMW contract. George did choose Mercedes, but you can't tell me that there is no pressure (or minor gaslighting) at all from a big company who had ventures in GT/DTM/F1 to a 17/18 y.o who had financial problems and is desperate to continue his career.

Second. During this "test" period for George's second year at F3 EU. They also did not allow him to continue with Carlin despite George wanting to because Carlin is supported by Volkswagen. He had to opt for Hitech, a completely new team (rumored to get that discounted price seat in exchange for driver coaching his teammate Mazepin, whose father sponsors Hitech)

You can have a different opinion about this and you might say "eh but that makes sense, it's job obligation" but for me "why let go of Carlin VW when they don't even guarantee anything about George's seat in the junior team"

Other saga of this "shady ass slightly manipulative shit" Merc did? Whatever that Red Bull saga is

The fact that they said this while also thinking about someone else in that Merc seat in 2022 LOL 💀💀💀 Even when George was almost out of his seat in 2020, they'd rather send George to GT or DTM than let him go to Red Bull or other team. In 2020, he was linked to a Ferrari or McLaren seat. You can say "why would you want him-" and I'll say that you only say this because you're in the future now and you know George is in Mercedes. But if you were BACK THEN and he's on the verge of getting his seat grabbed by someone else and his team snoozed around just because they won't let him go, you'd want to bite their neck off too.

But yeah as I said earlier, this is my opinion and some of the red flags I see. You can't 100% glorify Mercedes for helping George. I'm very thankful they helped George throughout his career. George is in his place now partly because of Mercedes. But let's not act like Merc is a divine angel for helping someone out. They did some red flags too. George chooses them, YES. But let's not act like there is absolutely no pressure at all to a minor at that time.

[meianslo]

Too Late

Anthony Lockwood x Fem!Reader

warning: pure angst, second option reader, asshole lockwood :'D

word count: 1.2k

disclaimer: this isn't the best one i've wrote bc i probably forgot that i even wrote it but im just gonna post it anw hueheu

<3

(name) was walking on the pavement that leads to 35 portland row, the home of her best friend, Lockwood. Lucy had invited her to come to his house after not going there for almost a month now.

She started being friends with Lockwood just a few years ago before he even started his agency. (name) was a family friend but they got to knowing, and just clicked with each other. But for her, it was more than just being friends... or best friends. He was so much more than that to her. But she knows he'll never return the feelings.

Anyways, feelings aside, (name) has become great friends with his agency's members even though she is not a part of it. She was so excited for him when he hired his first assistant. But she remember that it didn't go that well for em' but luckily, he's now ended up with George and Lucy.

Which brings us back to (name), wondering why Lucy had invited her.

Finally arriving at the house, she knocks on their door and waited for a few until George opened up the door and greeted her.

"Hi, (name). Lucy told me that she's expecting you?" she nodded at George's confusion. George knows that only Lockwood invite her most of the times but, even if someone else did invite her, it was probably Lockwood's request (it was a demand..). And Lockwood is currently out of the house. He let her in and asked her if she wanted some tea.

"Yeah sure, that'd be lovely, Georgie." She gave him a small smile of appreciation. While waiting for the tea, (name) went up to the attic to talk with Lucy.

"Lucy? You here?" (name) shouted as she's climbing the stairs before Lucy appeared behind the railings. "(name)! You came!"

"Of course I did, you asked me to, silly. What kind of friend would I be if I didn't?" (name) chuckled as she finally took the last step of the stairs. "So, what's up? Why'd you ask me to come?" Lucy took both her hand, pulled her and sat her down on her bed. This made (name) smiled and just went along with her.

The brown haired girl sighed and look down on her hand. "Lockwood just asked me out a week ago," (name) smile dropped "That's great, Luce!" (name) put her smile back but this one was more forced.

"I rejected him, (name)-"

"What? Why?" (name) was so confused, Lucy liked Lockwood back. So, why did she reject him?

"I- I don't know, I just did! I started rambling about how work is a pressure for me and all — I barely remember what I said-" Lucy sighed loudly. "I panicked.. I like him, (name). I do but, I don't know what came over me. And now, there's tension all over the house!"

As much as she wished that she's the one that's getting asked, (name) know better than that will ever happen. So, she give Lucy some courage to talk to Lockwood and explain herself.

"Lucy, you have to tell him or you'll regret it." What (name) didn't know is that she might also regret encouraging Lucy, but she knows it's for the better. "Well, I'm gonna go downstairs. George is probably done with the tea," She stood up and headed for the stairs

"Alright, I'll catch up with you later!" Lucy exhaled and lay back into the bed, chest feeling heavy.

<3

"So, why'd Lucy invite you over?" George questioned. He set down the cup of the in front of the girl and sat down in front of her.

(name) took a sip and pick up the pen that is Infront of her and starts doodling on the thinking cloth. "It's nothing, just Lockwood and Lucy things, y'know?" George just shrugged at what she said. They suddenly heard a noise coming from the front door, it's probably Lockwood struggling to open the door.

George just stood up and went to the hallway to open the door for Lockwood. "Hey," Lockwood greeted him and headed for the phone.

(name) peeked through the kitchen to see what's up with Lockwood especially after getting rejected. "Anthony?" she revealed her presence and Lockwood turn to her.

"(name)! I was just about to call you, guess that'll save me some time."

"What's up? Need anything?" (name) played dumb about the fact that Lucy rejected him, trying to not break his heart.

"George, can you..? Need some privacy." Lockwood smiled thinly. George just pushed up his glasses, nodding and went back to the kitchen. Lockwood walked closer to her, five feet apart from each other.

"(name).." His gaze shifted, It's not how he usually look at her. He was looking at her with much more passion and (name) realized what's gonna happen and..

"No. Lockwood, no." She blurted out and this confused him.

"What? I didn't even say anything-" He steps closer, this made (name) take a step backward.

"I know, Lucy told me."

"I like you, (name)."

"No, you don't."

She refuses this because this is not good.

"I- Please, (name)."

"Lockwood." This surprised him, because she rarely ever calls him that. "You like her, not me. Her. And I've liked you since forever but that doesn't mean I'll accept you just because I happen to be your option!" she scoffed "You decided that you like me because Lucy rejected you, right? You're being desperate and I know you're better than that. I'd rather reject you than just be a second option for you, Anthony."

The boy sighed and massaged nose bridge. He muttered. "This is my second regret, now."

"What? Are you serious? Wow, did you really just said that? Do I really just become your second regret? Be fucking serious, Lockwood." There it is again. "You're actually admitting that I'm just becoming your second everything at this point. I'm fine not being your option at all because it'd mean I wouldn't have to hope anything from you."

"(name), I didn't mean that! I'm so sorry — I'm just being dumb and-"

"Yes, you are being dumb! And I'll just let it slide because I know what you're going through." She swerved around him and went for the door. She hesitates for a second but finally reach the door's knob.

Just when she was about to turn the knob, Lucy called out to her. "(name)!" She stood at the top of the stairs. "(name)?" she repeated looking a bit more confused. Lucy bit her bottom lip and glanced at Lockwood for a second before looking back at (name).

"Lucy.." Lockwood muttered under his breath. (name) can hear how hurt he was in his voice but it didn't excused him for what he just did.

After turning around for a second to look at Lucy then Lockwood, the heavy hearted girl knows to leave them alone and let them talk it out. (name) turn her back to them again, "Thanks for the Invite, Lucy. Tell George I love the tea.." She finally turned the knob and head out of the house.

<3

When (name) was finally far enough from the house, she sat on the kerb of the pavement. Breaking down into sobs, fingers running through her hair. She buried her head into the palm of her hands, getting them all clammy.

She didn't know whether or not this is her fault.

Because she was too late. She thought that if she had confessed sooner, maybe this wouldn't happen to her. Maybe, her heart wouldn't have to be crushed into pieces.

a/n: this almost become rusty because i forgot i have this in my draft

[mercurygray]

Trying NOT to be obvious and ask for something with Diana (beloved) again, so how about a new girl - Freda, with "Cloying sweetness on the back of your tongue" from the Sensory Prompts, please?

And she thought she was supposed to be the welcome wagon.

"Miss Fred, Miss Fred!" Two small boys came running up to meet her jeep, waiting at a respectful and safe distance until she'd turned the engine off and gotten her box out of the back. She was on the lunch run today, and the turkey and cheese sandwiches weren't going to keep if she left them out in the sun too long.

"Well, hey there, Adam. George. What's doing?"

"Have you got any extra doughnuts today, Miss Fred?"

Fred shrugged theatrically, setting the heavy box-tray down at her feet. "'Fraid I don't, fellas. But I do have these cookies - er, biscuits - the mess hall just finished making. I was bringing them for Ken and the crew but I might have a couple extra. How do you feel about chocolate chips?"

You could have knocked the boys over with a feather. "Chocolate CHIPS?? You make biscuits with chips in 'em, Miss Fred?"

"How do you get the chips to taste like chocolate? I think my mum needs that."

Fred cycled through a a moment of brief confusion until she realized the mistake. Chips…crisps…fries…oh.

"What, you fellas ain't ever had chocolate chips before?" Ken asked, coming out from underneath the engine with a grin on his face. "You're missing out. Are those all for me, Miss Fred?"

Freda passed over the container to Ken, who made a big show of opening it and investigating what was inside while the two boys looked on, still absolutely sold on the idea of cookies that somehow managed to have fried potato inside.

"Maybe if you're real nice to Mr Lemmons he'll share," Fred suggested, holding in a smile.

"Naw, I don't think so," Ken said, hamming along for the sake of the joke. "I think me and Wink and the boys are gonna eat 'em all ourselves."

"Yep," Wink said, nodding very seriously. "Takes a lot of cookies to keep one of these things flying, you know."

Ken made a noise and suddenly drew his hand out of the box like he'd been burned. "Oh, darn. Would you look at that. This one's broken. Definitely can't eat that now, Wink, it's spoiled."

Up went the waiting hands, the two boys practically bouncing in place. "We want it! We want it!"

"Are you sure?" Lemmons looked the both of them over with a skeptical look. "Eating broken cookies can be dangerous."

"We love danger!" George said, loud enough for the both of them.

"Well, all right," Ken said, like he thought he might regret this, carefully picking up the broken cookie like he was handling broken glass and gently depositing it into Adam's outstretched hands. "Looks like this one's broke, too, George. 'Fraid you're gonna need to take both."

Both boys bit down hard, chewing carefully to investigate. Adam frowned. "Why, this is just bits of chocolate."

"Well, that's what Miss Fred said, isn't it?" Lemmons replied, clearly enjoying himself. "Chocolate chips?"

"Ohhhhhh." The light finally went on, and the boys giggled, still eating their cookies with glee.

"Chalk one up for American English," Fred said, watching the two boys run off through the tall grass.

"I don't care what anyone says, those are still fries where I'm from," Wink declared, pulling another half a cookie out of the box in Lemmons' hands and chowing down. "Thanks for the grub, Fred!"

"You're really good with 'em," Fred said to Lemmons, sitting down on the tarmac in the shade of the wing and watching as the rest of the crew ambled over for the sandwiches and apples, pulling handkerchiefs out of pockets to wipe off oily hands. "The kids, I mean. Some guys wouldn't take the time." How many 19 year olds would stop and play with their kid brother of ten?

"Helps, you know? Keeping it all in perspective. And I figure, if you make 'em listen here, if you really need to keep 'em out of trouble they'll listen later, too. Might even learn something." Lemmons nodded, mostly to himself. Ken Lemmons, you're a wise man and a scholar. "You eaten yet?"

She smiled and shook her head, taking the cookie he offered and biting down slowly, the chocolate cloying and sweet on the back of her tongue, still just the tiniest bit warm and gooey. Shortage of sweet things in this world at the moment. I'm glad human kindness isn't one.

--

Freda is one of my many OCs - if you liked her here, you can read more about her at her tag on my blog! More of my writing, and more OCs, are found at the mercurygraypresents tag.

[uramilf]

Day Eight - Eggnog and Mulled Wine

“Babe, are you ready?” Y/N called down the hall to Matty. “Coming now!” They were headed off to George and Charli’s place for one final get-together before Christmas. It was the first time they’d properly be hanging out with the group since Matty and Y/N got together, minus the night everyone found out about their relationship.

Matty came out of the bedroom with his tie hanging loosely around his neck, smiling in disbelief when he laid eyes on his girlfriend. “Fuck, baby. You look perfect.” She smiled back and turned round to show off the back of her sparkly red dress. “You like?” “I love,” he groaned. “I don’t think George would care if we were a bit late.” “Absolutely not, we’re not gonna see them until after Christmas! C’mere.” She pressed a quick kiss to his lips before tying his tie in a neat knot. “Fine, let’s go.” He took her hand and they left the house together. The car ride was full of laughter and bad singing to Christmas songs on the radio. Presents for their friends were laying in gift bags on the back seat, so many they weren’t sure they would get them into George’s house in one run.

They managed to get all the presents inside and started greeting their friends, everyone cooing over Adam and Carly’s son who had just started walking. Matty couldn’t help but smile softly at the sight of his girlfriend holding a baby. “I know it’s early days, but this is making me want kids,” he whispered to her with a smile. “Good, so I’m not the only one with baby fever.”

Charli seemed to appear out of nowhere behind them laughing. “Baby fever? Good. Do it.” “Em, we’ve been going out for less than a month. Do you wanna fuck off?” “Matty!” Y/N hissed, gesturing to the baby on her hip. “You know he’s starting to talk now, do you really want him to learn that word?” “Yes, absolutely. Hann would hate it.” “What would I hate?” Adam called from across the room. Y/N, Matty and Charli looked at each other and burst out laughing. “Nothing!”

—————

The group settled back into the living room after dinner. There wasn’t enough room of the sofas and chairs for everyone, so Carly sat in Adam’s lap whilst Charli played with their son on the carpeted floor. Matty was drinking a glass of eggnog (which he hated, but it was such a nice Christmas cliche and he wanted to feel included) while Y/N sipped on some mulled wine that Carly had made.

“So, Denise’s for Christmas?” George asked Y/N. “Yeah, I’m a bit nervous if I’m honest.” “Don’t be, she’s going to absolutely love you. Didn’t you see her on Loose Women last week saying she sometimes prefers her sons’ girlfriends to them?” “No chance you watch Loose Women,” Y/N giggled. “To see my second mother? Absolutely!” “It’s true,” Charli piped up from the floor. “He loves it.”

“We’d better head off,” Carly said, reaching down to pick up her son and giving Charli a kiss on the cheek. “This little man needs to go to bed!” “Yeah, I should go too. I’m heading to Mum’s for Christmas tomorrow, long drive ahead of me,” Ross yawned, playfully ruffling the baby’s hair. “Thanks for the lovely dinner, Char.”

George showed them all out after a few hugs and Merry Christmases. Charli stood up and stretched, before saying “Y/N? Can you come help me in the kitchen for a minute?” “Yeah, of course.” “I’ll come help with the dishes,” Matty offered, standing up, but Charli shot him a look and said “No, it’s fine. We need a girls chat anyway, it’s well overdue.” Matty raised his hands in surrender and leaned back in his chair as George re-entered.

“So. Meeting the parents?” Charli grinned. “Yeah. How long did it take for you to meet G’s parents?” “A few weeks, about the same as you. But I wasn’t staying there for the holidays. You must be scared shitless.” “Finally someone who gets it,” Y/N sighed. “Everyone’s saying his family’s lovely, and I’m sure it’s true, but all his girlfriends before me were pop stars or supermodels. I just hope their expectations aren’t too high.” “Look, just because you’re not a model doesn’t mean they won’t love you. They’re probably bored of having the same conversations every Christmas.” “Maybe you’re right. I love Matty and that’s all that really matters, right?”

Charli’s jaw dropped before she squealed in excitement. “You love him?!” “Shit.” Y/N’s hand flew to her mouth. “I just said that, didn’t I?” “Yes!” “Oh my god. I really do love him.”

—————

Meanwhile, back in the living room, Matty and George were having a similar conversation. “I’m so excited for her to meet my mum. They’re gonna love each other. She’s just so perfect, G.” “She’s great,” George agreed. “I’m really happy for you, man.” “I think I’m gonna tell her I love her tonight. Cause I do. I really do. I’ve loved her since long before the whole secret Santa incident.” “Yeah, I fuckin’ know mate! You forget I’m the one who had to listen to you talk about her every day for months.” Matty just smiled. He was gonna tell her. And he was gonna mean it, more than he had ever meant anything in his life.

—————

They lay tangled up in each others arms at the end of the night, opting to stay at Matty’s house so they could look after Mayhem, of course. Matty decided not to make a big deal out of it, because he was sure she already knew. He hadn’t exactly been hiding it.

“I love you, baby.” Y/N’s heart started beating faster, her breath caught in her throat. “I love you too,” she whispered.

[vivi-in-the-sky-with-diamonds]

Hi! I hope your having a great day! I was wondering if I could request a George x reader.

Him and the reader have been married for a few years and they have a child who is just obsessed with John. Whenever they get together there kids first question is where John is.The reader and George are just so confused on how that happened.

-I love your works so much by the way

Hi, love! I'm having a great day, hope you are too! Hope this is alright! Again, I'm new to this whole request thing so I hope I'm doing it right 😅 Proofed in UK English, as usual c:

You Like Me Too Much

(Photo from ?? I've had it for a while tbh lol lemme know if you know credit)

“Y/N!” calls George, your husband of six years. “The lads'll be here soon!”

“Alright, love!” is your reply before you go to help your daughter get ready.

You enter the room to find five-year-old Katherine Harrison, who you lovingly refer to as Kitty, playing with a teddy bear.

“Kitty, we need to get changed,” you tell her. “We have company coming over.”

“Is it Uncle Johnny?” she asks excitedly.

You giggle. “Well, he’s one of ‘em. Uncle Paul and Uncle Ritchie as well.”

She squeals with delight and shoots up to change into her favourite outfit.

Richard and Paul arrive together a few moments later.

“Say hello to your uncles, Kitty,” George says.

“Hi, Uncle Paul! Hi, Uncle Ritchie!” she says excitedly. She looks around before asking, “Where’s Uncle Johnny?”

Paul chuckles. “He’s on his way, Kathy.”

She squeals excitedly once more before going to gaze out the window, waiting impatiently for John.

About ten minutes later, a knock sounds at the door. Katherine runs to answer it. “Uncle Johnny!”

“Katherine, you know you’re not supposed to answer the door for strangers,” you scold as you enter the room.

“It’s not a stranger,” she replies. “It’s Uncle Johnny!”

John chuckles and picks her up into a hug. “Hello, my love. You bein’ good for Mummy and Daddy?” She nods and he says, “That’s my good girl. What you been up to?”

“I’m the fastest girl in the schoolyard, Uncle Johnny!” she announces happily.

“Yeah? Can ye show me?”

The girl nods and John puts her back to the floor, where she runs quickly all around the sitting room.

“Wow!” exclaims John. “You’re the fastest girl in the whole world!”

You laugh slightly. “If she keeps this up, I won’t have any trouble getting her to sleep tonight.”

John chuckles.

The group of you have dinner together before you announce, “Say goodnight, Kitty. It’s time for bed.”

“Why?” she whines.

“Because you have school tomorrow.”

“Can Uncle Johnny tuck me in?”

“I’m sure Uncle Johnny can tuck you in some other time.”

“Please?” She sticks her bottom lip out in a pout.

You sigh, defeated, and look over to John, who’s chuckling.

“Go get in your jimjams and get ready for bed, Kitty Kat, and I’ll tuck you in after,” he says.

Katherine runs off with a smile, returning shortly after, wearing pyjamas.

“You brush your teeth?” John asks. When she nods, he continues, “Let Uncle Johnny see.”

The girl flashes a toothy grin. “See?”

John chuckles. “Alright, come on, Kitty Kat. Say goodnight to everyone.”

Katherine bids her goodnight to her other uncles before John picks her up and carries her off to her bedroom.

As he walks off, you hear John say, “You like me too much.”

“No such thing,” she replies.

The rest of you share a small laugh together.

“I have no idea why she’s so smitten with him,” you giggle.

“Probably because he babied you so when you were pregnant,” says George. “He babied you more than I did.”

“Remember the time, I think she was about six months, when John was holdin’ her and she took both her little hands and just grabbed him by the nose?” Richard reminisces.

“I think George had some sort of quip about his nose shape, if I remember correctly,” you recall with a laugh. “Oh, the amount of times she fell asleep on John because she would not stop crying otherwise.”

It’s a few reminiscent stories later when John re-enters the room. “She’s quite a bright girl,” he says, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “Says she wants to make music when she grows up, just like Uncle Johnny.”

“She’s never told me that,” George says.

“’course not, she wanted to tell Uncle Johnny first.” John laughs as he sits back down at the table. “I don’t care what you guys think, she’s not allowed to date until she’s thirty-five.”

“I think George agrees with you there,” you say with a laugh.

[websterss]

julie i was the one to ask about blurbs for dad!ethan world. IM SORRY I DIPPED I GOT SCARED!!! also i couldn’t think of anything and didn’t think you wanted blurbs right away.

but i have just a simple one that came to my mind at 5am (pst). just a simple day in their lives. like maybe ethan had been back for about six months and everyone is slowly opening up to him, but chad is still wary (fully understandable) and he’s like “there needs to be someone in the house when ethan’s here” or “make sure you stick to crowded and lighted areas, don’t let him take you to a second unknown location.” just chad being very protective and keeping watchful eyes and tabs on ethan.

you know? cause chad was so real for his reaction honestly. YOU ALMOST GOT KILLED!!!!

Erin that was you?!🤣💀lmfao honestly you were right tho. I wasn’t ready for them yet😄🤷🏻‍♀️ you know me so well.

Seol sent me a blurb about going on a first date again with Ethan, so the ending of this one will start the blurb she sent okay!

-

"Where are you going?"

"Chad, I already had a run down with Sam and Tara...and Mindy." You fix your black long-sleeve a couple times. Your jitters riling you up. You were nervous. You meet Chad's eyes in the mirror. Him leaning against the wall behind you, his arms crossed as his head tilts. "I'm going on a date with Ethan."

"Yeah, but where?" He asks.

"I don't know Chad. We're just going out. Maybe to catch a movie, or grab something to eat. We're just going out okay!" You sigh and let your shoulders fall.

"You can't just still be fine with all this. I mean you let him back into our-"

"It's been a year Chad! A year. You just...you need to get over it already." You look down at your bag, fiddling, and making sure that your stuff was all there.

"Getting stabbed 12 times isn't something I can just get over, Y/n." Chad straightens up. You look up, meeting his eyes again through the reflection. Guilt raids your eyes as you turn to slowly face him.

"I'm sorry-"

"No. I'm sorry. I still hover over you and Samara."

"We know you mean well..." You reach out to place a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"But..." He nodded waiting to hear your rebuttal.

"Ethan picked our side. That's got to count for something. Samara has her dad in her life. Most kids can't say they do. I just feel...I feel like I got lucky with him, coming back and all. This is my do-over Chad. His do-over. It's all I wanted and waited for during those nine months. Now a year has passed, and the world makes sense again." You beam, your waterline brimming with water. You reach forward and cup his face. "I love and appreciate how much you've taken care of us, all of us. But have you stopped to think that maybe we're okay now..." You tilt your head, tears brimming his waterline now.

"We don't know that-"

"I-I know we don't." You reassure him. "But he hasn't tried anything. I truly believe that he's changed for the good of it all. That he doesn't pose a threat to any of us. That somewhere deep down, you'll find your dorky roommate again." You nudge his shoulder playfully. "He's still that guy."

"Until he wasn't anymore..." Chad scoffs. You close your eyes, sighing in defeat. Chad would still hold a grudge over him, and you didn't blame him for it one bit. Silence fell over the two of you comfortably. He looked at you through his lashes, his cheeky smile plastering back onto his face. "You look beautiful. He's not gonna know what hit 'em." He took your hand and twirled you around. You slowly shimmy your shoulders playfully as you duck under his arm.

"Yeah?" You pose dramatically. "Not too much for a first date?" You look down at yourself.

"You look great, but if you wanna really knock his socks off-" He reaches forward, asking you silently with his eyes if he can adjust your outfit. He pulled at the collar of your shirt down past your shoulders so they rest on your upper arms. A Regina George flair before she got hit by the bus, if you will. He turns you towards the mirror. Your smiles replicating one another.

"Look at you. You're glowing momma!" He leans and pecks your cheek sweetly.

"Thanks..." You let out a faint laugh.

"Should I tell the girls to leave it unlocked tonight or are you-" He pauses when you give him a quirk of your brow. The indication and slight smirk let him know otherwise. "Oh. So you're not coming home." Chad's eyes widened. "Okay momma bear, just don't come back pregnant again. Samara doesn't need a brother or sister right now." He gestures to the hall where your daughter was currently sound asleep in your shared bedroom. "Wear a condom." Chad bluntly says.

"Oh my god, stop please!" You scoff out a laugh. "We did last time, look what happened!" You exclaim with a smile, gesturing to the child two rooms down.

"Then...tell him to pull-"

Luckily you were saved by the doorbell.

"Oh thank god!" You push past him and compose yourself before swinging it open. Ethan had been looking down before he trailed his eyes up and down your form. His socks were definitely rocked. It made you feel a little more confident seeing him so flustered.

"W-Wow...You look gorgeous." He breathes out.

"Not so bad yourself." You emit a nervous laugh. Who knew re-first dates were anxiety filled. You two stayed still at the door. Eyes unashamedly raking the other. It would have lasted longer had it not been for Chad, pushing the door open wider, revealing himself to Ethan, and leaning against it. Hand touching the top of it. Ethan fell back into a timid state as he greeted Chad with a nod of his chin. Though Chad didn't reciprocate the gesture, making the whole interaction awkward. You turn to look back at him with an annoyed expression. You could practically feel his ego radiate from his body. The smug smirk on his face was one you wanted to slap off him.

"Not a scratch...On her head of her hair." Chad smiled, tilting his head. His tone was falsely sweet. "Not one. Can I see your pockets?" Chad stood up and gestured to Ethan's tucked hands. What the fuck?

"Chad!" You exclaim.

"What?" He defends. "No seriously what's in 'em?" Chad motioned a gimme gesture.

"Just my phone, keys, and wallet...some change." You gape at Ethan who took out his stuff to show.

"Ethan you don't need to-" You begin.

"Okay, now the back." Chad motioned for him to turn around. "Actually, can I pat you down...for a precaution ya know?" Chad goes to move out of the apartment, but you push him back inside, and quickly grab your purse.

"You're insane. We're leaving. Take care of our daughter, please." You press a kiss to his cheek hastily and practically drag Ethan down the hall. "Kay, bye love you." You call over your shoulder.

"Make him order something where he doesn't have to use a knife...Y/n, make him order soup or something!" He steps out of the apartment, shouting after you. "Go somewhere crowded and public!"

"Bye!" You and Ethan laugh as you ran away.

[moondialdoodles]

WOW Hey another Shovel Knight post!! In one day??? That's crazy. I made this video.. AGES ago. Almost last year? Never did share it publicly tho besides amongst a few pals, so here we are!!! A few notes about my thoughts on the claims under the cut, since not all voices are entirely accurate to how I imagine them.

I'll only be addressing the voices that I haven't rated with full accuracy

Shovel Knight

As much as I love the valiant nature of Superman's voice, I like to think he sounds just a little more energetic than the clips I found. Otherwise it's pretty alright!

Shield Knight

I actually really love this pick for Shield Knight, but the clips I found for actual talking sound a little too harsh for Shield Knight. I'm sure there's more, but clips on youtube for the Tangled show go down left and right. I'd think her voice is maybe a smiiidge higher pitched than Cass? Otherwise the vibes are really good!

Plague Knight

Obviously the bitcrushing isn't part of his voice, I thought that itself might've been obvious enough. The vibes are perfect, but something about it just doesn't sound exactly how I want it to. I know someone who pulls out the voice I imagine him with a lot better, but I don't wanna bug him to record a bunch of dialogue just for a brand new video lmao

Mona

As much as the voice itself sounds exactly like I want it to, it could sound just a little more chaotic and excited. That's about it for complaints there though!

Specter Knight

He's soooo close to exactly how I want him to sound. I feel like he'd sound just a little less cool and collected, maybe just a smidge harsher, and it would be absolutely perfect.

King Knight

I'll be real, this one is.. not what I was looking for, but King George is the absolute closest I could get to the vibes I was searching for. Like yeah, King Knight absolutely would have that flauntiness to his voice, but the pitch is too high in my opinion. Something deeper, and I think it'd be just what I'm looking for! Unfortunately I couldn't find anything that really hit that mark though.

Mole Knight

I really like the vibes of this one! If it had just a little more oomph and enthusiasm, like a real authoritative vibe? All it needs.

Treasure Knight

Too deep, but the grizzled feeling? Oh yeah. That's perfect. Just a little higher pitched and it'd be just what I want. Everything else is just right!

Propeller Knight

I'm gonna be honest, the only thing this one needs is the French accent and it's all it needs

Tinker Knight

Wow look a body swap one! A nerdier feeling would be good, but not extremely awkward sort of nerdy feeling. The voice has grown on me a lot since I first gave it to her, so I'd rate the accuracy a bit higher now, but it's still not perfect for my depiction of Tinker (Little side note not relating to the voice, but legitimately I love having just the four girlies on two entirely separate ends of the personality spectrum. Like we have Prism and Shield being the fighter valiant types, then we have Mona and Tinker just being the inventive gremlins of the four who are too much trouble for their own good. Having two duos that oppose eachother like that in vibes is just so immaculate to me)

Chester

A little too young, but the energy is immaculate!! It's close enough, but just not perfect.

Prism Knight

PLEASE EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS IS SO GOOD If she sounded Just a little kinder (Like she did in the last speaking clip)? Perfect.

Phantom Striker

I couldn't find much dialogue for this one at the time and for that I apologize, but if he sounded a little more grizzled, it'd be just what I want.

Drill Knight

The threatening vibes are IMMACULATE. It's just what I want in terms of that, but the voice is just too deep. A little higher up? Just what I want. Perfect.

Hive Knight

He needs to be slightly more yeehaw More country accent and that's all I want for 'em.

Scrap Knight

Love this little menace She needs to sound older but I ADORE her chaotic energy!!

That's about it though for my commentary and thoughts :) Hope y'all enjoy these! I promised a huge headcanon wall like ages and ages ago, and y'know what maybe it's time I actually get that done to match all these voice claims!

[cherry-pop-elf]

Weasley Siblings Helping You With Your Protective Hairstyling

Authors Note: I myself do not have textured hair, but I have friends who do. Along with friends who have family with such. I also did my best to research the best I can. DO COMMENT. I want to learn more about cultures and to educate myself after all. I wanna learn, and I want to share. I hope I do my best! If I got any information here wrong, DO say something. It can’t learn and grow if I don’t know, after all!

William ‘Bill’

Since he spent quite a lot of time in Egypt, and by proxy explored many countries for work, he would honestly have some good background in protective styles. He would probably figure out your hair type easy, even. So he’s going to certainly help you when you want to redo your braids. Know where to cut when you need to change them out. Even know when you got braids you smack them when they get itchy. He’s even willing to braid them by hand, instead of magic. He probably even has friends back in Egypt to talk to that can hook you up with the good shit. That good gel and conditioner. Even some fine silk Bonnets, when you need them. He’s going to know them well. Most certainly had colleagues, from Egypt, that had braids or locs even! If anyone will know how to care for your hair, it’s him. Also helps he’s a history buff, so for all you know he uncovered some old texts that can teach him new ways to help!

Charlie

He’s also a world travelver, and can be argued he’s been to more countries than Bill, but he was bit more hyperfixated on dragons over history. Doesn’t mean he knows nothing. He DOES know a lot about heat, and how it affects the world around it. He’s gonna know how to help you deal with that hit of humidity to the hair. Along with keep your hair safe when straightening it. He also knows a lot about locs. Definitely has coworkers with them, or at least keeps their hair under a Duka/wave cap. That’s something he so knows. Such as locs aren’t ’dirty hair’ and just another means of a style. Also that you gotta EARN EM. You need to go through so much to grow them, let alone care for them. He’s gotta respect the effort it takes to make after all. Of course he will help you care for em. Maybe he will ask advice on seeing if he has the hair type to have his own!

Percy

He doesn’t really know much about by much at all. He’s never had a reason to. But he does know how to keep clean. He’s going to help you make sure your hair gets a deep wash before braiding. You’ll never worry about braiding greasy hair, or if your fro isn’t conditioned enough. He’s also a nerd that reads a lot. He will try his best to read up on your hair type, but reading is different than actually working with it. He’s gonna mostly be on washing, combing, and conditioning duty. He’s just got skilled enough to make sure your braids are tight. A tight braid is a useless braid. But washing is still helping a tongue, and he will massage your neck whenever you need to take a break from braiding. Stuff like that can take days, after all. He will try and be as supportive as he can for it all. He’s trying his best, and that’s all that can be asked for.

Fred and George

Angelia is coming in clutch, because she is a “ended on good terms bestie” of them boys. So they know, at least the basics, when it comes to textured hair. Also helps they are incredibly quick witted, so they can pick up on things fast. Don’t get me started on how they probs can invent you different types of hair care products to unlock all the potential magic can offer. It’ll also help that they each can take a side of your head, and keep you entertained when braiding. They’ll make sure you have fun, and cared for. They’ll 100% invent a hair moisture spray to help you when your braids start itching. They would definitely love twists the most, to do to your hair. Hope you like orange and purple extensions. God the hair experiments. They’ll love trying out new hair styles on you endlessly. Hair clips in your fro, trying new braiding styles on your scalp, seeing what kind of extensions they can add. They love your textured hair. You can do so much with it, and they adore it so very much! They love your hair!

Ron

Same like the twins, Ron has a basic knowledge on textured hair. Thanks to Hermione, and Lavender (iykyk) And given it was two different types he has a more solid grasp that not all hair is the same. Hermiones was dramatically different from Lavenders, after all. (Also the Weasleys themselves have their own texture hair, just on the 2a to 2c kind. The weather will definitely make it 3a though.) Anyway, he will ask Hermione for advice anyway. Asking someone who DOES have textured hair, compared to bullshitting. He just isn’t the twins when it comes to faking it until you make it. The amount of times he’s sprayed himself in the face with hairspray is never ending, but he’s a fighter. Definitely will try and make sure he has some kind of wave cap on hand for you at all times. Along with hair comb. Just trying to do things to show he cares. He definitely finds pure joy in buying you bonnets. Something he can get you, and something that will always be useful for you.

Ginny

As the youngest, she learns alot from her brothers. From Hermione, Angelia, Lavender, her Quidditch players, and just typical by proxy of a girl sharing a dorm with girls that have to go through heavy routines for their nightly sleep. She just picks it up, absentmindedly, and doesn’t really notice until she applies it. She also has a lot of people for support when she wants to ask for advice. She WILL make those braids tight, and make sure your hair is pulled so far back you get a face lift. She is a certified ‘Ma’am I won’t have wrinkles until I’m eighty’ level of skill. She’s got you covered, and loves when you keep your hair natural as well. Reminds her of her older brother’s Bill and Charlie. Along with just finding hair pretty in general, having grown up surrounded by so many types. Shes gonna love doing your hair. She has never bern a 'girly girly' so she has fun doing it for others. Safe hands, no worries there!

[allylikethecat]

January OTP Prompts

Instead of scrambling at night to try and finish my prompt for the day, I decide to attempt it first thing in the morning. I hope this one came out a bit better! I was smiling to myself while working on it. Thank you so much again to everyone who has been so lovely and supportive of this little adventure! I can't believe we're two weeks in, and almost halfway through it and I haven't missed a day or given up yet 😂

14. Old bookstore on a cold day

The warm and comforting, yet musty smell of dust and old paper tickled his cold nose as he looked through the shelves. Books, their covers worn, some with age and some with love, their pages yellowing, were piled higher than he was tall, an impressive feat when considering his six foot four frame. The stacks covered every available surface, titles spilling out of the displays with no discernible order. He felt overwhelmed, unsure of where to begin as he spun in a small circle, looking for any titles or authors he recognized. He knew he wasn’t the biggest reader, but he listened when Matty spoke with bright eyes and sweeping hand gestures as he grew more and more excited about whatever book he had most recently picked up. 

George gritted his teeth and continued deeper into the shop, wrapping his arms around himself against the chill he couldn’t seem to shake, even as he ventured deeper amongst the stacks. The exposed yellow bulbs hanging from the ceiling reminding George of the warm tones used in movies to depict a summer day, as if it wasn’t snowing outside, his boots having left wet footprints on the mat as he stomped his feet, trying to dislodge the icey powder lest he track it inside with him. 

He could see why Matty liked the little old used bookstore, tucked away on a side street that George would never have even noticed if Matty hadn’t mentioned it before. 

“Can I help you find something this evening?” a voice asked and George spun around in surprise, coming face to face with an older gentleman, his gray hair spilling down past his rounded shoulders as he leaned heavily on his cane. Rationally, he knew he couldn’t have been alone in the shop, there had to have been someone working, but the clerk’s sudden appearance was still a shock. He swallowed hard. 

“I’m em, looking for a gift,” he said, “for a friend,” he winced, friend didn’t seem like a strong enough, like a powerful enough word to describe what Matty was to him. He was George’s best friend, but he was more than that. He was his soulmate, his other half, his partner, even if Matty might not fully understand the depth of George’s feelings yet, even if George didn’t fully understand them himself. 

“Dark curly hair, about yea tall, big glasses?” asked the man with a smile describing Matty perfectly. George flushed, and nodded the man grinning back with a sparkle in his eye. George wondered how he knew that. 

“I have the perfect thing,” he said, disappearing behind a stack of books and reappearing a moment later with a worn hardcover. 

He handed it to George who flipped through the pages, the dust jacket was missing but the title and author were embossed onto the side. On the Road by Jack Kerouac.

“It’s a first edition,” said the man, “it will make a phenomenal gift for your friend, it will really show him how much you care.” 

“How much is it?” George asked carefully, dread pooling in his stomach at the realization the book, while worn, if it was a first edition was most likely out of his meager budget. 

“It’s on the house,” said the man smiling, “just make sure that lad knows he’s loved.” 

George swallowed hard, not sure what to say as he ran his fingers over a smudged inscription on the first page.

“Are you sure?” He asked carefully and the man nodded. 

“He’s supposed to have that book.” he said sagely and George nodded, closing the book with the inscription still burnt into his retinas.

1 June, The 1975.

The 1975. 

Day: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13

[pomellon]

i like the idea of george being one of the few people who are immune that’d be soooo interesting when you have sapnap hallucinating, excitedly telling george he saw dream down the corridor and george is like oh no

what would george’s initial reaction be to realising sapnap’s been influenced? bc that could set up some good angst

Oh there will be so much angst!!

It definitely takes a while for George to figure out that something is off with Sapnap, because he himself isn’t suffering from any of the effects Sapnap is experiencing. The audio logs from Dream being empty? Could have gotten damaged since Sap picked em up. Sapnap seeing Dream? He’s just being optimistic, maybe he saw something else, the emergency lights are very dim after all it’s hard to see anything. Sapnap mumbling about hearing whispers from the walls? They’re inside a planet cracker, there’s a lot of machinery and engines running, he’s probably just confused by all the noise. On top of everything George knows Sapnap is absolutely terrified, George is too he’s just keeping it wrapped up better, so he easily excuses Sapnap’s weird behavior.

It isn’t until he comes across the dead survivors that he knows Sapnap must have killed that it hits him that something is very very off. He even radios Sapnap to make sure what happened and Sap is certain there were only necromorphs in that room, there were no survivors or human bodies. But George is looking right at them, and he’s no medic but it doesn't look like they’ve been dead for long, not as long as some of the others he’s stumbled upon that must have died before they got on the ship.

This is when George starts to crack. He’s found enough logs to know how the Marker mentally affected the crew of the ship and the colony on the planet below, he just had a hard time believing all of it because he wasn’t experiencing any of it himself. But Sapnap clearly is and George was keeping himself together for him. Now his boyfriend is clearly losing himself and all the “evidence” of Dream still being on the ship is suddenly called into question. Dream could be dead and Sapnap is going mad, so what is George fighting for?

He intentionally puts some distance between himself and Sapnap after that, because now he has so many doubts, but he forces himself to keep on track with the task: keep the ship running long enough to get off it and destroy the Marker.

Now, I am still freshening up my mind of the full plot of the first game but an additional scene I do want to play with is Sapnap momentarily seeing George as a necromorph and trying to kill him. George does make him snap out of it but this leads to a lot of paranoia for both of them, George unsure if he can trust Sapnap and try to stay away from him, while Sapnap grows paranoid about the actual necromorphs he’s seeing and hesitating shooting them in fear that he’s actually shooting someone who’s still alive. He also struggles to look at George’s face after, like way after, it's something he struggles to get over because he's terrified of seeing George's face morphed and twisted like he did in his hallucination.

[watercolor-hearts]

So if you can answerr the ao3 wrapped: 5 6 15 and 29 please 😊

[Ao3 wrapped – Ask me about my stories/writing this year.]

Hi 😊 Of course I can. Thank you so much for asking. Long post ahead because... I love talking about writing/my stories. 😂❤

5. Has a work of yours got more feedback than you expected?

Yes, Broken Hearts and Broken Dreams: 14 subscriptions, 2875 hits, 131 kudos, 5 comments, 9 bookmarks.

When I posted my first Lestappen story (not this one) I was surprised how quickly the hits and kudos count climbed. And then I realized Lestappen was the top ship. (For me it's always Maxiel so that's why it was surprising.) And in case of this story the big amount of feedback was also surprising because it's about non-planned pregnancy, abortion and it's... not about easy topics. But it was nice to see people liked it so much. (It's my number one story if we view them by hits count.)

6. Favorite title you used

I don't have artsy titles, I usually just pick something from the story and make it the title so they're really basic but I still can't choose only one so here are all my faves:

Battle scar; Broken Hearts and Broken Dreams; In Sickness and In Health; Blood, sweat and tears; and Home.

15. What WIP are you taking into next year with you?

For sure I'm gonna take In Sickness and In Health/Depressed Seb AU with me into next year because I still have a lot of story ideas for it. I'm planning to finish at least one this year but I'm sure I'll write for this au next year too. Having this little universe means a lot to me. ❤

And I think I'll also take my Charlos mpreg/premature birth/male lactation story into next year because even though I stopped talking about it, I still want to write it (uni was a bit too much and I had no time to write. But tomorrow (now today because it's now past midnight as I finish this post) is my last day so I hope I'll be able to write again soon.)

29. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

Now this is a difficult one because so far I've written 47 stories this year. (Big big thanks to Em and Nyx for sending me my first ever prompts and giving me a chance to start this amazing journey. ❤ And also big thanks to everyone who has ever sent me a prompt. It means a lot. ❤)

Now I'm gonna try and list as few of my fave lines as I can because I don't want to copy and paste all of my fave stories here but it's not always easy. 😂 (Mission (kind of) failed. Sorry.)

In Sickness and In Health

In sickness and in health, they say. Seb and Kimi knew it well.

•

“Just a little snack,” Seb said, heading to the kitchen. He knew he needed to eat but there were times when it wasn't that easy. But for Kimi, he tried. Kimi saved him, he’ll always try for him.

•

Seb was holding on to Kimi’s upper arm like he was scared Kimi would leave him alone. Not that Kimi wanted to do that. He would never leave Seb alone.

•

He knew his back would be dead if he slept there but, to be honest, the only thing he cared about was his lover on top of him, sleeping peacefully; a calm moment after all the storms of the last few weeks, even months. Therapy sessions, arguments, struggles with the food he was supposed to eat, and long nights filled with crying; it wasn’t easy. It’s never easy but now there’s always light at the end of the tunnel. 

Maybe I deserve all of this

“You know, when people see someone crying, they usually say something like ‘please don’t cry, it’s going to be alright’ because they… they don’t really know what to do when someone cries. Nobody really teaches you what to do.

•

“Can you… Can you take off your t-shirt?” George asked a few moments later.

“Already want me half naked, I see you, Georgie,” Alex teased, giving a quick kiss on George’s head before taking off his t-shirt.

“Just want to feel your skin,” George murmured, “And your heartbeat.”

•

“I wouldn't compare pain,” Alex said, “because it’s not something you can or should compare. It’s not about whose pain is worse. Everybody’s pain is valid and they deserve to get comforted if they want to.

•

We all have moments like this; when we’re vulnerable and just want someone to hold us.”

“And it’s one of the best things in the world when you have someone to hold you.”

I will kill you (but I will kill André first)

“Fuck,” Sam muttered under his breath, finally giving in and leaning back.

“Please wait with that,” André said, jokingly, making Jev laugh and Sam smile in disbelief. “I'm sure you could give a great lap dance to Jev but I don't want to see it. At least not this close.”

“I can't believe you, Lotterer,” Sam shook his head, laughing, “I fucking can't believe you.”

I'm breathing...

“Lewis, do I have to call a doctor?”

Lewis immediately shook his head. “No, it's okay, it's just… I just…” Lewis huffed as he tried to tilt his head back to open his airways more and let the air fill his lungs. He tried hard not to let panic fully take over his mind as the anxiety reached the top.

“Try to sit up,” advised Bono and tried to help Lewis by putting his hand on the driver's back, between his shoulder blades, to support him. “I know it's not easy now but try to breathe slowly,” the engineer advised as he caressed Lewis' back. “You can control your body. Trust yourself.”

The driver nodded, tilted his head back again, and closed his eyes to concentrate on his breathing. He felt like he couldn't get enough air into his lungs no matter how hard he tried or which breathing technique he used.

“You can do it, Lewis,” said Bono in his usual calm voice, “I know you can do it. Try to make these small breaths a little longer. If you manage to control your breathing, your heart will slow down too and then the strange feeling in your chest will go away.”

Home

“Your heartbeat sounds like home,” Seb said, breaking the silence a few moments later.

“Really?” Kimi asked, surprised. Seb has always been the cheesier one, but after everything that happened, this hit really close to home for Kimi.