#i keep forgetting that peoples interests can overlap

[mass-angel-exodus]

> First time entering tumblr to browse my newest obsession (tcoaal)

> Immediately recognizing an art style on a specific fanart

> Finds out its you, amazing artist I knew from my previous obsession (dol)

Glad to stalk appreciate your art again mate <3

Nuh uh no I'm not whoever that artist is um erm they were probably gay or something um uh HEY LOOK

[vesper-tinus]

I was wondering if you'd be up to write about ghost having an autistic partner, I feel like he'd be the most understanding about it. Especially if it's anything about hanging out with a group of people

Hello! Thank you for the request, and thank you for trusting me with it! I would like to start with a little disclaimer. I am not on the spectrum, but I did my best to fulfil the request in the most respectable way I could. It is not anyone's job to educate me, but if there is anything misinterpreted or offensive, please reach out and I will correct it! Autism is a spectrum, and all autistic and neurodivergent people present differently, and will have different traits and different aids!

With that being said, I hope you'll enjoy the snippet!

𝐏𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐁𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐡 Simon "Ghost" Riley x Autistic ! Reader

Summary: You experience sensory overload while attending a brunch, and depart for home with your boyfriend in tow. Keywords: Established Relationship, over-stimulation, anxiety and being overwhelmed. Wordcount: 1262

It’s a gradual falling that worsens with each noise. Everything is overlapping in an uncomfortable, itchy way. Your own breathing, the constant murmur of chatting guests, and the rattling of a tea cup. A sharp laughter makes you jump, and you feel your skin crawl at someone’s consistent crumbling of plastic wrapping. The lamplights are white-hot, and even when you shut your eyes, you feel blinded. 

It’s too much.

You attempt to count on your fingers. One, two, three, four, as you make your way between partygoers, keeping your eyes cast downwards to hopefully convey you are not interested in being stopped for a chat. You flex your fingers, aching for something malleable to soothe your distress with distraction. You brought stimming aids with you for this exact situation, but you need to find the wardrobe first, and you need to open the stupid bag, and you need to get out of here. You want to go home. And Simon. You can’t forget Simon. 

You easily spot him lingering by the far wall. Arms crossed and uninviting, the sleeves of shirt rolled up to his elbows. His head is tilted downwards, giving the impression that he is not interested in his surroundings, but you know he’s paying meticulous attention to detail. To partygoers and conversation, but most importantly, he’s been making sure you would have no difficulties finding him. 

You make a beeline towards him, and he responds immediately by meeting you halfway. He extends his arms towards you, and you subtly shake your head. 

“Out,” you all but hiss, and Simon frowns at your obvious distress. You take his hand, attempting to distract yourself by following the intricate lines of the tattoos on his forearm. You press a trembling finger against one of the patterns, tracing it the best you can. Distract, distract, distract. 

“Headphones?” he asks, and your answer is immediate. 

“Please.”

You put your jacket on in record time, fixing the hood to accommodate for your noise cancelling headphones. You pull the cuffs over your hands. You don’t want any of the noises to touch your skin. You are not a stranger to Irish Goodbyes, and neither are your friends. And apparently, Simon had been doing it for a long, long time too. While there is a lot rattling in your skull, there is also a subtle sensation of relief knowing that your friends are understanding and supportive.  

You made an effort, and that’s all they can ask of you. Though you worry, sometimes. 

Effortlessly, Simon steers you out into the open street, and when you feel the chilling wind, you cannot help but gasp for the air. There will be other brunches, but today is not a day for one it seems. 

Simon extends his arm towards you, and you accept, clinging onto him as you walk towards your shared flat. You squeeze your eyes shut as the noise cancelling headphones work their magic, letting Simon guide you forward. He’s mindful of your steps, gently steering you to avoid any unnecessary bumps or cracks in the road.

It feels a little like floating. 

It’s a relief when you can drop your mask, letting it crackle away as you begin to unwind and unravel like a tangled piece of yarn. Little by little you get to become yourself again.

When you are within the safe walls of your home, you untangle yourself from Simon, slipping away to be alone for a little while. Removing yourself from the brunch helped, but your heart is still beating too fast, and your mind, despite the aid, was still overwhelmed by the bustling afternoon crowd. You feel it in your throat, you know you cannot reliably communicate your feelings, so you remove yourself.

Simon understands, and occasionally, he needs that too. 

So he hangs up his jacket, and makes a cup of tea. Warming enough water for the both of you, in case you’re feeling thirsty later. He has been surprisingly adaptive to your relationship. He quickly took notice of your triggers, and what you did to soothe yourself when overwhelmed. He learned your mannerisms and body language, and with your assistance, he learned more of what it means to live with autism. 

He encourages you to share your interests with him, no matter the weight of information. He is not the most outgoing or vocal of partners, and neither are you, so while communication occasionally fell through, eventually the two of you managed to find a middle ground that was comfortable for the both of you.

His humour is difficult to understand sometimes, but he takes the time to explain, if you ask. It’s not necessary, most of the time, but it comforts you knowing that you will have the context if you are subjugated to the same joke in the future. 

In your room—your private room—you pace the floor, humming a high-pitched tune to yourself.

You flex your fingers as you flap your hands back and forth. You take in your surroundings, finding familiar sights, and your eyes hone in on the array of sensory aids on your desk. You pause, your pacing coming to a stop. Your shoulders feel lighter now, and you breathe a sigh of relief as you reach for something to fidget with. The worst have passed, and now you just need to ride out the little you have left. 

You find Simon sitting by the kitchen table, absentmindedly playing with a stimming aid you gifted him half a year ago. A fidget toy of stainless steel that clicks when you slide it. You were a little worried what he would think, or if he would even use it, but to your surprise, he has become incredibly fond of it. He told you the clicking reminds him of reloading a gun, and that is a noise he’s very familiar with. A way to ground himself when he is feeling removed from the line of duty. 

He sits straighter, and speaks to you with a gentle tone. Low and welcoming and positively relaxing. He beckons you towards him. “Everythin’ alright, love?”

“Yes,” you respond,” yes, better. I just thought to ask if you’d like to join me for a nap?” After a brief pause, you offer him a tired smile, the exhaustion plain on your face. “I could use the weight.” 

He smiles—smirks—as he moves towards you. He arches a subtle brow, and you nod, and only then does he lean down to press a kiss to your lips. Together, you walk towards your shared bedroom. Your hand is still working the sensory aid, but slower. 

You all but jump into bed, dragging your boyfriend with you. 

“You sure?” he asks, partially shifting his body to cover yours. He is still wary of leaning his entire weight on top of you.

You gently pat his shoulder. “Positive. Plus, it’s not like I’ll die instantly, you know?” you reply with a slight laugh. It’s kind that he’s careful, but it’s difficult to explain that you’d like a weighted blanket that weighs as much as a truck. If not more. You coax him closer to you until he is, more or less, pressed fully against you. He holds you tightly, and the pressure does wonders for your nerves. You don’t feel constricted, you feel safe. You feel loved. 

You feel his breath against your ear as he mutters a quiet, “Love you.”

You smile, swiftly pressing a kiss to his temple. 

“Love you too,” you respond in kind, ready to have the best nap of your life.

[accio-victuuri]

of photoshoots, hot search, pants & bjyx 🫶🏼

i’m putting this out now incase i get busy at work later and won’t have the time to compose a post. but this is the cpn and some thoughts on what happened this morning. aside from us barely surviving bazaar’s attack! those photos are amazing! i haven’t recovered yet and i cannot wait for the interview ✌🏼

( using this as a header cause the photographer said it’s their fave)

days before this release, there were already some melons about the magazine cover. i personally shared the one about wyb cause the source seemed legit and fan clubs were confirming too. aside from that, it was also supposedly the day that marie claire will release teasers for xz’s january cover. tho i remember hearing before that his is supposed to be march. again, we can never be so sure with these melons. magazines don’t really care about overlapping with their release cause it depends on the season/month. today for example, there are 3 other magazine covers released aside from yibo’s.

however it’s interesting that it didn’t happen between xz and wyb. they totally could. even just the teaser wouldn’t hurt. i may just be clowning too hard and going by their pattern of not having their project overlap but i think this is an example. or maybe the melons were all false.

Anyway, this morning, xz marie claire was on hot search cause the teaser was supposedly gonna be posted 10:05 but there was nothing. which is not surprising cause it was a rumor. it was funny tho how people were effectively clowned 😂😂😂

it’s v interesting to see both their names + magazine cover on hs. this is why magazines would always love to feature them cause of the audience they bring. aside from the quality and professionalism too. years later, they are still relevant and will be for a long time!

there are also some side by side edits by cpfs because of the tank top they wore. they really do match! tho a small part of me is kinda wary when things like this are shared cause it could easily be picked up and used as xz vs wyb by brainless yxh. for international spaces the likelihood of that is small so it’s really more on weibo.

the fans have good intentions and i understand the tendency to but their similar shoots side by side and all that— i guess i’m just paranoid at times 🙃🙃

their beauty is so effortless!!!! and they both gravitate towards keeping things simple & real.

this too, the curls! the hair! i will forever be thankful that the military haircut era is over and hopefully shall never return!

the shoot also made wyb’s lip mole more pronounced. it reminds of the fake rumor that wyb said xz took away his mole. lol. he didn’t! it’s still there and they match 🫶🏼

MY FAVORITE THO IS HOW XIAO ZHAN WENT ONLINE REAL QUICK then went offline again. I remember probably 11:48? and he was online for 13 minutes. Some were low key in panic mode cause what if he posts something? Is he gonna share something about Marie Claire? It’s on HS already so it would make sense. But no. This bitch went online and dipped 😂😂😂😂

The posting for WYB’s materials was 11-12 so he went at the perfect time when all the photos are already released. So we are clowning that he is online to see the photos and save them all . Did he forget he was on his main and not side account? LOL. What a coincidence. Out of all the days and timeframe he can go online for bit, it’s now? When a certain someone’s magazine content is being released? 👀👀👀👀

Lastly, the pants WYB wore for the shoot is by Courreges which is the same brand ( not exact same pants okay? ) that XZ wore when he went to Singapore. Yes, the one we were clowning about. What a coincidence! 👁️👄👁️

that’s all. i might post another part to this if something comes up. happy monday ^^ 🦋

[thatbadadvice]

Help! All These Boring, Ugly Bitches Won't Hang Out With Me

Care and Feeding, Slate, 23 January 23:

Dear Care and Feeding: I live in the very lonely overlap of a Venn diagram, and I need help figuring out how to fix it. To keep it short, I’m a mom who was on the fence about having kids, so I’m not a very ‘mom-y’ mom. My kid isn’t my life or my identity, and while I think I’m a caring and attentive parent, I’m not the primary parent, and I like it that way. I lost most of my non-parent friends when I had my kid. However, my appearance and interests still very much scream “non-parent.” My kid is off-putting to the people most like me (many are overtly judgmental), but my looks and lifestyle are off-putting to other moms (for example, I prioritize my appearance, have a lot of tattoos, and value my work). This has left me very lonely and isolated. Finding friends as an adult is so hard, so please don’t suggest “finding my people” as I’m very extroverted and have been trying to make new friends for years. It’s not working. If I’m honest, I think my childless friends think I’m stupid for having a kid, while my mom acquaintances are jealous of my appearance and judge my choices. It really sucks. —The Worst Venn Diagram

Dear The Worst Venn Diagram,

Holy shit, a mom ... but with tattoos? Is that even possible? You think you've heard everything at a gig like this, but then someone as incredible as you comes along with such an unusual life story! What a remarkable woman you are.

I can see why it would be difficult for someone as hot and interesting as you to make meaningful connections when you yourself are so special and have a lot of tattoos, and moms are always so ugly and boring and worthless and don't have any tattoos, let alone a lot of them. It might help take the sting off to reframe it this way: it's actually a much bigger bummer that all those sad, frumpy mommy-bots are missing out on an amazing opportunity to befriend a mom with tattoos. Can you imagine how enriched their lives would be if they could get over themselves for just one minute and try to understand you as a person, rather than making a bunch of generalizations and assumptions based on surface-level observations? But here they are, writing you off as soon as they see how beautiful and covered in tattoos you are when you walk around with your important briefcase from work. It's really their loss.

You're practically a unicorn! I mean, okay — unicorn is hyperbole. But you get what I'm saying! You're probably one of a handful of women anywhere who has a kid and also cares about the way she looks, and when you add in the fact that you work and have just so, so many tattoos? I don't know, unicorn might not be far off.

In light of that, you've set for yourself a really hard task here. It's not going to be made easier by the fact that the dull and homely stay-at-home moms who stupidly chose to contribute nothing worthwhile to society are being so judgmental about the way you live your life as a gorgeous, professional cool girl who just happens to have a kid. You have such a neat and fun lifestyle and other women don't! Why should you be punished for being a valuable person who, more importantly, values herself, unlike the other moms, who look like absolute shit and never have anything interesting to say and don't have tattoos and are so mean and critical of your choices and the way you look?

Never forget this: you are exceptional. It's not such a mystery that you've been trying so unsuccessfully to make friends for so long. Of course you can't "find your people." There are none. You're a sexy mom with tattoos and a job, and that's always going to be hard for the two kinds of women on earth to understand, whether they're the kind of woman who is a judgy, child-free asshole or the other kind of woman: a jealous, kid-obsessed mommy zombie.

You are one of one — wild and precious and brave and free and so, so pretty, and with so many tattoos. You must never let motherhood define you — only everyone else.

[buckybarnesss]

Blessed post where you detail the storytelling points proving Derek's very young age both when the fire happened and during the show. And it's during the show too, because we may have been watching for six years but the story actually spans about two if I'm not mistaken?

The college-age-Derek-when-the-fire-happened truthers have been around forever and my favorite line from them is: "Why do you want so badly Derek/Kate to have been statutory rape? Just so your fave can claim more suffering?"

And it's not untrue that we like to see our faves suffer because it makes for compelling storytelling. The jokes and memes about the hurt-comfort are true. But this isn't that? No one ever walked up to J*ff D*vis and asked him to write up the story in a way that keeps supporting a timeline where Derek was 16 when the fire happened. He did that all by himself and it's not on us that we went along with it and didn't just discount the actual storytelling for retconning claims D*vis made in some interview or panel or other.

And more importantly, why are these people so passionately for this retconning? That's the real question. Why do they want so badly for Derek to have been 19 or 20 or even 22 (which would be beyond a stretch no matter how you retconned it) when the fire happened? Why is it so much more palatable to them  -better yet, why do they think it would be so much more palatable, so much less the suffering for Derek if he'd been college-age? Is it maybe a secret third idea that it's not even rape if he's a legal adult? That being underage is the only thing that made Derek/Kate not actually consensual? That made it rape?

The funny thing is that Derek is not even my favorite. I do like him but I also happen to like Allison and Scott just as much. And it's Stiles that happens to be my favorite, and I am very much in love with Sterek, but I liked both Derek and Jennifer (however complicated the ship ended up being) and I liked him with Braeden especially because she was the first canon love interest (Paige aside) he got that was actually a good match for him, that genuinely cared for him and didn't hurt him. The point is that Derek doesn't have to be your favorite to call out what Kate did to him as what it actually was, and it doesn't make you sexist either (I've seen the argument, they're really that stupid).

Obligatory addition that Sterek is fanon at the end of the day. So is any other ship involving adult Derek and a teenage character. So @ Derek haters (there's a Venn diagram that shows the impressive overlap between Derek haters and the above-mentioned truthers) who love accusing Derek of being what Kate actually was: canonically Derek had Paige when they were both 16, then he was 16 or even 22 and Kate is established older than Derek (which is what makes 22-year-old Derek impossible when the fire happened because Kate was 22 according to the chem teacher whose name I forget and who told her how to burn the Hales down), then he's an adult and he has Jennifer (who is a high school English teacher and that speaks for itself) and then he has Braeden (who was, like, a marshall or something years ago, before losing her job obsessing over hunting down Malia's mother or something, and I'm pretty sure that also speaks for itself on the question of Braeden's possible minimum age). Even that scene with Erica in season 2, poorly executed as it was, had Derek literally throwing off of him the only teenager that made a move on him (what Erica was actually going for is not the point here at all).

I haven't touched the show in years and I didn't watch the movie either, so correct me if I'm wrong about any of this. But anyway, thanks for reading my rant. It's defending Derek o'clock apparently because there's just some things in this fandom that can really grate your cheese.

thank you anon!

yeah i do not know where people got the idea of derek being much older. in the presentation pilot script derek is specifically said to be 19 but they realized that if the fire was 6 years previous than he would've been 13 when he was involved with kate so they aged him a few years so he'd be 16.

of course that still isn't super great but jeff clearly had a specific story in mind for what happened with derek and how the fire occurred. picking up on those storytelling cues isn't us wishing bad things upon a character and it doesn't make me or anyone else a bad person. it's us engaging with the story and understanding what the creator is trying to convey to their audience without it being explicitly said.

and while it's conjecture that kate was a substitute teacher because it was never confirmed in canon i think there's evidence to support the idea between the on fire novel and how in season 2 the the argents infiltrate the school system. her being a substitute would explain not only how she was able to gain such access to derek but also how she knew to approach harris and how to approach him to get the information she wanted.

when i was watching the show while it was still running from 2012-2014 it was pretty accepted fandom wide that derek was very early 20s and had been 16 when the fire happened. it has only been since i returned in 2023 that i've seen an uptick in the idea that derek wasn't underage when he and kate were involved.

peter and cora's comments in visionary about age were tongue in cheek. it was show winking at the fans about how they were shit with character ages and timelines. and even then despite how messy the teen wolf timeline is we can be reasonably certain of a lot of events within canon and suss out ages and such.

derek wasn't in his 30s during the show. he wasn't even over 25. he was barely in his 20s. scott and stiles treat him like a peer because he is one. the idea of him being some much older guy needs to be put to rest.

i didn't go into detail with kate's behavior in that post because it was about whether or not derek graduated beacon hills high but like kate is a sexual predator. the narrative is very consistent with her behavior.

she makes several suggestive comments about both jackson and scott. in the tell when she's tormenting derek at the hale house she says:

"this one grew up in all the right places. I don't know whether to kill it or lick it."

that is not ambiguous. i've discussed kate and derek before here and here.

her behavior towards de-aged derek isn't ambiguous either.

kate argent is a sexual predator that likes teenage boys. she groomed and raped teenage derek all the while planning to murder his family. this doesn't get any better if derek had been older and was in a consentual relationship with kate.

there's a very consistent story throughout the entire show of derek's consent and body being violated by others for their own gain. kate, gerard, deaton and scott, the twins and kali, jennifer and even the nogitsune.

and yet antis like to turn that all around on derek which i've discussed here about how derek isn't a perfect abuse victim and how it's been used against derek here.

when people deny what happened to derek it's with the same reasonings that people deny men can experience sexual assault and rape. like, how many times has a female teacher engaged in sexual misconduct with a male student only for the comments to be that he should've been grateful and enjoy an older woman's attention? look at the way the news coverage of mary kay letourneau was handled.

i have discussed derek's turning of erica here, here and here. more here about the subject.

the whole sterek thing. it's whatever to me at this point. antis seem to think they're gonna make people stop shipping it when they're not. there's no moral high ground.

[autism-alley]

i don't know if you answer asks but you're one of the few blogs still consistently posting pjo tv crit and it's been such a relief. with the amount of praise it's gotten i feel so gaslit like am i just being a baseless hater?? but no there's a reason a lot of the people criticizing the show are writers. it's a poorly written show and the more i think about it the more problems i find

like i was thinking about the way the kids in the show just know everything and how boring it is to watch, especially the casino scene, and something hit me

the lotus casino functions perfectly as a metaphor for traits associated with adhd--the need for stimulation and time blindness. anyone would fall for the casino's lure, but especially adhd kids. the fact that the show takes that away is REALLY weird to me, to put it kindly

if i were being less kind? i would say there's grounds to argue that having these characters, who are children with adhd, be impervious to something that is designed to trap people exactly like them is, on some level, erasure of their disabilities. especially since the one character who does get affected by it is the one who doesn't have the same neurodivergencies as the two who don't. the explanation for why percy and annabeth didn't start to forget themselves was such a lazy cop out and i can't believe people ate it up

i don't know what that writers' room has against literal adhd children falling for traps that are designed to trap people, but it's embarrassing for them tbh

i’m so glad to hear it anon!! i’m a little surprised to hear it too tbh, i wasn’t sure if anyone else was still. interested in discussing it? it seems like the pjo/atla fanbase overlap means most people have moved onto to the live action atla show. and while i am an atla fan, i didn’t grow up with the show the same way i grew up with the pjo books, so based on what we’d already seen/heard of the natla show before it even released + my utter disappointment and heartbreak regarding the pjo show, i decided to spare myself the watch. i would rather keep my memories of the original show untainted; what i have seen of the show resonates with people’s criticisms of the writing (and as someone who has done costuming work. one look is all you need to understand THAT criticism lmfao).

but i’m honestly… surprised? the pjo show did not get the same level of criticism as the natla show? it’s not like pjo is not also very popular with that same generation, sure, atla being a show perhaps made it more appealing and accessible to more kids, etc etc, sure. but from the fan bases themselves, size aside? proportionately? the pjo fandom is FULL of show defenders just blatantly ignoring the show’s major foundational issues if not just outright parading them around as successes, meanwhile the critics are in the minority. compare that with what i’ve seen where the complete opposite is true of the atla fandom, it’s weird!! and especially jarring to me bc it seemed pretty clear to everyone in the atla fandom the show had Issues, meanwhile the pjo fandom heard the promise from rick riordan’s very own mouth this show is going to be faithful to the series’ spirit. it’s so weird to see the wildly different responses to what i think are prolly equally bad reboot shows, with a fandom of similar demographics (clearly not the SAME demographics or the response would prolly be more aligned but you get my point). so i agree anon, i do feel a little gaslit by the pjo fandom, and watching the atla fandom’s very reasonable response to the natla show is like. whiplash. another sign you and i are not losing it lmao

as for the lotus casino, this is an excellent point! i don’t even think it can be called unkind to point out how this episode is a symptom of the show’s overall disability erasure. i would say it’s unkind of the show to erase adhd and dyslexia representation. in fact, because of the explicit promise by its creator to see that representation, i would go as far as to call it cruel to then erase it. if anything, based on rick’s promises to add more representation, i was hoping for elements like autistic annabeth confirmation, since when pjo was first written, it was based off rick’s son and his friends who were all ND, and at the time it wasn’t thought to be possible to be AuDHD, but likely some of those kids probably were (and that then made its way into the books in characters like annabeth!). that would have been the perfect opportunity to add something with the foresight of modern times, but instead we got… absolutely no disability rep from the show aside from a few short lines of dialogue as a lame-ass bone-toss to the book fans.

the pjo show’s biggest crime is its lack of spirit of the original book series, and that book series cradled myself and every other ND child or child in an abusive situation who read it. it offered us a mother who never got angry with us when we showed “difficult” symptoms. it offered us camp half-blood, the idea of a place, a home, where people like us were not just accepted, but thrived. it offered us a new world. it offered us a friend in percy jackson. i do not feel the show truly offers anything substantial. it only takes.

[h0unds-of-h3ll]

Polaroid

Since Elvis has taken you from home and to Vegas he’s been insatiable. Buying you everything you asked for, giving you the world. Giving you the gift of photography turned into something he never imagined.

Dads best friend! Elvis Presley x Reader smut.

Word count: 20k

Viewers beware you’re in for a scare with the: 70s dilf Vegas era Elvis, major age gap (17yrs), barely legal reader, perv dark Elvis, groping, grooming?, unprotected sex, mean Elvis, slapping, breeding, blow & hand jobs, innocent kink & corruption, power play, sugar daddy Elvis, language, explicit content, choking, voyeurism, use of drugs, nudes, talk of divorce, taboo themes, creepy man borderline sa, mentioned pregnancy.

A/n: I wanted to thank everyone who read my first Elvis fic. Again, this is fiction and for entertainment only. Nothing is meant to be discriminatory against Elvis or anyone. It’s an interesting story I wanted to share! It’s the second addition to this Honey. I skipped Monday lol, apologies. Like five smut fics in one. There’s some timeline inaccuracies like the cameras and clothes. First part is in Honey.

Monday. 

________

   When your head is moved from the anchor of his shoulder, you know that you’ve landed. Moving your shoulder from the window, you find the dazzling strip of Vegas waiting for you. A warmth spreads across your skin and it tingles at your fingertips. He takes a hand to smooth a clumped side of your hair. Taking off his sunglasses from your face, you can fully embrace the beauty of the flashing lights. You whip your head back to him with a gleaming smile. 

   “We’re here?”

   Asking to make sure that this isn’t a dream. An intricate dream with Elvis and Vegas. What drug did Mom accidentally cook? Curtly nodding, he kisses your forehead softly. 

   “Welcome to Vegas, baby.”

_______

   Sitting in a long stretched limo, its windows are blacked out, and you’re pouting. You can’t see the strip, the people. He has his hand on your bare thigh, right above your knee. He runs his thumb back and forth on the bone. Pinky just slightly tucked into the end of your shorts. Reminds himself to thank Sinatra for the flight, and the limo at dinner tomorrow. Becoming anxious, he gives you a rundown of his rules. The rules to keep you safe. 

   “I can see how much you love the lights, honey. Vegas can deceive that way.”

   You pinch your brows together. Face scrunched up in confusion. 

   “What?”

   He takes his hand from your thigh, running his fingers through his hair. Sighing. Blissfully unaware. Leaning down he presses a button by the floor, the roof of the limo opens. Your eyes widen as you watch the stars move. 

   “Go on.”

   You lift from the leather seats, standing straight up through the window. Laughing when you can feel the breeze hit your face. Elvis cups your sides to make sure you don’t fall. You’re immediately overwhelmed, trying to see everything at once. Hearing booming music, the strobing lights. You find thousands of people walking along the sides, crossing the streets. You’re laughing loudly as you find someone dressed up as Elvis doing an impression. 

   “I've found another version of you!”

   Whisper-shouting to the authentic version below you. He shakes his head, you’re not truly seeing. Just looking and that is going to be your downfall. He bites the inside of his cheek, pondering if he’ll have to hire more security just for you. As the driver takes many more turns and stops, you see it. 

   The International Hotel. 

   Finding the sign with his name on it, you blush. You’re affiliated with the biggest name in the world. It was scary thinking about it too, but you stomached the feeling. The childlike curiosity overlapped it. 

   “So is this where you’ve been hiding all this time?”

   He wished he were hiding. 

   “Not hiding, just working.”

   You couldn’t hear him with the wind whipping your hair. Elvis tugs at your hips and you follow the motion and sit back in your spot. Your face is flushed. You’ll never forget that moment. 

   “Thank you.”

   It’s rushed and slurred together from adrenaline, he understands the memo. 

   “You’re welcome, little one.”

_______

   You’re barely keeping up with his long strides as he walks through the lobby. He’s bombarded immediately by admirers and paparazzi. Smiling through gritted teeth. Holding tightly to one of your hands as he signs photographs and other merchandise. The flashing white lights blind you. Soon a hoard forms, even if his supporters didn’t know you. You felt like you were on celebrity status. 

   “Who are you?”

   “Y/n, y/n l/n.”

   “How long have you known Elvis?”

   “All my life.”

   “Have you slept with him?”

   Your heart hammers in your chest and you bow your head sheepishly. No, but you’d like to. Your forsaken brain flashes to him dressing you in your bed. As his eyes skim for an exit, he finds Jerry. He bids farewell and you’re too stricken with a crush. You wave though. You watch the back of his head, his long shoulders swaying as he walks. An array of guards move the crowd to be bystanders again. You look back with a smile. 

   “Where the hell were you?”

   He spits and points at the crowd. 

   “You said you would help us avoid this.”

   As Elvis spits venom, you’re still contorted backwards watching the crowd. It only grows larger as the guards try to disperse them. Jerry looks behind Elvis to find your stupor. He smirks. 

   “Is that the girl from home?”

   Elvis’ patience grows thinner as he speaks to his friend. Who else would it be? He nods quickly. Jerry’s eyes never leave the side of your face. You never once looked away from the sea of people. 

   “Seems like she’s star struck.”

_______

    Jerry introduced himself, and you the same. He likes you more than the other women Elvis has strewn around. As they talk you listen. They’ve known each other far longer than you’ve been born. You watch as Elvis smiles- the big authentic one. His eyes crinkle and lines form around his mouth. The mere sight of his age sends you into a frenzy. You bite down onto your tongue and avert your gaze to the floor level. He mentioned his suite takes up the entire upper floor. The last floor of the hotel is mostly a secret to anyone else but staff. The elevator bounces to a stop. Elvis squeezes Jerry’s shoulder. 

   “You gon’ be at Sinatra’s tomorrow?”

   Jerry nods with a little smile. Elvis pats his shoulder and when the doors open he grabs your hand. His rings caress your fingers. You look up at him as if you witnessed shooting stars. 

   “Sinatra?”

   Your head tilts like a puppy in confusion and he cranes his neck back as he walks to his room. He smiles, plush lips parting so his teeth shine. 

   “Your world is ‘bout to come a lot bigger sweetheart.”

   With one hand he opens an enormous door into a lavish open floor room. He steps aside and stretches out his arm. Letting go of your hand to assure you into his living space. Your bags that he packed are already at the dresser. A shrine of televisions are stacked against each other on the wall. You almost trip onto the couch as you practically prance around. Each turn and step you feel encapsulated. Each piece of art or furniture was chosen for him. The best part was the view- God, it felt like you were on a cloud. The sun had gone down fully; it was around nine. You spin around, hearing him shut the door. 

   “It’s a dream, Elvis!”

   You squeal. It was a dream, just not for him. He hated this room with a deep passion. Dreaded coming into this room- made excuses to stay out of it. However, seeing you stand there in front of his windows, the denim front of his pants wrap tighter around his thighs. He slips off the jacket, slinging it over the top of the couch. He saunters behind you. He wraps his arms around your torso. His mere bicep covers the width of your ribs. His hands squeeze your hips, his face is on your shoulder. Nose brushing the curve of your neck. Dragging along the chain that has his ring on it. Cupping your hands over his, he kisses your collar. 

   You watch the city below you twinkle. The headlights of car’s beam past, the casinos signs glare at your eyes. Suddenly you feel as if you’re floating. The world below you doesn’t exist, mind completely empty, and the culprit is Elvis himself.      

    His sideburns scratch gently under your jaw. Kiss after sloppy kiss you can feel the pressure at your lower back grow. Can feel your own pleasure as you sweat. His hands scoop up your shirt before he releases entirely. Taking long steps back he’s petrified. That’s the closest he’s ever been to touching you intimately. As you turn around to question his actions, he presses his thumb onto your lips. Your eyes widen and you smile softly, he tugs at your lip. His eyes are half closed, he looks drunk with a light blush on his skin. 

   “What do you wan’ for supper little lady?”

    You almost spat out his cock and your ass lit on fire. You bite your tongue; he moves his hand to cup your jaw. His thumb is now tracing the point of your chin. 

    “Anything?”

    “Anything.”

    You act like you’re thinking for a minute and then it hits you. 

    “Chinese?”

   He doesn’t even consider anything else. He takes his index and middle finger, pressing them to his lips before pressing them to your cheek. 

   “As you wish.”

_______

   Banter. Card games. And a fashion show. All those things had occurred as the both of you waited for the lobby to come back with Chinese food. Elvis couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed so hard. You feel more comfortable around him, it’s more personal without your folks' presence. He’s curious to know how long this bubble will last. Make you go through each bag of luggage he packed for you and wear the clothes. See- this was for educational purposes. The education was knowing what he loved seeing you in. Hated the dark greens and browns, loved the pinks, blues, and whites. Specifically the white, it showed him the innocence he loves. What flattered his little girl the most and otherwise; he told you to never wear the garment ever again. 

   “But my great grandmother bought it for me.”

   “Honey, hate to tell you this but that’s probably why your granny ain’t in Vegas.”

   You shut your mouth and didn’t question his judgment after that. He made you twirl, stand on your toes. Posture perfectly straight- if not he would put the yellow pages on your head. The weight made you scrunch up your face. If you made that foul face he would stand and hit your cheek with his palm. It hurt little, but it was enough to not make you want to scrunch up your face again. Currently wearing a little purple satin nightgown. You huff in aggravation. 

   “Cmere wanna teach you something.”

   You smile, taking the book off your head. Placing it on the coffee table you walk. 

    “No.”

   You freeze and look at him. He leans up on his elbows and snaps to the ground. Your face becomes on fire and you nearly go into a conniption. You squeeze your eyes shut, and lower to the ground. Your knees hit first- then your hands. Crawling to him. When you sit between his thighs, he takes your face into his palm. Thumb tracing over your lips. 

   “Going to teach you a brief lesson that most girls don’t know how to do.”

   He takes his touch away from your face and goes to his belt. Your throat closes and your eyes open wide. Unbuttoning his jeans he pulls them and his dark blue boxers down around his thighs. You almost roll your eyes at the thought of his color coordinating going even as far as his underwear. Broad arms are spread open on the back of the couch. He peers down at you like a king. A menacing, belittling glare is set behind those blues. When your eyes settle onto his shaft you become petrified. It’s huge. The small experience you had with the boys back home hadn’t prepared you for anything like this. If you wanted to compare, you would’ve guessed it would’ve been as long and similarly as thick of a glass coke bottle. It’s a lighter color than the rest of his body, the head a rouge. His veins are protruding, up from his sac to the tip. There’s a bead of white catching at the slit. At the base, he’s trimmed almost precisely like his hair on his scalp. Not a hair out of place. His balls are already drawn taut and round. Even if you had given the worst head of your life. (Which he doubts you will.) He'd be able to cum. 

   “This lesson is about sucking. Nothin’ more, nothin’ less.”

   He watches the terror in your eyes, the innocent deer is being tempted and isn’t sure how to react. He leans up, his length jabbing into his lower stomach. Pulling a hand up from behind the couch to wrap around the back of your neck. 

   “Ain’t nothin’ to be afraid of.”

   He squeezes softly. 

   “Not scared, just nervous.”

   It’s a squeak, and he smiles as he pulls back. 

   “It’s human nature honey, pleasing a man. You wan’ please me right?”

    He’s got you under his thumb. The low baritone of his voice makes your skin tingle. His ring around your neck is a perfect representation of your devotion to him. You won’t say no to him- you won’t ever disobey him. You’re perfect. You nod. 

   “Yes, daddy.”

    There it is, his good girl. He swallows hard, reaching over to guide your wrist to his thigh. 

   “Whenever you’re not nervous, you can touch me.”

   Ogling at the way the curve is settled below his belly button. You’re not entirely sure how to not be nervous. What if you did an awful job and he’ll send you back home? What if he leaves and never talks to you after? You overthink and soon become overwhelmed. 

   “I don’t know how.”

   Voicing your fears, he smirks. He’s smug, he already knew that you would cave into his mentoring. 

   “I know little one, but that’s why you’re learning.”

   His breathing is heavier, he’s edging himself from your shyness. 

   “I’ll demonstrate and once you get the memo you copy. Understand?”

   “Yes.”

   He wraps one of his enormous hands around the end, right above his pelvis. Working at a rapid pace to get him started. He thinks back to your room. The way you needed him- wanted him. The purple panties you’re wearing right now that undoubtedly have his dried semen in them. He pushes his head back, eyes clamped shut. 

   As you watch him, you study the fury of his fist. How he doesn’t care about the tug of his rings on his sensitive skin. Each tug more of the sticky substance smears along his hand. His neck is flushed red along with his cheeks. His lip and his right brow are arched. The ball in his throat is rolling the most you’ve ever seen.    

   However, the most erotic thing was the deep uh, uh, uhs. It sounded as if he was struggling to breathe. Your pussy throbbed and you can feel the middle of your panties being damp. His hips lift off the seat. The head of his cock is in contact with your lips. In shock you open your mouth with a yelp. Hands squeezing his legs. Your thighs clamp together to create friction. His hair is clotted on his forehead as he looks down at you taking him in your mouth. That flesh, the licks that a kitten would give to warm milk is his end.    

    You didn’t even have him down your throat, just circling the tip with your tongue and he’s folded. The bitter explosion loads into the back of your throat, your face pinches in disgust as he takes his cock from your mouth and tucks it back into his underwear. When he regains his vision, your nose is wrinkled, mouth in a snarl. He knows you're fixing to stick your tongue out to spit. In an instant he’s leaning down, placing his palm over your mouth. He glares down at you. 

   “Don’t you dare.”

   His other hand is tangled in your hair, making you lean your head back. His cum swishes in your mouth and you gag. 

   “Swallow.”

   You gulp the poison down; he holds open your mouth to see if you did. He huffs back into his seat, relaxing. Pulling up his pants. Leaving the zipper and button undone. Not caring to contain himself. Grabbing your biceps he pulls you up into his lap. Your legs on the sides of his thighs. The little skirt of your gown, riding up your thighs. The stretch is sending your cunt into a waterfall. He runs his hands over your skin. Such a beautiful caress overshadowed by lust. 

   “Knew you’d be a quick learner.”

   He kisses your temple. Then your cheek, and nose. He sits back after just looking at you. Fully admiring such a youthful soul. He’d be good to you. Give you everything. Teach you everything your dad couldn’t and more. He’s your guardian now, and he’s shivering with adrenaline. Thinking about telling his doctor he doesn’t need the medication anymore since he’s found a better drug. The touch of you. 

   Your small fingers trail over his cheekbone, the curve of his nose. The killer line of his jaw. Sweeping over the cut of his facial hair to the sweaty mess of inky locks. You’re the one lost in thinking of how he tasted while you kissed him not too long ago. Eager for another you crane your head to the side and press your lips to his. 

   You don’t know how to kiss him, but the alcohol on his tongue. The smoke of a cigar he had- you can smell it. He revels in the sugar you give him. It’s a deadly cocktail as he navigates his tongue past your lips, he tastes himself on your tongue. Usually he tells girls to chew gum after, but with you- it makes him already half hard. His tongue sweeps over yours. Asking if you care to attempt to dominate. You don’t and he takes your hips and pulls them over his hardening member. The muscles in his stomach are already pulling together again. 

   Before either of you continue your journey of exploration, there’s three quick knocks on his door. You trail after his lips as he takes them off yours. Eyes still closed, you almost sob from the riddance. He rests his forehead on yours and nips at your top lip. 

   “We’ll finish this later.”

   He grabs your thigh, taking it over his lap for you to sit beside him. Getting up to answer the door. Holding his britches up with one hand as he opens it with the other. You smile behind your hand at the idiocy. Snickering at seeing the cerulean boxers. The young server, roughly about your age, is struck with astonishment. Elvis takes up the entire door frame, as he leans on his forearm. The boy couldn’t see you. Although, he came up with an assumption why Elvis’ hair was wild and his pants were half down. 

   “Can I have an autograph?”

   Elvis is empathetic with the kid. Reaching into his pocket for some spare change. He finds a couple hundred and hands it to the gentleman. 

   “Keep the change.”

   The younger man holds the bags out chirping about how Elvis is such a promising leader. Blah, blah, blah. He closes the door with his foot and walks back down into the small den of his “living room.” He sets the plastic bags onto the coffee table. Standing with a hand on his hip, his brow arched, and he shoots you a serious look that sends a shiver down your spine. 

   “Dig in little girl, you’re gon’ need it.”

_______

   With a full belly and bruised kissed lips. You’re whipped. Laying your head on his lap, completely dozed off. He runs his hand over your side, committing your figure to memory. Never once chancing an inappropriate touch while you were unconscious. Deciding it was getting pretty late, he set his carton of noodles by yours. He grabbed your thighs and pulled you up. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he took you to bed.     

    When you lie on your side, you look like one of those cartoon princesses. He took his covers and tucked them under your chin. Content with what he thought was you “sleeping.” He started to undress. He took off the jeans that were already down around his ankles. His boxers followed. His back was to you as you watched him. The curve of his spine was beautiful, the arch before his ass was at a slight point. Perfect posture adapted for dominance. The muscles contort as he bends to fold his pants.

   After he walks into a room nearby which you presume as a closet since he comes back in a crimson robe with his emblem on it. It’s velvet and fluffy. 

   You quickly shut your eyes and go back to your stunt. He nonchalantly crawled up behind you, slipping under the covers. Grabbed your hip and pulled you back to him. His abdomen was on your lower back. You sucked in a harsh gasp, marveled at how eager he was. His nose was shoved at the nape of your neck, breathing in your pine and floral scent. It was natural the way he fits behind you. It’s routine now. His hand dipped from your hip, to your stomach just below the swell of your breast. His thumb sweeping over your nipple lazily. Stilling as he pushes his thigh between your legs. He feels the soaked middle of your hole. His lashes flutter on your neck, his breathing slows. The sleeping pills, kicking in his system. 

   “You’re a pretty good actress, honey.”

   He falls asleep after revealing your secret. You spent all night thinking of how you could get him to touch you more. 

Tuesday. 

_______

   Waking up with a wail of a metal clang isn’t ideal. Opening your eyes, the rays of the sun blinded through his windows. As you moved freely, you noticed the boulder behind you missing. You pout as he’s gone. Out of all of his routines- this was the one you hated the most. He left a piece of paper on his pillow. 

   ‘Around this labyrinth, come find me. Love you, my little girl. 

   Love, 

   E. P.’

   You fold the piece of paper into a square and slip it into your purse for safekeeping. With a stretch and a yawn you decide to get up. Searching for a toothbrush in the mountain of bags you finally find one in a ziplock bag. Walking into his bathroom it’s bigger than your room at home. The towels were painted gold with his name. There was a stash of his medicine in the corner. The sink was white but most of it was gold. In the back, the ringing blare continues. The monotone screech cut your morning routine short. You spray some perfume on and spit. Almost stomping to the phone. Taking it to your ear. 

   “Hello?”

   Muttering in a short quip. 

   “That’s no way to talk to your daddy, y/n.”

   Your eyes open wide and you gulp. Your dad just so called when you had the nastiest attitude imaginable. You cup the phone closer to your face. Amazed at the fact he called. You’d miss your parents since you last saw them Sunday. It was a culture shock going from seeing them everyday to not at all. You smiled to no one as you spoke. 

    “Daddy, I’m sorry I didn’t know it was you!”

   Continuing to plead your case he cuts you short with a small chuckle. 

   “There’s my baby. Been missin’ you.”

   Your heart flutters, guilt settles in your soul. Hated to imagine causing any pain to your folks. Your lips dip into a frown. Your heart gets torn to shreds as he continues.

   “Sweetheart, I’d hate to tell you this. You have a right to know that your Mother and I split.”

   Hearing toned out and you couldn’t hear him. Your parents split, you were now a child of divorce. Were you the only thing that kept them together? Your vision went blurry as tears formed. 

   “Your Ma got the house, and I’m staying at your Grandparents place for a while.”

   He hears you sniffle.

   “Oh, baby don’t cry. People just move on, it’s okay.”

   You bite your lip to stop a sob that was about to spill. 

   “I’ve got some good news too. I bought a ticket to Elvis’ show on Friday. Was wonderin’ if you’re not too busy we could meet.”

   You hiccup, and your eyes light up with joy. You’ll be seeing him again in three days. You smiled wide. 

   “I’d love to.”

   _______

   You slipped into a little sundress, resembling Marilyn’s. Never thought you were like her beauty, although you reveled in the fantasy. The muffin you ate during the morning buffet was stale. You ate little, too excited to do anything. Thinking of Elvis’ note more often than not. Was this a game? Or did he want you to wait for him? You sighed as you sat down on a stool. Sipping on the warm juice. 

   “What if we add more airy sounds, like flutes?”

   Your ears peaked like a dog hearing a whistle. Knowing that voice, you memorized. Got off too. Whipping your head in that direction you find him. Mission accomplished. He’s wearing a black suit, the middle two buttons are clasped and there’s nothing underneath. The big bedazzled belt sat heavy in the middle.

   “If we’re not bankrupt by then. Sure.”

   The Colonel replied with a shrug. You’ve only heard what they said about the large man. Slightly worried about the impression you’re going to give him. You grinned, taking your finished snack and throwing it away. Walking with a bit of a pep towards him. He sees you walking to him and smiles at you. His heart is warming at the sight of you. It had only been a few hours since he last saw you, but it felt like years. He opened his arm and squeezed you into his side. Kissing your cheek once you swing your arm around his waist. One of his fingers comes around the chain around your neck that holds his ring. He pulls you to his chest, fully pressing his lips to yours for a proper kiss. The Colonel watches this rekindling like a hawk. He says nothing- just watches. It irked you in such a way that goosebumps formed. 

   “This is my boss, Mr. Parker.” 

   Elvis whispers into your ear. You nod and stick your hand out in front of his counterpart. The Colonel doesn’t take it; he looks to Elvis patting his shoulder. Your hand drops back to your side at the disregard. 

   “Try not to be late. It’s a big event for both of us.”

   The man wobbles to the buffet table, each step with a pound of his cane. Elvis walks with your hand in his, walking you to the lobby’s doors. 

   “Is he always like that?”

   You couldn’t help but question the blatant lack of respect towards you. It boiled your blood at the thought. He shrugs as he opens the door for you. 

   “Some days he’s worse.”

_______

   There’s four heavy-set body guards following you around. There are a variety of expensive dresses and jewelry. You got your nails painted ruby red and manicured. You would raise a garment to ask Elvis what he thought and now it’s in one of the many bags he’s carrying. The simple touch of your hands he bought it for you. It went to your head. Made you feel like royalty. Everything was within walking distance at the Boulevard Mall. When he couldn’t carry anymore, he led you to a salon that he knew too well. There was no one in the store as he ushered you in. He rented it out. The receptionist smiles a toothy one. She was a pretty bombshell, and you wondered if Elvis had slept with her. 

   “Hey, doll is Armond here?”

   She nods before batting her lashes at him. 

   “Yeah, just wanted to let you know I got tickets to your show on Friday.”

   He smiles back at her. Your face becomes hot from embarrassment. 

   “I’ll see you there.”

   You shuffle your feet as you walk into the room. A man preparing his area is the only person other than you. He was attractive and when he looked up his eyes were pretty too. 

   “Elvis!”

   He claps his hands together as he saunters towards him. You watch amused as his personality shines. As they talk you zone out. Soon, you’re whisked away into a chair. Propping it up a couple inches. Elvis already told him what he wanted, along with your makeup. He sits beside you watching Armond perform his talent. You can see the bags under your eyes, the grogginess apparent on your face. You couldn’t sleep last night. It’s so clear that Armond commented on it, while massaging your face. 

   “How many hours of sleep do you get?”

   You snorted a laugh. 

   “Last night? Three.”

   He looks to Elvis, his mouth agape. 

   “It’s a crime how hard you work this girl!”

   Elvis throws his hands up, smirking. 

   “I did nothing other than what she wanted.”

   Armond raises an eyebrow at your reflection. Surprised at what he’s hearing. 

   “Oh. Hell, at least get her something to give her energy.”

   Elvis nods, kisses your hand and leaves. As Armond scratches your scalp you fall into complete serenity. 

_______

   When you open your eyes, you’re shocked by how healthy your hair is. It’s shiny and curly. Huge too. Elvis handed you a glass bottle of Coca-Cola. He had opened it and put a straw through the lip. Armond had also slaved away at your face. You looked sixteen, but it was so heavy and caked on you looked like a raccoon. Eyes so big that it made them more attractive. Sucking on the straw and having Elvis’ eyes trained on you. Only the filthy thoughts of last night flash in your mind. Size of a cola bottle. He smirks, becoming smug as he sees your train of thought cross your face. You choke as you swallow, coughing as you fold over. Armond pats your back with little concern. The concern was more of his makeup getting ruined, then your well being. Elvis pays and says farewell. Picking back up the ten bags he bought for you, he leans over to your ear.

   “Alway choking on things that you can’t swallow. Poor thing.”

_______

   At his suite alone. It was funny he gave you a long kiss goodbye like he was leaving for eternity. He only had to get things arranged for tonight. Leaving you to get ready once he was done he’d come back up. You’re practically running around getting ready. Slipping on diamond jewelry, you were reluctant to take off his ring around your neck. It was a symbol of loyalty…that you were taking off. You left it for the moment being. Going through the bags from the mall, trying on every dress. None of them seemed right except for one. It was long and black, a deep cut of cleavage along with a long strip down your side. It was almost to your hip. Looking at yourself in the mirror you couldn’t recognize the little girl who you came as, but as a sexy nymph. It slightly worried you how much you enjoyed not being yourself. Vegas embodied at this point. Hair puffy and wavy. His ring is the only thing that seemed to bring you down to earth. The heels you wore made you feel as tall as a man. Sitting down on a stool, you exhaled. The door had opened and warm hands fell onto your shoulders. He said nothing, but pushed his thumbs into your neck- rolling the tension out. 

   “What's bothering my little one?”

   You look up at him in the mirror's reflection. His hair is puffier like yours, his face a little more rounded. A smidge of rouge on his cheeks, a bit of a black liner on his tear ducts. He was handsome being domestic. Your legs felt like jelly, thankfully you were sitting down. Your eyes lock with his and you begin. 

   “I don’t know, it just feels like being without your ring is a sin.”

   He sighs behind you, a small smile graced upon his lips. He lowers to the shell of your ear, his lips brushing it. 

   “It’s not the ring that matters darlin’ , it's your devotion.”

   He pauses his massage on the open expanse of your back. His touch leaves licks of fire on your skin. 

   “Damn, I’ll buy you a thousand rings if that’s what mattered to you.”

   His lips press below your ear. 

   “But your heart is the only thing that matters to me.”

   You smile warmly, his loving speech moving you. He helps you take off his ring, replacing it with a diamond collar. You move your head to the side and he kisses you. It’s slow and methodical but as time passes, it comes sensual. His hand cups your jaw, his tongue passes over your bottom lip before he pulls away. 

   “Promised The Colonel I wouldn’t be late.”

   “Damn him.”

   You hiss as you pull on his lapels back down. He laughs softly before pulling back. 

   “Don’t let those diamonds go to your head, baby. He’s the one who helps me pay for ‘em.”

   You consider his words for a moment before admitting defeat. 

   “Touché.”

_______

   Elvis’ hand is wrapped around yours. You try to keep up with his long strides as he walks you out to the limo. He lets you enter first and follows you in shortly after. Waving at the photographers who’s flashing bulbs blind him. The limo moves and anxiety settles in your stomach. You’re quiet, mulling over unsure thoughts. He squeezes your hand. 

   “Hey, pretty girl.”

   He soothes you, and you look to him. He smiles, moving a strand of hair behind your ear. 

   “I’m going to give you some advice. If we ever get separated go find Jerry, he’s always nearby. We’re going to a relatively respectable restaurant, so keep your manners pristine.”

   He kisses your cheek and gives you a little half hug. 

   “You’ll do fine. Such a good girl.”

   You hug him tighter, before releasing. He takes your chin in his hand. 

   “Okay?”

   “Okay.”

   The door opens and Elvis steps out. He reaches his hand out to you to take. You wrap your fingers around his and he pulls you out. You’re bombarded with fans and paparazzi. Everywhere you look, you’re met with prying questions and judging remarks. He pulls you behind him; he waved and smiled but never stopped walking forward. You look at the restaurant's sign. The golden steer. The sign itself was Golden with bulbs lined along it. Elvis holds the door open for you as always. He lets go of your hand. There’s no line for reception, so he walks immediately to the booth. An older gentleman who’s graying, answers Elvis' request. You’re too enthralled with the luxury to listen to their conversation. It’s old, red and the lights are low. Lavish booths you’ve only seen in mob movies are to your touch. It’s very early 60s but modern. The older man doesn’t ask for an autograph and you admire him for it. As the man leaves behind the counter to escort you and your lover. Elvis turns around to give you a reassuring smile. He too felt the anxiousness that lived in meetings. He can only express his sympathy to settle your nerves. 

   Walking through the room, you’re instantly met with what felt like a million eyes on you. Was it the dress? No- it was how divine you looked. No longer a freshly made adult, but a woman who has her life together. Knows what she wants and has for years. In a way, it was true; you wanted Elvis for as long as you can remember. The part where you knew what you wanted in life? That was a joke. The man finds Sinatra at the back of the room in a cherry wine booth. Your throat closes, you are going to meet an American Treasure. What were you going to do with yourself? Elvis scoots along the length of the seat. Giving his gratitude to the employee. Before you can sit, your hand is tugged over to the legend. Frank's eyes look up into yours as he presses his lips to the back of your hand as a greeting. It didn’t last only a few seconds but to you it was a lifetime. You smile sheepishly to the floor once he drops your hand. You go to sit by Elvis shortly after. Sitting on the outside allows you to feel a little more spacious. Sending him a telepathic thanking. 

   “I thought you said she was a little farm girl?”

   Frank smiles warmly at you. He’s spellbound by your appearance. He was captivated by your beauty like a sculptor to a sculpture. One to say his admiration when the feeling is presented. Stumbling to find the correct words to capture how he felt, he settled to convey his surprise. 

   “She was. Couldn’t have her showin’ up in overalls.”

   Everyone at the table laughs. You bite your tongue to not say something rash in your defense. Those overalls he spoke so rudely about were mighty fine to do your job. You laugh quietly to not be a prude. However, you hear a high-pitched laugh that was too much. You were too caught in your anxiety to have realized that there was another guest in your party. Who was sitting on the other side of Elvis. The culprit unfortunately was Nancy Sinatra. Your heart sunk to the pit of your stomach. Knowing of their little debacle back in 1960, had your blood running cold. They never dated you knew that, but deep down you couldn’t help but feel inferior. Allegations you remind yourself. Allegedly. She keeps looking at him, laughing too hard at every joke. A bile rises in your throat and you can’t speak, just watch this tragedy unfold. 

   Out of the corner of your eye, you find The Colonel watching you from the bar. To say tension was high for you was accurate. It was suffocating. He’s sat at the bar a few feet away, he’s not doing too good. He’s sluggish from all the alcohol in his system, drink after drink. Jerry’s there at the end of the bar, glancing your way curiously. He tilts his head to the side as if to ask ‘why aren’t you laughing too?’ His eyes are kind and filled with mirth. Sending a wink of reassurance, he hides behind a glass bottle of beer. 

   “I heard you’ve got a big show this Friday.”

   The more established Sinatra speaks, Elvis nods. 

   “Hopefully to be one of my best.”

   He can’t finish his thought before he’s interrupted. 

   “I’m sure it will be with how hard you’ve been working.”

   How would she know? It feels like she punched you in your stomach. Biting the inside of your cheek to stop your chin from trembling, you feel like the small girl you came as. The girl you’ve been told to smother since you’ve come here. This was stupid, it was just your imagination that was making you feel like this. But what if it wasn’t? 

   “Doesn’t feel like work when my girl is around.”

   Elvis smiles softly at you. He lowers his head to look at you. His hand falls onto your thigh, slipping into the cut so he touches your warm skin. Somehow that insignificant gesture made you find peace. Your spirits lift a little higher. He gazes at you longer than he probably should. It allows you to burn each scar and wrinkle he has in your memory. If you wanted, you could draw them out and label them. He wanted to kiss you, grace over your body with his fingertips. His dark eyes swim with your color, a beautiful painting to be shared. After the staring contest continues a server comes by. Everyone orders after waiting their turn. When it’s your turn, Elvis turns to the side to speak to you. 

   “Do you trust me?”

   He asks quietly, and for a moment you’d do anything to satisfy him. You’re confused and then you nod your head. It makes him smile as he orders for you. A long bone Tomahawk Steak, with caesar salad and whipped potatoes. To finish it was you guessed it. Two bottles of Coca-Cola. Elvis had an interesting sense of humor, which is what you’ve gathered from being with him. 

   “I don't think I can eat all that.”

   You whisper into his ear. 

   “I’ll help. As long as you give me dessert.”

_______

   As he talks and rekindles his friendship with Frank, his hand grows higher on the bare length of your thigh. Every time you thought he was done he would go higher. And higher, and higher. His fingers danced on the inside, pressing the tips into your plush skin. You bite down hard onto your tongue not to beg. It was outrageous, how he preached about ethics and this was his. To torment. Through lustful eyes, you still fell witness to Nancy’s injustice. She touched his arm, pawed at him like a cat in heat. His touch was enough to stomach the green wrath that grew. Replacing it with a stronger pleasurable jest. Your breath hitches as he tucks his pinky into the side of your panties. He pulls them to the side. You lift your hips up to allow him access. You look up at him with downward eyes. He doesn’t look at you while he deepens his touches. His thumb rubs over your labia. He knows where you want him. He knows how to touch a woman to make her keen. You’ve just never experienced a man with such knowledge. He laughs. 

   Watching his side profile, almost pleading with him to look at you. His big blue eyes you’ve never missed as much as right now. An attention seeking whore. You think of yourself, so you close your painted lips and open your legs. Grateful for your change of attitude he runs his index through your folds. Intrusive to where it felt like an exam. He’s examining your cunt, knowing which vein makes you squirm. He continues his voyage while you twitch. 

   “Can’t imagine being with Elvis. Always compare yourself to be on the same level of success.”

   Nancy smacks her colored lips together. Leaning on her elbows to peer over you. You don’t know if she’s oblivious or ignorant to his fingers playing with your wetness, but you smile. His thumb slips over to your clit, rubbing long full circles. You cough to stifle a moan. Your nails that he paid for dig into his hand. He knows if you wanted to stop you’d tell him. But those pretty eyes told him a different story. His index prods at your entrance. Dipping them swirling, never entering. Grabbing onto his thigh, you try to ground yourself. What was the question? 

   “Tell ‘em ‘bout your photography baby.”

   He looks down at you, those blues are killing you. He knew you’d forget, were you that predictable or did he morph you into putty? Ah, yes Nancy’s question. As you pant, your knees knock into his as you open them wider. 

   “I- I take photos of subjects that I find alluring.”

   Elvis’ index wedges itself into your warm core, you bow your head. He curls it once he slides fully in. 

   “I’m t-thankful that Elvis is helping me further my abilities.”

   His ring on his knuckle is cold on the lips of your pussy. He pushes his middle into your hole. Pumping in a steady flow. The blood rushes to your cunt and sweeps your clit that has his thumb on it. The pressure makes your head dizzy; the waves lap at your stomach. The dampness of his hand splashes back into you. You can’t do it, your mind boggles. Thoughts of how his chest would look on top of yours, how the softness of his abdomen would contort when he would cum. Cum. The dam breaks and suddenly both of your hands grab onto his forearm. Your eyes roll back, your legs are quivering. Breathing heavier than normal as you explode. His hand is undoubtedly drenched. 

   “That’s so sweet of you.”

   Nancy screeches, Elvis smiles lazily. Luckily, the attention was off of you long enough to regain your composure. You don’t know how many people saw, but that orgasm was well deserved. Frank scratches his face in thought, before he turns his attention back to you. 

   “You should come attend one of my shows to shoot pictures at. Hell, I’ll even pay you.”

   The deal of a lifetime is cut short as the server comes back with a tray. 

   “I’ll think about it, thank you for the opportunity.”

   He nods, tucking a napkin into the collar of his dress shirt. The server places the cokes down in front of you and Elvis. All you think about was what Elvis’ cock looked like. Girth the size of the bottom of the bottle, the head rounded into a circle. You place a napkin over your damp lap. The server sets down the dishes to each person, bidding all of you a good meal before leaving. Watching Elvis has become your favorite pastime. Your heart does gymnastics as he licks his fingers that had been buried inside you before he digs into his meat. He leans over to your ear, his voice husky. 

   “Taste so good.”

 _______

   Dinner wound down, people were scarce as the night grew. Frank had suggested going to The Landmark to see a show. The rest was a blur; you were being pulled into a limo. Nancy had sat by Elvis and you sat by Frank. It was a short drive that you could’ve walked, but with paparazzi and status you would’ve never been able to get there. The conversation you had with him was pleasant and very informative. 

   You just couldn’t take your eyes off of Elvis. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you either. He knew you were jealous; he didn’t care to fuck Nancy. She was just an easy target. The way your eyes were blaring red had his cock swelling fat on his thigh. Nancy’s hand was dangerously close to touching the cock he taught you how to use. He kissed her cheek as she snuggled closer and it made you sick. 

   As soon as the limo stopped and the door opened you were out. You didn’t care about the paparazzi or the prying eyes. Strutting forward in a haste to the big needle in the sky. Walking up the flight of stairs, you could hear the booming music and chatter. 

   Opening another set of doors, you’re constantly bombarded by people, flashing lights- the backbone of Vegas was in this room. You regretted coming up here alone until you found Jerry. He was yet again at the bar. You were slightly confused how he knew you were coming but he was there. Your little guardian. 

   He met your eyes, and that you were summoned to walk to him. He smiles, but it’s very tight-lipped. He’s riddled with concern, why are you alone? You wrote off his apparent discomfort, your mind was set on one thing. That thing was to forget. You hadn’t been to the disco scene in your entire life, didn’t know how to dance either. You remember doing a report for school about party drugs and their impact on society. Who were you to oppose? You’d be normal by tomorrow, so what was the point of not doing them? You put on your best puppy look mixed with siren eyes, touching his arm longingly. 

   “Do you have any tablets?”

   He laughed loudly with a roll of his eyes. 

   “You can’t be serious.”

   He looks closer to your face and notices that you were serious, his brows furrow. 

   “Oh.”

   You almost implode with anticipation. Were you really that easy to read? Was Elvis not the only person who could see through you? 

   “I’m sure Elvis will skin me if I gave you any.”

   He squeezes your hand softly.

   “Sorry darlin’”

   You didn’t accept defeat, rather you stomped your foot. Declaring war. A devious plan formed in your mind. As if on cue you found Elvis in the back near the windows. His eyes on you with Nancy dancing around him. He didn’t care; he was tall and even with the lights flashing you could see that he was pissed. You rubbed your thighs together at the thought of him taking his anger out on you. 

   “Actually, he sent me over here to get a couple from you.”

   Jerry was skeptical, but as he looked to where you were pointing. Elvis didn’t seem to even look your way anymore, he was enjoying himself with dancing. 

   “See.”

   Jerry holds up his hands, and sighs loudly. 

   “Fine. But if you’re lying, I might murder.”

   He reaches into the pocket of his jacket, tearing two tablets off a pack of twelve. He hands you both of them; you smile. Kissing his cheek before bouncing off into the crowd. The swarm engulfed you; you didn’t know where Elvis was nor Nancy. You didn’t even know if The Colonel was even here. Bodies moved and swayed, you quickly took the little tablets and put both of them on your tongue. It tasted bitter similar to cum, if anything it made your body erupt into something awfully dangerous. 

_______

   Jerry had given you a faulty piece of his stash is what you thought as you danced boringly. Pouting as you kept dancing in the middle of the crowd as the minutes kept passing you kept getting hotter and sweatier. Becoming discouraged and disconnected from all the surrounding people. There was a man who kept his eyes on you, it wasn’t Elvis so you paid no attention to him. He made his way through the sea and placed himself behind you. He groped at your hips as he ground himself into you. 

   “Keep dancing like you are Mama. I’ll treat you real nice.”

   As long as you were being touched, you felt high. Maybe the drug was kicking in- you were in space. Colors and shapes melted together and drip. Faces blurred, suddenly you weren’t human anymore. Your hands turned to orbs and the flashing lights turned into symbols of hate. You were scared shitless. Shaking and cry, you turned around and pushed the man hard backwards. People looked at him and the crowd grew humorous. Some gave him looks of disownment others laughed. You fell to the ground screaming bloody murder. You sat on the ground as the sea parted; the music stopped, and the lights turned on. Then there was Elvis. He grabbed your arm and pulled you up and through the wave. The music turned up again, and it seemed like that never happened. He pushed you against the wall outside by the door. His large hands cupped the sides of your face. He was terrifying. His blue eyes turned into literal oceans and his lips were pink floating clouds. The only thing you could focus on. 

   “What did you take?”

    “I dont know.”

   You laughed in glee as you wiggled your fingers, eyes going crossed. 

   “What comes after one?”

   Elvis opened his mouth completely shocked, what happened to his good little girl? Your pupils were shot to hell, your face was dark with blood. You looked like you ran a marathon with how much you’re sweating. Your makeup was smeared down your face. He’s seen this before. Done this before and the only person he knows who has such a hefty dose was Jerry. He was going to kill him, but foremost he has to get you home. 

   “C’mon we’re going home.”

   He grabs your wrist and ushers you down the stairs. You push your heels into the ground. 

   “No!”

   He smiles, his best as a couple walks by. He turns around his face in a snarl. 

   “What do you mean no?”

   You’re sobbing again at him being so mean, nose stuffy as you bawl your eyes out. 

   “You’re going to kill Jerry!”

   He scoffs, tugging you into his arms briefly.

   “I will not kill Jerry.”

   He lied, but he couldn’t deal with trying to talk to a toddler. You blink your blurry eyes at him, chin trembling. 

   “You promise?”

   You stick your pinky out and this image of you reminds him of when he was teaching you how to fish, and he had to promise to not kill the fish. Jerry in this situation was the fish. He wraps his pinky around yours. 

   “I promise.”

_______

       The ride home was silent, you were curled up in his lap shaking. You watched the colors of the limo morph. 

   “I shouldn’t have made you jealous. I’m sorry.”

   You couldn’t acknowledge his apology as you laughed. 

   “Jellyfish.”

_______

   He helped you change into pajamas and he himself changed into his robe. He held you close to his chest as he coped with your troublesome mind. It was a flip of a coin that he got you to sleep. If his time was right, you were about three hours into a twelve-hour trip. Give or take. It was going to be a long night and he couldn’t risk not being there for you in your state. You curled up into his side, head on his chest. 

   “New rule: Don’t go to places where I’m not there.”

   You nod limply, knowing that you were going to give him a heart attack with your misbehaving. You were a princess, but you sure as hell won’t be Rapunzel. 

Wednesday. 

_______

      The rays that cast over in his suite were orange. Blinking awake with a stretch, you notice that it’s evening. You had gotten pretty fried last night and after knowing you had taken acid; he clung to you like a koala all night. Waking up without him there was a bit of a shock. It made a bitter taste form in your mouth and a hole in your chest. Was it longing or pure pain? You shrugged it off, rather to be in high spirits than to be in a gloom. Glancing at his pillow you find another one of his infamous notes. 

‘Be back later, sit pretty. Love you, honey. 

Love, 

E. P.’

   It was written sloppily, undoubtedly in a haste. You figured he must’ve overslept and left to rehearse in a hurry. You knew who he was and what was entailed with being with him. However, you waited all your life to be with him and he expects you to sit pretty in the land of mayhem? He can leave all he wants, but you would not wait around for him every day. He was crazy and so were you. You were slightly frazzled from your first exposure to narcotics, when you got up from the bed you were slightly shuffling but you were okay. You were moving. You had an idea. Not a good one, a thrilling one. Going through the suitcases seeking the one that had a metal clasp around it. It was shoved in the back of the pile glimmering at you. Asking you to go on. You sit on your knees, slipping the case on its flat side to pop open the lock. Your beloved camera stares up at you. Smiling softly to find it still intact. The memories rush to you, your body warming up as you touch the build. Picking it up you pop open where the film is, and replace it with a new one. Fresh beginnings. 

_______

   You needed a disguise. If you wanted to leave with no cautions or stumbles. You needed to be unrecognizable. It pained you to comb out Armond’s curls. Chewing off the fake nails hurt too. It was all in the name of journalism. The plan was to escape the tower (the hotel), get past the goons (the Memphis mafia), and take photos of Atlantis (Vegas strip.) It was easy enough, or so you thought. Currently in Elvis’ closet. Thinking it was smart to disguise yourself as a small man, rather than a young lady. It was ingenious; it was just the part that none of Elvis’ clothes were normal. As you touch the bedazzled vests and shining rhinestone, it was impossible to find something blendable. You dug through the stacks and the piles rejoiced to find a dark dress shirt. Putting it on you’re in heaven as you breathe in his smell. The trousers were just as hard to find. Through preservation you found a pair of beige khakis. They kept slipping from your waist and you had to wrap one of his enormous belts around to hold them up. Rolling the legs up to mid ankle just to walk. You stuck to your own sneakers to wear. Catching a glimpse at yourself in the mirror you couldn’t help but laugh. Looking like a toddler trying on their father’s clothes. Tucked behind a box was his old black sailor cap with a yellow emblem on the front. Surely he wouldn’t mind. You tied up your hair and precariously stuffed it under the cap. Striking poses in the mirror you decided was good enough. The camera hung around your neck with Elvis’ ring intertwined as one. The camera touched your chest as you breathed. Was this a bad idea? Was Elvis going to be mad when he found out? Surely not, he brought you here to broaden your photography. Right?

_______

   Sneaking past intimidating strangers and the mafia was tense. Every glance or side eye in your direction you were sweating bullets. You hid behind large artificial bushes and greenery. A ghost you remind yourself of. A complete and utter ghost. Your position now was hiding behind a man risking everything at a slot machine. Each stack of change he put in the divot the machine ate. Banana, banana, monkey. No winners here folks. The place was loud for a Wednesday night. People lost and were vocal about it. There were more losers than winners here. Music played through the speakers which was deafening. You were incognito. It was perfect. Absolute. Watching him pull the level once again, you couldn’t decide if he was drunk from how enthralled he was with the changing images before him. As he lost again he smiled. 

   The machine on the other side sounded, you craned your neck to the side. Startled to find who you were hiding from, seated so close you froze. He looked very charming at least, hair parted to the side and his chest looked very enticing. 

   “If you wouldn’t spend all of my goddamn money, maybe we’d grow my music!”

   His voice was a low growl, careful to not let eavesdroppers hear. You heard it and your eyes grew wide. Quickly switching sides with the man, thankful to find the seat next to him empty you took it. You could see through the machines, watching Elvis’ veins protrude in his skin as his blood pressure rose. The sight made your head fuzzy. 

   “It’s funny only now that you care about the money. Only needin’ it to spend on that farm girl you chose for this month.” 

   The Colonel pushes down the lever. Your heart beats like a drum on your chest. They’re talking about you. Elvis’ jaw clench. 

   “Don’t talk about her.”

   He spoke slowly, and his Southern twang was clear. Chills caressed your skin. The Colonel shrugged his big shoulders, watching the images not match. He lost another hundred. Then a thousand. Elvis watched in utter defeat, he was in despair. He begged his partner to change his ways for to benefit the both of them. It just felt like talking to a wall. A painfully bitter wall. 

   “I know it’s hard for you to understand, but you’re goin’ to have to. I’m plannin’ on marryin’ her.”

   You gasped in disbelief. The loud shrill was caught by neighboring ears. You clamped your mouth shut and scurried to find a distraction. Elvis almost stood up to see who it was, but before he could you clapped the man on the back and lowered your voice. 

   “This one is going to be the winner.”

   Speeding away in a fast walk, you almost ran through the lobby. Never looking back at the man who won, who shouted about his winnings. Nor did you dare to look over your shoulder. Maybe you were a prophet who summoned great abundance to those less fortunate. All you could think about was that he wanted to marry you. Elvis Presley wanted you to be his forever. 

_______

   Vegas was ugly, and you captured all of it. Vigorously walking with intention, the scenes you passed were less than kind. A girl was getting hit by a large man. Beggars took up most of the streets, well what you thought were beggars turned out to be an act. There were drunks and dancers. It was a circus. Luckily you snapped almost two full film rolls full of the discrepancy and corruption that lies in the heart of Vegas. Strangely enough, you matched the energy of it. The grandiose nature. You had to take a moment where you stood in the middle of a parking lot, looking straight up into the sky just to smile. The music and lights radiated off you. The bulb of your camera was almost burning out from how much the flash was going off. People even asked for you to take their photos and you gladly did so with a smile. You forgot about Elvis and all of your problems while taking pictures. The first time you checked the time it was one in the morning. Swearing under your breath you broke into a jog back to the hotel. Turn after turn and the same familiar buildings a nagging started in your gut. You were lost. How can you be lost when you’re living in the biggest hotel there is? You didn’t know, but you were far from the Vegas strip. It was dark and miserable as you walked down the sidewalks. Men catcalled you and grabbed at your arms. One was by an alleyway. He had far too much to drink as he staggered towards you. The man’s face was bruised and bloody.  

   “Hey, Mama let me show you something.”

   You kept walking, never even acknowledged him but he continued. 

   “I’m good, thank you.”

   You mumbled. 

   “No, I don’t think you are.”

   He looks around before grabbing your elbow and pulling you back into the alley with him. He grabs your camera from your neck and throws it to the ground. The lens breaks into a thousand tiny pieces. The cherry of it all was his foot crashing into the build, crumbling the film. You scream as he pulls you to the dirty ground. You land on your back. Elvis’ hat flies from your head. 

   “It’s a shame you don’t remember me.”

   He takes a knife out of his pocket. You crawl from him, tears forming. Terrified, you should’ve listened to Elvis. Should’ve stayed in his comfy bed. The man grabs your hips and pulls you under him. You hit him hard, scratch his face and he’s unfazed. When you finally get a good look at him you remember him, the guy from the club who you embarrassed. 

   “I see it now. How much of a pretentious whore you are.”

   He takes the knife and slips it into the fabric. Tear after tear, it looks like you got mauled by a lion. He wraps his hand around the chain and yanks it. Instantly the feeble chain breaks and he pockets Elvis’ ring. That’s when you sob. You didn’t care that he was hurting you or that you were scared. No, what hurt the most was the thought that he was taking Elvis away from you. He keeps cutting, teasing you. 

   “Help!”

   You shout, many times in abandon. Your pleas echo along the bare brick walls. Throat going raw and hoarse from your screaming. Nearly giving into exhaustion, your attempts are answered. A man grabs onto his shoulder and throws him back off of you. Another man comes and puts shackles onto his wrists. They’re officers you think in your foggy head. You’re curled up on the cold floor, your knees tucked into your shredded chest. You don’t know which is worse; he didn't want to touch you, he just wanted to hurt you in such a way to traumatize you. The officer helps you up carefully, as he walks you out onto the sidewalk he recognizes you. 

   “You’re the king's girl!”

_______

      Being escorted by police back to an eager Elvis was never on your bucket list. Looking up to the very top of the hotel you can just feel his presence. You just knew you were in trouble. Your cheeks were stained with dry tears, mouth dry from the coarseness. Head empty, you were emotionless. The most embarrassing part was walking through the lobby as hundreds of people gawked. You heard the whispers and the gasps. Pushing the floor number on the elevator, you watch as it opens and people walk out. You were the only one to enter when the doors closed. Looking at your reflection was the hardest thing. Clothes shredded, all the things you valued stolen from you. Your hair stuck to your face, hell even the band for your hair snapped. Wiping your nose, your hands trembled with anticipation. What was going to be your story? Oh yeah hi Elvis I disobeyed you and walked the strip alone? Ha, you were fucked. The doors bing open and you wonder if this is what it feels like to die. Accepting your fate you hesitantly walk out. Entering his room you can already feel the tension. He’s pacing, his hands on his hips. Angrier than a bull. You stand by the doors, head to the floor. 

   “Where were you?”

   You say nothing, tears slip past and roll down your heated cheeks. He walks long strides and stands in front of you. Clutching your jaw in his hand. The cold metal of his rings dug into your cheeks as he forced you to look at him. His eyes were dark, and the pupils filled with fire. 

   “I gave you simple rules.”

   Seething like a raging bull. His lip is snarled and his eyes are throwing daggers. At his haughty demeanor, a choked sob falls from your lips. Authentic alligator tears run like a river down your face. He’s blurry now. 

   “I’m sorry.”

   It’s all you can get out. He laughs bitterly. You’re sorry? For blatantly disobeying his few orders? He couldn’t help but laugh. 

   “Sorry? I bet you are. It’s a godsend that you’re even alive y/n! Don’t you get it?”

   Throwing your face to the side he walks away heaving. It was the first time he had called you by your name since you landed here. It hurt worse than him hitting you. Your stomach twisted as you got stabbed. Looking at you fully he sees the picture. His clothes that you stole were dirty and torn. He doesn’t know if he’s insecure or scared by the thought of not being with you. 

   “Maybe I was wrong about you, maybe you are just a kid.”

   Defiling you have disposed of his emotions. Sitting on the bed with his face in his hands- he mourns. Will you be the same big eyed innocent girl he took from the countryside? No, you most definitely won’t be. He felt sick. Your eyes roam over his disrupted form perched on the mattress. His shoulders tremble as he wheezes. Settling on the white flowers of his shirt, your own sadness turns into fury. Shuffling across the large room you stand before him, hands turned into fists. 

   “If I’m just a kid why’d you bring me here?”

   You wipe your damp face with the back of your hand. His head lifts at your question. His eyes are watery and softened, it’s too late for his change of heart. 

   “If I’m just a kid, why do you even love me?”

   You open your palm and push his broad shoulder back. His eyes widen in shock at your hateful actions. He purses his lips together to keep from making matters worse. Suddenly he understands you. You resent him since you find him as your guardian. Resented him for reminding you of your parents’ dysfunctional relationship. You hate him for making you want to grow up to be on his level, to be of his age. You keep shoving him back and he just gawks at you. The venom in your eyes replaced the little girls he once knew. He aches for her to return, there was a feeling in the bottom of his stomach that a piece of you would never come back. He took your shoving; he deserved it. One relatively hard shove pushes him on his back. He grabs your forearm and pulls you with him. Yelping as he straddles your legs and puts his weight on top of you. You squirm under his heavy hips. Slapping and scratching his chest like you did to the man in the alley, you yell at him to get off- instead he holds his ground. 

   “Is that all you’ve got? Hit harder.”

   You grit your teeth and start to actually punch him. His face doesn’t scrunch and he doesn’t wince. He lifts his chin up so you didn’t hit his face, letting you hammer onto his chest. His makeup team was going to have a field day tomorrow. 

   “C’mon you’re not even trying, hurt me little kid. Make me feel it.”

   You scream as you grow frustrated. Seeing the bruises form and the red abrasions you’ve done to his gorgeous tan skin. You cry. Placing your hands over your face to weep into. He grabs your wrists and pulls your hands from your face. Holding them with one of his palms above your head, pinning you to the mattress. You’re weak and deflated, a headache brewed. His hair is puffy and stuck up in all directions, similar to your own. A few strands hang onto his forehead. He leans down, his chest pressed against yours. His nose is almost touching your hairline. 

   “Now I don’t know what happened tonight. But from the looks of it- you’ve already learned your lesson.”

   He sighs, leaning back on his calves, releasing your arms. He looks down at you like he would after scolding you from putting your hand in a cookie jar. Not angry, dissatisfied. 

    “I don’t give the rules for no reason, kid. I just want to help.”

   You wipe your eyes again before nodding. Sniffling your wet nose in hope to breathe easier. 

    “I’m sorry. I really am Elvis.”

   He cups your cheek, his thumb soothing out your cheekbone. Smiling softly down at you. 

   “Don’t be sorry, just learn from it.”

   His other hand matches the one on your face. You place your hands in the skin you hit, this time he winces. His nose comes down to touch yours, his eyes closed. His long lashes fluttered against his cheeks. 

   “Would you be so kind as to allow me to kiss you?”

   He knew he didn’t have to ask, but it just felt right. The way he asked was so tender, it hurt your heart. Like a child he believed kisses were magic that can heal a wound. You whisper a prayer of yes. His lips come down into yours. Smooth and delicate, a sailboat teetering on the ocean. The white sails of surrender ooze from you. He didn’t let his tongue tease the seal of your mouth. No- this was different, almost like a kiss goodbye. It was sorrowful, yet it promised to set flames of renewal. This kiss was a promise to two hearts being whole. When he departs he presses a chaste kiss to your soft lips. 

   “How ‘bout a bath?”

_______

   Shedding your clothes in front of him should feel nerve racking, but it was quite on the contrary. It was the sultry look he gave you. He admires your curves and the scars you had. Not too big nor small, just right. Just his. Knowing that he wouldn’t be your first damaged his ego, but knowing that he was going to be your only until he perished was enough. Loved to see you move as if he wasn’t there. He had slicked his hair back with the hot water he soaked in. There were a few soap suds weaved into his thick hair. His arms dangled over the sides, the veins in his forearms captured your attention. His hands were bare and abnormal without his centerpiece rings. Your eyes roamed over his chest that was still crimson. The wispy hair hid most of the damage. His throat looked marvelous. He insisted on going first so you can see him bare, hoping if you had seen him vulnerable it’d help your nerves. He knew once you would get into the imposter sauna it’d replenish your joy. Finally reaching his bright blue eyes, he opens his arms wide. Droplets splash onto the tile at his reach. 

   “C'mere honey.”

   Standing at the porcelain, he helps you into the tub. Your back to his chest, your ass on one of his thighs. Relaxing instantly at the warm water and his touch. Leaning back into his embrace you sigh as he runs his hands over your arms. 

   “You wanna tell me why you left?”

   “Not particularly, no.”

   He chews his cheek, trying not to pry. He takes the bar of soap from the tray and slathers the mint smell onto your skin. Bubbles form in the water when he ducks it under the surface. 

   “I can’t help what I don’t know.”

   You roll your eyes, why couldn’t he drop it? You fucked up simply as that. He kept rubbing your face in it. 

   “I went because I was bored and I wanted to see Vegas independently.”

   You pout after speaking. Picking at your cuticle while you listen to him breathe. He rubs the bar of soap over your back. Thinking quietly for a few seconds before he replies. 

   “Are you independent?”

   His question wasn’t supposed to come across as rude, but it did. You blink slowly, in a way you were since he left you alone all the time. Look where you are. Thinking about it long and hard you swallow your dignity. 

   “No.”

   “Well, there’s your answer. A sweet little thing like you shouldn’t ever be alone.”

   His hand dips under the water and drags it up your back to wash the soap away. Going around your waist to rub the bar on your stomach. His lips trail up your neck, to your ear. 

   “Don’t you dare ever run away like that again, you hear?”

   You bow your head, as his hand slips to the inside of your thigh. You tense as he nudges your mound. 

   “Yes, sir.”

   It’s breathless and whiny. He continues to wash you, each thigh. Your lower stomach, then upper. He reaches the underside of your breasts. 

   “Tired of secrets.”

   Even if you were in his grasp- under his thumb, you narrow your eyes. Bitterness on your tongue. 

   “If you’re tired of secrets then why do you leave me when I wake up?”

   He huffs in response; he runs the soap over Your chest. Between the valley, up to your neck. His other hand goes around to lather. Squeezing your breast then releasing. You can feel his eagerness from how hard his cock is against your tailbone. He’s practically throbbing, you wonder if he got this indulged as soon as you undressed. 

   “I have to work, you know this. I don’t want to wake you.”

   “I don’t care, wake me. I want to be with you, don’t you get that?”

   You take his hand with the soap away from you, making him place it back into the dish. You trace over his knuckle before lifting and maneuvering around to face him fully. His shaft pressing onto your pubic mound. Holding onto his shoulders, your thighs spread open. Knees on the other side of his. His feet pressed up by the faucet. He’s too tall, he needs to get one custom made. Since he got there, he has been saying this, but it never mattered. He places his hands low onto your hips. His eyes lower to your nipples that are in front of his face, they still have suds around the peaks. His lips turn upward, noticing how hard they already are. 

   “The show is not ready, something is just missing.”

   He moves his head to the side, staring at your discarded clothes. He’s very torn about his practice. It has to be precise or nothing at all. It’s driving him insane not knowing what it was. He thought it was the flutes but not that. Was it the bass? 

   “Let me see it, and I can tell you what’s wrong.”

   Those promising words you whisper into his ears make him shiver. Your fingers trace over the bow of his top lip. So pink, like a flower. He kisses your curious digits. 

   “I’ll think about it.”

   You swiftly nod before removing your hand to weave your fingers through his hair. You kiss him. Long and slow, moving like a dance. His hands run up and down your waist. He puts his tongue down on your lips. His nails softly scrape your back. As you moan, he leans back with a cheesy grin. 

   “You like that, huh?”

   He digs his nails deeper and watches a little breathy whine fall from your lips. Mesmerized by your chest as you arch your back. 

   “I love how smart you are, almost fooled me at the slots.”

   Your eyes pop open at your secret being revealed. He knew?! He wraps his hand behind your neck and tugs you forward. 

   “I had a hunch from the pretty sound you made. It was only until you walked away that I realized it was you. From the looks of it, your curiosity almost killed you.”

   His hands travel down, one of them falls under the water between your legs to play with your folds. 

   “It would have been a shame to have never been with you like this.” 

   He leans up and nips at the underside of your jaw with his teeth. 

   “What do you say, sweetheart?”

   He’s asking you to devote yourself to him fully, unadulterated devotion. Without thinking you nod your head rapidly, saying yes as a mantra. He laughs softly, his heated chest rumbling under you. 

   “I won’t make love to you Little One, but I will fuck you.”

   Your breath hitches. He grabs your hips to lift them over his cock. The moment you dreamt of your entire life unfolds before you. 

   “There’s no goin’ back from this. You know that right?”

   Without speaking you answer by lowering your hips, he enters your hole with slight resistance. He watches your face contort from the stretch, soon your face falls apart. Mouth open wide and eyes closed, eyebrows high on your forehead. There it is. He knows he’s bigger and girthier than anyone you’ve been with. Maybe he should’ve fucked you with a Cola bottle to get you prepped for him. He doesn’t buck his hips up into your sweet cunt. Not yet at least. You sit flush on him, ass on his thighs. His balls are in the cave of your clenched hole. 

   “Elvis.”

   You press your sweaty forehead against his, eyes boring into the abyss of oceans. 

   “You’re the most beautiful man I know.”

   He smirks, eyes shining with mischief. 

   “I could’ve told you that, honey.”

   His fingers dig into your hips, now he bucks up into you. You feel the water slosh out the sides as he pushes up and down. Jack hammering. The crown of his cock spears your cervix with each thrust. Your head falls onto his chest as you take his plummeting. He wraps his arms around your waist, hugging you to him to get better leverage. You’re limp, energy notwithstanding his. You’re completely drained, letting him use you to his advantage. If you came or not, you didn't care. As long as he was inside you, filling you- it was enough. The only effort you could exert was a breathy whine coating over the side of his neck, your face pinched in concentration at the familiar waves crashing in your abdomen. Your pussy hugs him like a vice as you shake with your first orgasm. He keeps fucking up into you, his hold on you strengthens. He’s on a mission now to fill you with his seed. 

   “Remember when you first grew into those curves. Always knew you’d turn into something gorgeous.”

   He looks to the side, down to your dazed eyes. He rubs your hips back and forth to cause friction. 

   “So pretty, my little girl.”

   Slotting his hips up, he squeezes your skin harshly, his short nails leaving crescent moons. His stomach clenches and he pushes up, and releases into your womb. He groans deep in his throat with a shudder. He cups your face to bring you in front of him. 

   “I want you to have my child. I don’t know how long it’ll take, or when it’ll happen but I want it.”

   You can’t even comprehend the words he’s speaking as he talks. Butterflies swarm in your stomach, you feel dizzy. You fling your arms over his shoulders and hug him tight. He smiles as he hugs you back. 

   “I take it you agree.”

   “Most definitely.”

_______

   The water is cold as Elvis cradles you to his chest. His skin along with yours became pruned. He doesn’t care, his chest still hurts from your beating but you’re touching him- so it’s not that bad. Stroking your back as you rest upon him. Reminds him of a distant time when he would bathe you after you played in mud. Nothing much has changed, just that you’ve grown up to be a stubborn woman. Maybe he should leave the idea that you want him back at home. You keep leaving and wanting to be away from him and he doesn’t know why. His nerves were shot from your little stunt, he thought that was going to be the end of it all. He didn’t dare to tell you about the tabloids he’s been seeing of nasty rumors about your shared relationship. All he did care about was keeping you safe, you were his existence. Without you he’d have no timeline, no meaning. While you slept on his shoulder, he knew you were no longer a princess yet a blossoming queen. 

Thursday.

_______

   He kept true to his word by staying with you until dawn. He breathes deeply behind you. Stroking your arm softly, he watched you snore quietly as you slept. Your lashes kissing your cheeks as you dreamt. An absolute dream. The bottom of your nose twitched, lips parted. He held you close through the night, his arm slung over your waist. His face shoved into your neck. The sun was rising. 

   The moment was too pure, untouched. The phone rang, and he wanted to tear it out of the wall. He pushed his face into your shoulder groaning. You awoke as the electronic drum continued. 

   “You’re just going to let it ring?”

   You rub your eyes as you speak. He kisses your shoulder before resting his chin there. 

   “It’s the cost of me not leaving.”

   His voice is groggy and it croaks. The phone drones on, finally he gets up. You reach out tugging him back to you. He leans down, his hands beside your head. He smiles softly, eyes crinkling. 

   “What do you want?”

   You blink dumbly, eyes rolling. 

   “A kiss.”

   He drops his face into a serious statement. His brow arches, shaking his head. 

   “In this economy those are scarce.”

   You roll your eyes once again before pulling up and giving him a chaste kiss. Nothing more than a peck. He watches you lazily crawl under his arms and get up to go to his closet. He sighs, walking over to the phone and picking it up. He answers. 

   “Hello?”

   He taps his rings impatiently against the plastic. His other hand tangles into the wire, suddenly he feels how it was a week ago. Getting a call from your dad out of the blue. This wasn’t your dad, but a rather pissed Colonel. 

_______

   Elvis’ head was going to implode if he gets another call by a publisher or a manager. The tabloids! Have you heard what they said in the paper about y/n?! He didn’t know how he was going to conceal you from the public, maybe you already knew. He knew you were smart even a little too much for your own good. What scares him the most was that he felt he couldn’t even protect you anymore. He had gotten seven calls in the past thirty minutes all about your stunt from last night. The Colonel took the cake for being the most accusing. ‘She’s making us look bad, get rid of her.’ His hands were shaky. 

   Once he did eventually become calm, he waited on you. Got you everything you asked for. Breakfast in bed? Check. Calling you the sweetest little names in the book? Check. He had kissed every square inch of your skin that you allowed. You knew he was tired; he was an angel whose wings were getting plucked. He laid his head on your stomach, his arms around your waist hugging you into him. You carded your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp. You stared out the window. Your denim dress was snug on your hips with his dead weight on your lower half. You had a white long-sleeved shirt under it. He was thinking of a distraction. What can he do to leave temporarily? A vacation was a great idea, but with the biggest show he’s ever done on Friday? It was impossible. A collective groan sounded from both of you as the phone rang. As he got up, you pulled on his hair. 

   “Let it ring.”

   You hissed, angry at hearing the buzz sound. He kisses your denim stomach before giving you a small smile. 

   “It might be important, baby, I’ll unplug it after I promise.”

   You mumble fine, releasing him from your grip he leaves to the dreaded phone. He picks it up despite wanting to throw it through the window. He rubs his temples as the other person speaks. His eyes grow wide and his brows furrow. It’s your mom. 

_______

   News had burned faster than wildfire when it came to Elvis. That you soon learned. Your hand trembled as you placed the phone to your ear. Anxiety flooding you. What could she want? How she found his number was beyond you. Your mother was a great wonder. 

   “Did that man rape you?”

   Your mouth falls open. You feel gutted, is what people are saying. That man raped you? You felt sick. Elvis watches you from the couch, his hand rubbing over his dark jeans. He had taken a brisk shower to ease his nerves. The black sweatshirt he wore made him sweat, he was too hardheaded to go change, so he sat in silence eager to know what venom your mother spits. 

   “No. He just stole my stuff.”

   You spoke quickly and solemnly, with no emotion. 

   “This is all because of Elvis.”

   You felt a rage bubble in your chest. Your face grew hot and you couldn’t hold it in anymore. 

   “You can’t keep blaming Elvis for everything wrong in your life just because he didn’t want to sleep with you! I’m sorry that he wants me rather than you. At this point mom, I never want to hear from you anymore if all you care about is his success!”

   You spoke with such a vigor that even Elvis sat shocked. That way you spoke with your heart had him strangely fall even more in love with you. Yes, it also made the crotch in his jeans a bit more stiff. Your mom doesn’t speak for several seconds, she was processing it. During those seconds you wondered if you should hang up. 

   “Your daddy died.”

   You scoffed, almost laughing at how outrageous this was. She has been deranged since your dad left. You knew it was bound for her to cling to you when you finally left her. You sniffle softly, the backs of your eyes burning. Anger shifts into complete despair. Emotionally drained you whisper,

   “Never call here again.” 

   As you hang up the phone, you sob. Fat ugly tears fall down your cheeks. You didn’t have a mother, you had the man who practically ran to your aid, and you were thankful. He cups your cheeks as you cry, his eyes boring into yours. He watches as tears form in your delicate eyes and slip past the ducts. 

   “You’re so pretty when you cry.”

   He meant it too. Your cheeks were warm in his palms. Eyes glistening like a painted portrait, your lips parted and breathy. He strokes your cheekbone, swiping the tears away. Your heart soars at his praise. You smile gently. It’s crooked, but he loves it. 

   “Really?”

   “Mhm.”

   He brings your face toward his lips; he presses a long kiss to your forehead. When he pulls back, you’re no longer crying. Magic kisses have worked on you for the past eighteen years and he hopes they never will lose their touch. 

   “How ‘bout I show you what I’ve been workin’ on?”

_______

   The auditorium was bare and dark when you walked in. The lights were up and people were indulging in conversations on stage. Women and men of different ages and backgrounds smiling and laughing. A few were actually practicing their instruments. He held your hand as you walked behind him. Your boots almost made you as tall as him. He helps you walk on stage before turning around to kiss your cheek. You watched shyly as he gathered his musicians in their respective positions. He made short greetings with everyone, shaking everyone’s hands or kissing theirs. He complimented everyone before standing in the middle right in front of you. There’s a mic stand between both of you. He leans to the side, away from the microphone. 

   “You ready?”

   You smile wide and nod. When he plays, that’s all right you nearly cry. He performs as he usually does, doing the karate moves you love. Your favorite being the way he thrusts. Those full hips gliding into the air with feverish movement had you flustered. He kept flinging his limbs and smiling wide. For the first time in a long while, he could have fun while performing. The poor two minute song turned into six from how much he stopped to joke, or to kiss you. He sent at least a thousand if not more winks to you. It’s a very personalized experience that you revel in. Watching him do it for you because you wanted it burns you alive. Pull the skirt of your dress down to hopefully cover your arousal. 

   When the song finally finishes, he slots the microphone back into the stand and walks over to you. He ties his hand into the back of your hair pulling you to him. Your hands fall onto his chest, you gasp lightly. His lips latch to yours. His tongue instantly invades your mouth, eager to taste you. His bestest little girl. The high energy easily runs into you. You moan into his mouth, his other hand rests on your lower back. Tingles form along your body as he kisses you. The crowd whistles and the kiss breaks as you both smile. He sarcastically ridicules the group, he turns to you with a grin. One that belonged to a boy, yet his eyes still crinkle and the lines form around his lips. 

   “I think the only thing I was missin’ was you.”

________

   Sat in a small dinner, you waited for a server. It was heavily reminiscent when you were little; him taking you out to eat when your parents were fighting. When you think about it, it has always been you and him. He sat across from you, black sweater blue jeans and converse. It was very weird but pleasant to see him laid back. He had a certain composure, so it didn’t feel like he was content. He was nervous as hell bringing you out in public, even if it’s a restaurant he knew would be confidential he was still shaken. The diner was deserted which he requested; it gave him more gratitude towards the place. He watched you like a hawk, the protective shield he held for you was restored. 

   The server eventually came around, she didn’t bat an eye towards Elvis. You almost had a psychotic break from the oddity. Did you slip into The Twilight zone? The order was simple. A couple of burgers, fries and one coke to share. When she went into the back with order Elvis reached over the table to squeeze your hand. His rings pinched you slightly from how hard his grasp was. The rings glimmered in the dull lighting. 

   “You know I’d do anything for you.”

   He spoke slowly, making sure you caught every word because it was true. Your heart flutters at his devotion. You smile softly, squeezing his hand back. 

   “I know, daddy.”

   He leans back laughing quietly at the pet name you chose. He arches his eyebrow and whistles low. His arms crossed over his chest, he rolled up the sleeves to his elbows. The tendons bulged from his tan skin. 

   “Happy to see the rehearsal helped your mood.”

   You shrug, picking at the hem of your skirt. You blush slightly as he calls you out on your behavior. 

   “I don't know, maybe your love has magic properties.”

   You look up at him, and he smirks. His lashes kiss at the corners as he watches you. 

   “That it does.”

_______

   Eating all that food made your stomach push at the denim of your dress. You smiled at the sight; it was funny to find your gut filled. Two straws stuck out of the glass coke bottle. He moans as he finishes the last bite of his burger. Licking his lips after. The sight made him look young in the small light left outside. He had pushed his hair back from his face, his jaw was firm as he chewed. His nose was scrunched as he smelled the sweet scent of peaches. The smell zapped him back to your house, a week ago. Time had flown so fast, too fast for his liking. He pats his stomach, shaking his head as he swallows. 

   “I don’t think I can eat anymore.” 

   You snort a laugh, rolling your eyes.  

   “Oh, whatever. I’ve seen you eat Mom’s Thanksgiving feast like no other.”

   He opens his mouth, faking offense. That furrow brow shoots up as well. 

   “I’d watch your mouth, kid.”

   You would shoot back a raunchy quip but the server returns before you can. She passes him the bill. Elvis leans up and grabs his wallet, plucking three hundred bills and giving it to her. She leaves with giving him great thanks. He helps you out of the booth, taking your hand in his to walk you out. He holds the door open for you and as you pass; he speaks. 

   “I’m going to show you that Vegas can truly be beautiful.”

_______

   You don’t know where he’s taking you, but you have your head stuck out of his Mercedes-Benz 600. Your hair whipping as he drove up a long hill. Seeing the sun set over the valley. He held onto your knee, making sure you won’t fly out. His other hand was loosely hanging onto the wheel. Where he was taking you was private but yet again, he knew the owner. It cost him a fortune, but seeing your reaction would be worth it. 

   At the top of the hill, he parks by the drop of the cliff. A heavenly overlook of the Vegas Strip. The sun had fully gone down; the signs were vibrant. Faintly if you trained your ears to hear it, you could hear music playing down below. He squeezes your knee before turning off the engine. Walking out to the trunk, he lifts it up to grab the blanket he leaves for emergencies. He walks around to the side and places it on the ground. There’s a small warm breeze but not enough to take the blanket. He places it not too close and near to the drop. Going around he opens your door for you. He holds his hand out to help you out. You take it, smiling. 

   “Thank you, my knight.”

   He smiles, walking you to the blanket. Once you sit down with your legs under you. He plops beside you, his long legs sprawled out. He keeps his arms perched up to keep him sitting. You lean into his side, watching the city twinkle. You look up at the sky shortly after, enjoying seeing the stars shine. It was the first time you had seen them since leaving him. He notices your face tilted to the sky and he grins. He should’ve known you’d be more interested in the galaxy than the world below. Putting all his weight on one hand, he pulls his arm up to point out a few scattered stars. He tells you what specific ones are a constellation, what are planets and what ones are named. After he informs you on all the ones he knows he wraps his arm around your shoulder, bringing you closer to him. 

   “If you wanted I could get you your own star.”

   You beam at him amazed with big dopey eyes that he fell in love with all those years ago. 

   “You’re kidding!”

   He shakes his head. 

   “Nope, dead serious.”

   He then points to the brightest one that’s not the North Star but close. You shake your head, searching for a star that speaks to you. Finding a small one, that’s so far off that it might as well be space debris. 

   “That one.”

   He almost protests in obscurity, but as he looks at you. He knows you’re completely sure. 

   “What shall we name it?”

   You nibble on your lip, thinking hard and long about it like it’s the most important decision in your life. 

   “I think I’ll name it Ophelia.”

   He nods, chewing his cheek before speaking again. 

   “There’s going to be a position for my personal photographer when we shoot, That's the Way It Is. It’s going to be long, but it'll be fun. Plus, it’ll help you get your name out there.”

   He talks slowly, allowing you to digest all his words. You look at him in disbelief. He was practically giving you a career for free. As you listen to him he becomes nervous about your silence. 

   “You don’t have to if you don’t want to but I figured you’d be the best since you’re always around me.”

   You touch him, smiling like a kid on Christmas. 

   “Are you kidding me?! I’ll definitely do it!”

   He smiles with you before leaning up to kiss your forehead. 

   “You start tomorrow.”

_______

   The soft breeze has turned into a gust. Both of you must’ve stayed there for at least five hours watching the stars. The moon shone bright and glorious. He made you lie down to press kisses over your neck, your hands tied into his hair. It was to celebrate your new job. It was like one of those cheesy hills where teens go to get laid. But with Elvis it was different. He groped at your chest, pushing your breasts together to nip. 

   “Wanted you forever, just had to wait for you to realize it.”

   He bites at your collar; you buck your hips at the sting. The scratch of his facial hair was unbearable. 

   “A-always knew.”

   He removes his face from your chest and furrows his eyebrows. 

   “Oh? Tell me ‘bout it then.”

   Your cheeks burn from being called out. Tongue thick as you try to speak. Your mind goes back to your room, the gifts he gave you. Those lonesome nights where no boy in the radius was there. Those were the nights where you wept into your hand trying to stifle the moans as you touched yourself to Elvis. 

   “I think I was six, no- seven.”

   He bites your earlobe, his sideburns tickling your face. His hands move from your waist down to your thighs. He gathers up the fabric of the denim up around your hips. The cool breeze sends a shiver up your spine. 

   “Very good, tell me more.”

   He encourages you, you’re flustered. Barely able to concentrate on the memory. 

   “I was seven, and we were play fighting and you put your hand on my tummy. That’s when I knew I had feelings for you.”

   He groans into your ear, rutting his hard dick onto your pussy. 

   “What feelings baby? Daddy’s gettin’ old.”

   Your breathing stopped, and your heart raced. His eyes were half closed, lashes hiding his eyes. He strokes your cheek. You looked to your Star Ophelia for courage. 

   “The type of feeling I knew I shouldn’t be having. T-the one where I went to my room to rub myself on one of your stuffies until it went away.”

   He kisses your cheek. His grip on your thighs tightened. He pulls them apart. Laughing darkly deep in his chest at seeing those familiar purple panties. 

   “These little panties got me in trouble last time.”

   You suck in a quick breath and hold it there; you did it on purpose wearing the pair. Knowing he’d appreciate the gesture, but you didn’t think he’d comment on it.

   “Take them off.”

   You whine and he shakes his head, his thick thumb swiping over the dampness of the middle over your folds. 

   “Thought I taught you better.”

He tucks his fingers in the bands and pulls up, you’re surprised it doesn’t snap. The feeling of the string going to touch your clit has you dizzy and your stomach twisting. He’s on his knees now between your legs. He leans down staring directly into your eyes. 

   “Should respect your superiors, little girl.”

His fingers go behind the thin elastic to touch you. His calloused fingers run through your folds with such delicacy as if he was plucking a flower. You grind your hips into his hand, his rings becoming drenched with your slick. His middle finger teases your entrance, prodding at you. Every time he does the motion you cry high in your throat. Back arched and eyes connected to the sky. He groped at your hip. Pushing the long slender digit into your warmth. You squirm at the intrusion before welcoming the fullness. He curls it, kissing your jaw sloppily. Your hands go to claw at his back as he slips another beside the one inside you. 

   “Such an eager baby. Think you can take me?”

   He mouths at the front of your neck and you nod ferociously. 

   “Think so? Fit me like a fuckin’ vice last time. Couldn’t even move without you sucking me back in.”

   His voice was sultry and a warm fan on your sweaty skin. His fingers push upwards and his thumb swirls your clit making you jump. He chuckles, you can feel his teeth on your throat. 

   “Please daddy. I swear I’ll be good.”

He nips and pulls your skin; you wince before he kisses it. 

   “I know you will, how bad do you want me?”

Your walls clamp down on his fingers as his rings tempt to enter. He laughs. 

   “Wrong question. Your pussy is crying for me baby, crying.”

   Your mind crashed with images of him claiming you as his own. The way he told you that, you looked pretty when you cried and the way he thrusted into the air without abandon. That combination was deadly, that combination made you cream on his hand. The climax of your unraveling. You shoved him close to you, wrapping your hands in his hair tugging at those full strands. Your teeth clacked together from how intense you came onto him but you shoved your tongue into his mouth and he moaned. The first time he ever questioned his dominance was that night. Your pussy fluttered on his intrusion as it tried to push him out. He touched your clit once more, and that’s when you pushed him off. The overstimulation was too much. As he sat on his calves, he smiled. He ran his hands up and down the tops of your thighs soothing your feverish flesh. He watched you in a trace from how beautiful you were. Before pocketing them, he pulled your panties down from your hips. Putting his hands on both sides of your head and shoved his face in your neck. Sucking on your throat then kissing then moving to start another dark patch. You tugged at the belt loops for him to grind into your puffy cunt. 

   “Please, Elvis.”

It’s whiny, and you should feel ashamed but you don’t. You tug him again and his head throws back and he gulps. You press needy little kiss on the base where his Adam’s apple is. 

   “Say it again, honey, like you did.”

   You blink up at him watching his face drop into a concentration.  

   “Elvis, fuck me.”

   You never had seen Elvis move that fast, he leans back and slips the leather out of his buckle, unbuttons the metal clasp then unzips all in a fury. He pulls his jeans down mid thigh and you can see how hard he’s straining under his black boxers. His wide cock head just touched the waistband, a fat drop of cum slithering out. Your mouth waters and your pussy clenches. He reaches under the fabric and touches himself; he hissed at the feeling of his jewelry. He tugs at his length a couple times just to get him even closer to the edge. His balls are in front of his jeans as he pulls himself out of his boxers. He spits on his hand and smears it along his length, lubricating it for you.  

   “You ready for me?”

You nod, and he runs the crown of the head through your folds. His tip catches on the lip of your hole and he slowly pushes in. A collective moan punches through you. He focuses on the marks he gave you and half thrusts into you deeper. His cock stretches your core and you can feel him settle in your stomach. Bottoming out fast as you suck him in eagerly. He holds your hips up in his hands. He’s still waiting for you to give him permission to start his pace. 

   “Move.”

He thrusts furiously. Jab after jab deep in your stomach. His eyebrow arches and his lip turns up. Wet squelching every time he hits up into you. 

   “Wanted to fuck you since you opened the door for me at your house.”

   Your cheeks heat, did he really want that version of you? He continues and a buck of his hips punctuates each word. 

   “Been in my head for years little lady.”

His thumb cups your pubic mound and he rubs your clit in fast full circles.  

   “Knew you were nothin’ but trouble since you were born.”

   You didn’t know why it made you cum fast from the low growl of his voice or if it was how sensitive you already were. But you arch your back, eyebrows pinched as you cry into the air. His hips stutter and his pace becomes sloppy. 

   “F-fuck baby, let Vegas hear how good I am at fucking you.”

  The little uhs he does starts and his balls are drawn. He’s hammering deep and slow into your cunt. Your mouth falls open and you can’t even think, just look at your star.  

   “Gon’ name our kid Ophelia. I swear it.”

   He throws his head back and groans as he pushes deep inside and pours his orgasm into you. He fucks through it shallow thrusts at your opening. His breathing is rapid and his chest is constricted. He falls down onto you and crushes you momentarily. During his crushing his cock slips out of your pussy. He wraps his arms around you, kissing at your jaw. You run your hands over his back. You could already feel his cum seeping down your ass as you lay beneath him. You say a silent thanks to Ophelia. 

_______

   You were in and out of consciousness as Elvis drove back to your shared home. Smiling at the thought of living with Elvis. His hand was on your thigh and you watched him drive. It wasn’t a long drive by any means but he needed to touch you at all times and you were fine with it until it made your cunt sore. You thought he wanted another go as he pulled into a parking lot. He turned off the engine and leaned over to press a kiss to your cheek. 

   “Don’t go anywhere, it shouldn't take much time.”

   You nodded, and he left you in the car. Deciding it was the best time to go back to sleep you curled up in the passenger seat and dreamt of Elvis.  

Friday. 

_______

   You had gotten sick first thing in the morning dashing in to the bathroom to throw up. Curled over the toilet you were beyond confused why it was happening. You didn’t have a fever, maybe it was the food from last night but you were a little shaken about it. You chose to not tell Elvis for it might be nothing. He was already gone; it wasn't surprising since today was the biggest day of his life. You were already slacking on your new job, but how can you do it without a camera? You pouted slightly before getting over it deciding to face the music.

  He’s on edge, he’s shot up most of the drugs doctor nick has given him. Sniffing and wiping his nose from the coke he did. Bouncing his leg in the elevator impatiently. He’s grabbed the bag he left in the car from last night. Squeezing in giving it to you in the few minutes of his break. He’d rather sees your reaction then leave it on the dresser with a note. The elevator stops and he steps out. Slightly shaking from all the drugs coursing through him, he struggles to open the door. When he does, he finds you in his shirt dancing around the room. He could have programmed his tvs to the live feed in the auditorium. The sweet inspirations harmonized to sing little sister. His heart melts, and his cock is tight in his suit. He closes the door and hugs you from behind. You laugh as he swings you around. The bag in his hand hitting you. When he puts you down, he holds the bag behind his back. You look at him in his white suit with the low dip. His hair fluffed up. His skin tan and his eyes dangerous with the makeup. You blush at the sight and try to look past his shoulder and he steps back. 

   “Gimmie sugar and I’ll give you a gift in return.”

   You roll your eyes, going on your tiptoes to peck his lips.

He shakes his head.

   “You call that sugar?”

You huff, pressing your lips to his to suck on his bottom lip. He moans softly when you pull back he pecks your lips. He swings the bag in front of hands it to you. You take it with a smile; you grab the tissue you take it out. Your smile drops and your eyes widen. You take it in your hands the bag dropping. It’s a Polaroid sx 70. He watches you examine it with his hands on his hips his foot tapping. 

   “Think it’ll work, sweetheart?”

   You jump into his arms, a death grip on the metal frame.

He huffs as he catches you on his chest. 

   “It’s perfect! Thank you!”

   You kiss his face and say thank you a thousand times. You didn’t care that his makeup artists will chew you out. He cups your cheek when you go to your feet. You take the camera scope to your eye. Waling back to get him in frame. As you do, he takes two fingers his rings shining. Hr parts those fingers in front of his mouth and sticks his tongue out fully. His eyes close and his nose scrunch. You click the button and take the photo, completely lit on fire and out of shock you scold.

   “Elvis!”

  _______

   It’s an hour, a little more before the show and you keep taking pictures of him everywhere action he does. You’re trying out your new equipment absolutely bouncing off the walls with gratitude. He lays down beside you on the bed, his fingers tracing your thigh. 

   “Do you trust me, honey?”

You nod, biting your lip. He kisses your cheek. 

   “I can’t get out of this suit, but I wanna taste you.”

   He runs his index over your cheek.

   “Lay down darlin’”

   You shuffle on the bed, the skirt of his dress shirt bunching up around your hips. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment. The camera still in your hands. He puts his knees on the edge.

   “The only rule is to never stop taking pictures.”

   His hands run up your thighs to part them. 

   “If you do, I'll stop.”

   You bite down on your tongue from whining. He situated himself between your legs he spreads you open. The flash goes off and he smiles. The photo slips out after a few minutes 

It falls onto the stack on the bed. He kisses your thigh.

   “Such a good girl. Makin’ me so hard baby girl, Jesus.”

He slips off your navy panties, the middle already damp. Tucking them into his suit for good luck. Smoothing his hands over the inside of your thighs. He can already see you glisten in the dim light of the evening sun. His nose pokes at your pubic mound. His hands push your thighs apart kneading the plush skin. 

   “You smell so good, baby, like peaches.”

   The flash went off and another photo of him between your thighs slid out. His tongue snakes out and presses to your clit first. You jolt from his hot tongue. He moans, and it vibrates through your entire body. 

   “It tastes like pure honey.”

   Your eyes roll back into your head and your toes curls. He looks up his bangs almost shielding his sight. Watching you drop the camera to the side. He stops and you mourn. 

   “I told you if you stopped taking pictures, I would stop too.”

   His mouth and nose were soaked, and you sniffled. Fine. You pick up the camera and takes a picture of his face. He smirks in that one.

   “Good baby.”

   His face returns to your cunt, licking a fat belt from hole to clit. Up and down. His chin rubs at your entrance. His cheeks are smashed between your thighs. Photo after photo he looks up into the camera every time. He grinds his cock into the bed for friction after you pull his hair.  Your hand shaky as it held the camera. His tongue flicked your bundle of nerves rhythmically. The pad of his middle finger swirls over your opening. Your face is heated, and your skin is damp. You squirm away from the bubble that builds in your stomach. The small tvs play love me tender. You can’t help but lose your mind. Your legs crush his head as you release onto his face. Almost going into a convulsion as he kitten licks you through it. Another Polaroid slips out and you’re surprised you haven’t used all the roll yet. When you come down from your high, he kisses your labia and then each thigh. His face is wet, but he smiles, breathing hard.

   “Almost suffocated down there.”

   He chuckles to himself and wipes your slick from his mouth with the back of his palm. He was on his knees the suit rubbing into your cunt when he overlooked you. His makeup was smeared. His hair in clumps. But the way he looked at you, pupils shot to hell and a big smile almost goofy looking. That too, you took a Polaroid of. 

   He had put you in a white sequin dress which was modeled after his suit. The jewels shined and glistened with every turn. He made you do his makeup and had given you his scarf to hide the hickeys. The flare of his collar on his suit made his neck the most suitable candidate for kisses. After deeming your makeup up to par, he squeezes your hips and smiles. A smile shouldn’t make you rub your thighs together, but it was his smile. He kisses your stomach all while looking at you. 

   “I’m goin’ to spend the rest of my life with you darlin’”

   You’re slightly confused before he stands and walks to the dresser pulling open a drawer then taking out a small box. He wouldn’t, would he? Your heart swells, and your hands get clammy. He drops to his knee in front of you and here goes the tears to mess up your own makeup. 

   “Will you let me be yours?”

   You nod fervently, tears slipping down your cheeks. You hug him over his shoulders and he hugs your waist laughing.  

   “I almost thought you wouldn’t.”

   You snort a laugh before kissing his nose. 

   “How can I ever say no to you Elvis?”

   He walks you to the back of the hall by the auditorium. The Polaroid camera in your other hand. Vernon is with your dad as they walk over and you smile at him wide, relieved to see him alive you jump into his arms. 

   “I’ve missed you so much daddy!”

   He hugs you tight and spins you around. You’re overwhelmed from how much you’ve missed him. He was the perfect thing to ease your nerves. 

   “I know baby, missed you too.”

   He kisses your cheek and smiles as you show him your big engagement ring. You pout softly remembering what your mom said about him. 

   “Mama said you'd died.”

   He laughs, popping a hip. 

   “She did?”

   “Mhm.”

   “I’m glad you’re not, happy you’ve made it. Gives me someone to sit by.” 

   Elvis comes by after talking to his crew and smiles at your dad, both of them nod. He swings an arm over your shoulders, hugging you into his side. Your dad watches his future walk before him with adoration. Elvis opens the big metal door open to you. He smirks when you look up to him.  

   “Welcome to the beginning of the rest of your life, honey.’

[roxtron]

Soo after getting back into fnaf I finally got to play SB and Ruin for myself, and honestly I’m a bit shocked by the debate about who cut the elevator, I thought most people would be in agreement it’s more likely to be the mimic than Gregory but it looks like some of the fandom is pretty conflicted. So for fun I wanted to go through most of the evidence I’ve seen to try and argue why I think it can’t be Gregory.

Of course I could be wrong, anyone could, that’s the nature of this series. I think it’ll be interesting to see where the story goes from here, regardless of which path they take. But here’s my take on it.

I wanna try to keep this more structured than pure rambling so first I wanna go through evidence that suggests it was the mimic. Obviously the first note is the most obvious piece of evidence everyone points out, the subtitles. 

While some people think it’s an error or a glitch that the subtitles overlap, or argue that the files state this is the real Gregory, I don’t think that’s enough to disprove it. Why would they want to spoil if it was Gregory or not if that’s meant to be questioned? If it was supposed to be clear-cut that Gregory did cut the elevator, I feel like they’d make it more obvious. The static cut matching with the subtitle ‘glitch’ is way too convenient. And spoiling a plot twist would just defeat the whole purpose.

If it was a glitch, it would’ve been patched. I’ve seen some people argue they experienced this glitch in their playthroughs during SB, but the only times I’ve seen that is when two characters’ dialogue overlaps. I’ve only seen it with separate characters, and the only time I can remember it happening with the same character is if it was intended to be two different scenes, like if I were to get a dialogue trigger for an area while the cutscene dialogue was still playing. (By that I mean the dialogue for the last trigger was still playing by the time I activated another dialogue trigger, the player was likely meant to let the original dialogue finish before starting a new one.) I know it can also happen when you mute the game and it lets all the dialogue overlap, but that’s because they’re separate lines being played at the same time because they’re not playing at all, if that makes sense. Maybe this is because I played SB post-Ruin, but I feel like the argument that it’s a common glitch doesn’t really hold up, especially because this is an ending cutscene, you’d think there’d be more priority on making sure it works as intended. And if it were a glitch, why did everyone get it? Don’t most glitches only happen to some people and not others, and that’s why they don’t usually get caught in development? I know I went off on a long tangent with the subtitle glitch here, but I dunno. I just don’t think it’s a good enough excuse considering other evidence. 

Anyway, moving on to stronger pieces of evidence, something plenty of people have pointed out from searching out-of-bounds with youtubers like RyeToast, the battery pack. 

The mimic was left right outside the elevator, and the battery powering it right there. Obviously I’m not an elevator mechanic, I wouldn’t know the exact logic behind it, but I’d assume all he would need to do is cut the cords to let the elevator fall.

Some people have argued that’s not how elevators work, since it wouldn’t fall, it would just come to a stop, but I think some people are forgetting about location here. This isn’t a commonly used elevator like the ones that lead to the atrium or attractions, it’s an old elevator in a mostly abandoned building underground. When you use the main elevator to get down there in the base game, Freddy even mentions the elevator doesn’t seem safe, and likely won’t survive more than one trip.

(Though that line still confuses me, considering in that ending they go back up the elevator to get back to the surface. So does he mean one trip there and back?? If that was what he meant then how was the elevator still running by the time of ruin?

Regardless of which ending is canon, they would’ve used the elevator once there and back to trap the mimic in the first place, and then cassie would’ve used it again to get down there.

Maybe I’m misunderstanding Freddy, maybe it was just a gameplay mechanic so you couldn’t go back since it’s endgame stuff, I dunno. Just found that worth mentioning.

Either way, the point is the elevator probably doesn’t have those safety protocols that would make it come to a safe stop.) 

That aside, how would Gregory do it? Sure he can hack into communication devices to try to contact Cassie, but that’s all he’s done. It’s not like there’d be a system he can hack into where all he has to do is type a command to cut the elevator. Sure he’s been hacking into all kinds of shit, but there’s nothing he’s hacked into that’s directly resulted in any action similar to this one. Sure he could hack a bot and make a bot do it, but do you really think there would be any bot nearby for him to even attempt that? It just doesn’t make any sense.

I feel like if there’s anything Steel Wool has been consistent with it’s environmental storytelling, we didn’t exactly guess how the mimic got trapped based on dialogue or text. It’s because of the way the vent collapsed, the way the backpack was placed, the fact the walkie talkie had to have been left in a rush, no way they would’ve purposefully given the mimic a communication device to try and manipulate someone with.

So if they took the time to show the battery being right outside the door, right next to the mimic, but never showed us any kind of examples for how someone could remotely cut an elevator like that, it kinda points in one direction a lot more than the other.

Anyway, this section might be a bit all over the place, but I wanna look at some people’s arguments for why it wasn’t the mimic, and attempt to debunk them where I can, which will inevitably lead into further evidence I didn’t include in the first section.

One of the strongest pieces of evidence for why it isn’t the mimic is the voice, some people theorized the mimic may be running some sort of program to splice the audio together, and that’s why he’s only copying specific lines/clipping together sentences towards the end of the game. While that could be true I honestly don't think it is. 

While there’s subtle hints throughout the game that it isn’t actually Gregory talking to us, I’d argue that’s what a lot of them are, subtle. Some people point to the camera system using Cassie’s voice as a lure as evidence it can mimic people’s voices. But it wasn’t copying the voice, it was just playing a recording. Every time Cassie's voice played it was that one line from the beginning, “Gregory, are you there?” But it was never a unique line of dialogue she’s never spoken.

I honestly think it’s just a developer choice for that moment to really hit. If you’ve spent the whole game believing this is really Gregory, then by the time you get to Roxy Raceway and he asks you to kill Roxy to save him, all the glitching in that audio lets the realization hit. And I imagine it gives Cassie doubt too, but if you think about it, she’s already hit the point of no return. It’s too late to turn back now, she’s deactivated almost all the nodes, spent an entire night in this place (since it was still daylight when the game starts, but nighttime when we get to the wrecking ball area.) And considering how empathetic she’s shown to be, would she really just walk out because she thinks it isn’t him? Don’t you think there’d be at least some part of her that says “what if it is him, and I’ve just left him here to die?” 

Meanwhile when Gregory’s voice was used on the camera systems.. It’s honestly hilarious, I’m surprised nobody talks about it. Maybe it’s because I spent longer in Roxy Raceway than most players did, but his lines definitely fit with his personality. They’re all so taunting, and considering they’re used only against Roxy, I believe they were actually recorded by him, not the system mimicking his voice. The mocking “I’m so scared and alone!” “I’m here, you just can’t see me.” And FUCKING “Marco.. Polo!” (That one’s so evil it always makes me laugh.) You gotta admit that’s definitely something Gregory would do. 

Sure the mimic can copy his voice, but it can’t really copy his personality all that well if you read between the lines. The majority of the mimic’s lines for Gregory kinda fall into a few categories. Whiny, demanding, and monotone. With it being more whiny and scared than usual to try and get Cassie to believe it’s really in danger. It being more demanding to get Cassie to push forward. (Strong example being the Monty Golf catwalks, for some reason I struggled to find the Nodes there and he was constantly giving lines like “You really need to get back to redirecting the gondolas” or something along those lines. Trying to get you back on task.) And finally monotone, a lot of his lines can come across as more objective statements than anything, very little emotion involved.

Gregory’s never that whiny or afraid from what we see in the games, sure he has his moments, but in Security Breach his overall attitude isn’t being afraid, just done with this shit. It’s a bit more complicated than that but playing this game in retrospect with that knowledge makes it really interesting. Trying not to spoil the twist for other people led me to looking into all the voice lines, thinking “is that really something Gregory would say?” And the majority of the time, no, not really. I was practically scrambling at points to try and explain some voice lines to my friends trying not to spoil them. It’s not as much of a consistent personality as it is a split, he acts differently when the situation calls for it. Which, duh, that’s how human behavior works, but I hope you get what I mean when I say that.

I got a bit sidetracked but back to the idea the mimic is splicing audio together. While it’s an interesting point that would explain some cut-together dialogue.. 

Plus, it’s horror, sometimes characters have to be oblivious for the show to go on, y’know? I think this moment was intended to hit that way. The final confirmation something is definitely off, but as the player, you still don’t know what exactly it is. Because that’s not the reveal, you never find out what’s really been talking to you until you see the mimic in person. It’s another way to draw you in, keep your curiosity. If it did seem like it fully was Gregory players may start to question it in a way that wants them to turn back, but if it’s made clear this probably isn’t Gregory it leaves you to wonder, what the fuck is it?

Point is, I think it was just a developer choice, not something we’re supposed to take as evidence. And my main reason for that is, it’s kind of immediately contradicted. 

If you go back and watch the ending over again, he does mainly use pre-recorded lines, but if you look at what he says when Cassie frees him, it’s not pre-recorded. It goes from the pre-recorded, more upbeat and thankful “You saved me!” to monotone, stating it as fact. “You saved me.” If he were splicing together sentences, then where the fuck did that line come from? Maybe I’m just not as observant as I thought, but as far as I’m aware the only pre-recorded “You saved me!” is the one he uses first. The second one is nowhere to be found in SB. It kinda disproves the idea he’s splicing sentences if he immediately after gives us a new line that isn’t spliced. It’s an interesting theory for sure, but I don’t think it adds up. 

I was going to go more in depth on the tech stuff happening here but I realized I’ve made this section long enough already so I’ll put it into this section, I don’t think it’s something his character would do.

Now initially I was gonna cut straight to characterization and whatnot, and I will get to that later, but I’m gonna start by going through the tech stuff.

Every time Gregory tries to contact Cassie in-game, it’s usually through a separate piece of tech. I’ve only heard the lines separate from the game, and I’m definitely not data-mining myself, so I can’t prove that this line is the real Gregory, but..

I think one of the first times he contacts her is when you first see Roxy crying in her salon. For one, the timeline would match up. When he talks during the end of the game he says he’s been trying to contact us all night. But Cassie walked into the pizzaplex when it was still bright out, likely in the middle of the day since it doesn’t seem to be sunset, although that could just be my interpretation. If Gregory had been trying to contact her “all night” then it seems like he didn’t realize what was going on until much later in the game. If I’m remembering correctly you don’t see the wrecking ball through the ceiling revealing it’s nighttime until at least halfway through the game. 

(Although side note, I’m not sure how the mimic first contacted Cassie to lead her to the pizzaplex in the first place. The game makes it seem like the walkie talkie is the first time they talked but she wouldn’t be here in the first place if she wasn’t told to come here beforehand. Personally I think she was sent a message with the dialogue in the trailer, though I think we’re all collectively confused what device she would’ve received that message from.)

Anyways, if that point is one of the first times he’s contacted her, it would make a lot of sense. If it was the mimic calling to Cassie again, why would it not be from the walkie talkie when it’s still right there in her hand? If it was from the walkie talkie, why would it sound like it was coming from a distance, and why would Roxy run in the opposite direction? Whatever he was attempting to contact her from, it clearly wasn’t the walkie talkie.

Then there’s the rare voice line with the staff bot. 

Once again, he’s trying to contact her through a robot, not the walkie talkie. There’s a possibility he may be able to access the walkie talkie’s signal, but he can’t speak through it. I initially thought he might need cameras for this, and that point kinda stands for the mimic chase, but for this? All he has to do is listen in on the walkie talkie conversation to know which area of the pizzaplex is in. And if he had no way to access the walkie talkie’s signal, how would he even find out about this whole situation? If he found out sometime that night it seems likely to me that he somehow came across the signal and realized what was going on. And if he had 0 access to the walkie talkie.. Wouldn’t it be pretty inconvenient if he’d hacked a staff bot in Roxy Raceway to talk to her while she’s running around Bonnie Bowl?

I’ll talk about that voice line again later but for now I wanna move on to the other lines of dialogue, the last time he’s able to contact Cassie, finally through the walkie talkie.. Is the moment the mimic is busy fighting Roxy and chasing Cassie. I’ve seen some people try to argue even that wasn’t Gregory but that wouldn’t make any sense. If he was still talking on the walkie talkie during the chase wouldn’t she recognize the sound is coming from behind her.. And not the walkie talkie.. Plus, again, the files argument, with other lines being referred to as Grimic and these lines being labelled Gregory. 

And this might get a bit too theoretical but here’s my idea, the mimic used a signal jammer to prevent Gregory from communicating with her. That’s why he kept hacking separate signals like the staff bot. Considering he supposedly gives Helpi a signal jammer to prevent M.X.E.S (though to be fair that doesn’t last, it’s still established he can do this.) I don’t think it’s a stretch to say the walkie talkie’s signal was jammed so he couldn’t talk through it, the only times he does talk through it is while the mimic is busy. Even after Cassie gets in the elevator Gregory still might not fully trust the walkie talkie won’t cut him off now that the mimic isn’t busy anymore, that might explain why he hacks into the speaker system when, again, the walkie talkie is still there, isn’t it? Unfortunately for him I think that plan doesn’t work out, the mimic takes over and speaks for him. I think one of the biggest pieces of evidence is cut voice lines. 

Getting sidetracked for a bit.. 

If you look at some of the voice lines labelled to be Gregory, there’s an alternate line for the elevator scene. While the final game says “But we can’t risk being followed.” the cut line instead tells her “But make sure it doesn’t follow you.” This feels a lot more in character, a warning to her instead of a goodbye. I think this may not be a cut alternate ending, but it may be how the conversation would’ve gone if it was Gregory talking. What Gregory meant to say vs. what the mimic told Cassie. While this isn’t solid proof I think this interpretation makes a lot of sense, especially considering all the other evidence. 

Another detail about her being tricked, considering the missing posters in Roxy’s salon, this might be the first time she’s talked to Gregory in a long time. He might’ve just left after SB and just stopped talking to her because of how complicated everything’s gotten, thinking it’s better for her not to be involved in all this. Would anyone really want to have the conversation of explaining all that? Telling her the truth about him getting trapped in the pizzaplex, almost murdered by Vanny and the animatronics on multiple occasions? 

And another side note, if Gregory had told her what happened to Freddy, wouldn’t she also be questioning that whole situation? She doesn’t seem to have any reaction to the prototype on his foot, just hoping he’s functional. The only endings where Freddy doesn’t escape the pizzaplex are the endings where his whole body is destroyed. (Except the escape ending where Gregory just leaves and gets killed by Vanny after, but that’s not canon for obvious reasons.) 

As much as it sucks to be kept in the dark she clearly has been, she has no idea about Vanny or the animatronics being destroyed from what Gregory did to them.

Her only note about seeing Vanny on the cameras being “hey, she’s wearing my mask!” as if it wasn’t worn by her first. And her “What happened to you?” when she sees Chica. 

If he were to get the fire escape ending, Freddy dies after pushing himself and Vanny off the roof. While that already feels not-canon because of Vanessa most likely being freed and with Gregory during Ruin, even if you’re one of the people that assumes that ending means Vanny isn’t Vanessa, regardless of argument on that theory Freddy would be broken, and outside the pizzaplex, not in fazerblast. 

If he gets the bad Vanny ending, Freddy is fully dismantled with his head still attached and left behind. So why would he have no head in Ruin if that were the ending, especially when the work tables suggest there were technicians trying to repair the animatronics in between SB and Ruin. You’d think putting his head back on would be the first repair they’d make if the head was still there, and this was our Freddy.

TLDR here, point is if Gregory had told Cassie what happened to Freddy, through whatever canon ending that would be, Cassie would’ve known that wasn’t the real Freddy. Personally I think the prototype foot suggests a lot more that this is a red herring, not the Freddy we know, rather than just a retcon. 

Sorry for the long tangent, I know it was a bit sidetracked from the main topic here.

Even her Dad’s kept her in the dark regarding secrets like this considering the whole “My Dad wouldn’t tell me what happened to Bonnie.” Whether he knew what happened or not is a different story, but clearly she’s already been kept in the dark about stuff like this. After all it’s a heavy topic to get into, and with Gregory, considering some people still hate him for dismantling the animatronics I don’t think it’s a stretch to say he might worry Cassie would be mad at him for it. Whatever you feel about his character, in his mind it was self-defense. Extreme self-defense, but still. In his mind, the animatronics have spent all night trying to kill him, so if he harms them, it’s really just an eye for an eye, isn’t it? Those upgrades would help Freddy and whether this was his main motivation or just a part of it, upgrading the only animatronic helping him would definitely increase his chances of survival. 

But finally I wanna move onto more emotional arguments. It doesn’t seem to fit his character with what we’ve seen so far. Some people will say “wtf are you talking about? If he’s willing to kill the other animatronics he’d be willing to kill Cassie.” But I disagree. I think it’s missing an important part of his character. Yes, he’s been shown hurting other people. The other animatronics, Vanny, but I don’t think he would ever hurt someone he cares about. That’s the difference. The other animatronics were trying to kill him, so was Vanny. It’s not like he antagonized them first or did all this unprompted. He had a reason, and he had no emotional connection.

But have we ever seen him hurt anyone he cares about before this? He never has and I don’t think ever would hurt Freddy. In all the endings something bad happens to him, he cries, in some endings he’s able to do something to fix it, but in others, he’s clearly upset by the loss. Even in cut voice lines, apparently he originally would’ve been crying when Freddy got kidnapped by Moon. He clearly cares about Freddy, and does his best to make sure they can both escape. That’s the balance here. If he really was just a terrible character that doesn’t care about anyone, why would he be so distressed when something happens to Freddy? Why would he bond with him in the first place? Theoretically he could’ve just viewed Freddy as a tool, he is a robot after all, but he didn’t. He bonded with him and cared about him as he would for another person. 

Why give her directions for how to escape, why take the time to explain things to her? If he knew how it was going to end, why do any of this at all? I think if you were forced to kill your best friend, you’d probably sound more stressed than that. And it’s not like that’s any sort of voice acting issue, there’s clearly good direction given for there to be a clear difference between the mimic and Gregory during most scenes. He’s had stressed voice lines before, including the lines he has in Ruin, it just doesn’t make sense for him to seem like he doesn’t care at all when he’s been desperately trying to contact her. 

If he really was the one to drop the elevator, if he purposefully killed her, why does he seem so cold? If he had to kill Freddy for whatever reason I’m sure he’d be crying about it. Even in the escape ending where he leaves without Freddy he’s crying, and that’s not even an ending where Freddy gets hurt as far as we’re aware. So if Cassie was his best friend, someone he cared about enough to go through all this trouble to help her in the first place, to spend all night trying to contact her, guide her to the elevator.. If he really didn’t care about her, why do all this? Why wouldn’t he just assume she's dead and move on.

You could argue it’s because he was trying to prevent her from freeing the mimic before it was too late, but if that’s the case why would he give her directions when the mimic’s already been set free? Even in the elevator he directly tells her “You shut off the security, and now it’s free.” So if he knew/believed the mimic had already escaped, why kill Cassie ‘so it can’t escape.’ Even if that were also true, that’s not the only escape route. The mimic could still use the elevator Cassie used to get down here in the first place. He’d only be cutting off 1 of 2 exits. 

It’s so contradictory, if it were true I sure hope it has a good explanation in the next game. And again, the voice lines.. He sounds so panicked during them, through the mimic chase he’s yelling the directions, repeating himself, he’s clearly not calm during all this shit. He clearly cares about her. And for me, especially the rare voice line shows it. If you go back and listen to it again, the initial “Cassie is that you?” sounds a bit more panicked than the typical mimic calling out to Cassie, but at the end? After the voice glitches, that final “Cassie. Is that you?” It just sounds so full of despair to me. It’s a level of emotion the mimic never really displays for Cassie, it only sounds worried for its own safety, never concerned for hers.

Maybe I’m too invested, after all I get far more attached to characters than the lore itself, but from what we’ve seen of these characters I just feel like it would be really out of character if this was all meant to be taken at face value. If it was Gregory that cut the elevator, if he somehow managed to do it, and barely seemed to regret that choice. 

I think even if he did there’s still an argument to be made in his defense, after all we don’t know what the mimic has done to him in the games, we don’t know what it’s capable of, what he’s so afraid of. While sure we know about the mimic from the books, considering the questionable canonicity from books to games being the same timeline, and considering (as far as I’m aware) Gregory isn’t directly shown to have a connection to the mimic in those books.. Whatever he’s done in the games we haven’t seen yet, whatever happened that led Gregory to seal the mimic down there in the first place, it had to be pretty bad to cause all this. For such extreme security to be put around it, for him to leave things in a hurry, desperate to get out of there. Whatever happened clearly left some scars, whether those are physical, emotional, or both.

But that’s all I’ve got. I still find the other theories interesting, and I’m not denying they could be true. Look at the series we’re talking about here. But, with the evidence we’ve got, personally this is my take on it. I can only hope it’s true, but if I’m wrong, oh well I guess lol. I think Gregory’s definitely going to come back one way or another, whether he’s just down there to try to trap the mimic again, or if he’s going back to save Cassie, or both! I hope however he does come back it can clear up a few things. If you read all the way through, thanks, I know I ramble a lot, and I appreciate you taking the time to go through this, whether you agree with me or not. 

[cheeriecherrymain]

Viktor with a partner who was autism?

It's hard to give one singular display of autism, so I used some of the traits I'm most (personally) familiar with!

Requests are open, my loves!

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Viktor x autistic!Reader

-Okay so when he first meets you, he probably thinks you’re a little eclectic, but he doesn’t judge. He doesn’t know you, after all, and you’re friendly and kind to him.

-Once he starts getting to know you is when he really starts appreciating all your quirks, regardless of whether or not you tell him you’re autistic. You two just really seem to vibe with each other, and you’re not someone who’s ever made him feel like he’s less.

-He is prone to asking questions, though. If he doesn’t know you’re autistic, then the questions will probably be more vague, wondering why you do certain things, and why some stuff seems to bother you. And they’re genuine questions, too. He’s just looking to understand you better.

-If he does know you’re autistic, then his questions are more specific and less immediate, especially if you’re stressed about something. He’ll know better than to ask you something when you’re on the cusp of becoming frazzled, since it could very well be the thing that pushes your day into something unbearable.

-Regardless of when or how he finds out, though, he’s generally pretty nice about it. He knows firsthand how Piltover treats people who are different, and he doesn’t want you to feel like you have to hide parts of yourself around him just to stay safe.

-Once you two become closer, he’s more visibly interested in learning about you. What helps you function, what makes you happy, what things and situations are important to avoid. 

-It’s kind of his way of showing love. 

-He’s not super verbal in expressing himself, so instead he Does Things for you. Takes on some tasks that you maybe struggle with or don’t have the energy for, even if they’re seemingly small from an outside perspective. 

-He starts keeping some things in the lab that he knows can help you de-stress, like a weighted blanket folded up on the old couch in the corner, or a little box of fidgets tucked away on a nearby shelf. He probably even keeps stuff like a sleeping mask, and little bottles of scented oils that he knows you find pleasant.

-He just wants you to be surrounded by things that you find comforting. He knows so well what it can feel like for everything to be Too Much, and yeah, it stems from a different place, but in the end it’s much the same.

-He knows what it’s like to be tired and sore, to the point of crankiness and crying.

-Giving you what he’s able to, in ways he’s able to, is how he says that he loves you.

-He also really loves that you are really willing to respect his boundaries, too. He might have to tell you outright at first, but you never forget after that. 

-When he tells you he doesn’t like crowds, you’re very quick to make sure you never spring anything on him last-minute, and that all your social plans are made well in advance (and with an emergency escape route in case one of you is having a bad time).

-When he admits he doesn’t always have the energy or wherewithal to deal with active conversation, you’re quick to devise a little check-in system. “You okay with noise today, V?” And he can answer accordingly - no questions asked, you’ll respect whatever he says, and you’ll either chatter happily with each other, or you’ll sit Near each other and work on your own tasks.

-Another thing he loves is how passionate you are about your interests. Whether or not they overlap with his, it doesn’t matter. Your eyes light up when you talk, and your hands start going, and from an outsiders’ perspective it might look like an average conversation, but…

-He can see how excited you are, how happy you are to be listened to, how much joy this subject brings you. He knows you, and he knows how you emote, and he just. Loves your energy. He could listen to you talk for hours.

-All in all, he loves you exactly the way you are. He loves your quirks and your passion. He loves the way you wiggle around when you’re happy, and he loves making trinkets for you. He loves your compassion, and he loves the way you seem to understand him in a way most people don’t.

-Even when you’re having a crappy day, full of overstimulation and tears and frustration, he loves you. He wants to be a safe space for you, where you can just be your authentic self and not have to worry about being hurt or judged.

[shirubie]

Thunderbirds are Go: Miraculous AU Master Post

2024-01-02: A little update for the new year! Kayo’s section is now complete, you can find it completely at the bottom. 

I’ve had fun doing research on Alchemy to build up my AU’s lore, since I decided that my Miraculous set would have an origin based on alchemy instead of just using classic elements. I should have a post about my original Bad Guys (a group of Alchemists who want the Miraculous to do the world conquering thing) very soon.

---

So, I’ve been working on and off on this AU concept for a while, pushed it aside a few times and almost completely abandonned it, but the concept is just so anchored in my brain that I just keep going back to it and working out more and more details and ideas. No fanfics have been produced yet but I’m hoping a story might happen eventually.

I’ll be using this post to organize my ideas. I want to rework the Miraculous magic system a bit and develop the lore more. My Miraculous items have powers based on concepts like in the show, but I’ve also given each an associated natural element, because I’m lazy to come up with superpowers, and because the elements seemed to fit the Tracy brothers well.

I know that the TAG and Miraculous fandoms don’t overlap much, but I would love to hear your opinions on this.

If my ideas inspire you to write your own fic or do some art, you have my full permission to do so. Just don’t forget to send me a link so I can check them out! ^_^

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AU Related art:

- Kwamis group - Stormhawk and Black Swan (Scayo) - Miraculous logos - Commander Bug (Scott with Ladybug Miraculous) - Sketch: Green Claw (Virgil with Black Cat Miraculous)

AU Related posts:

- Plot bunny about Brains

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Summary:

After the Zero-X tragedy, Colonel Casey has no choice but to shut down International Rescue for good. She simply cannot risk Jeff Tracy's sons suffering a similar fate as their father.

Five years have now passed and the Tracys have all returned to civilian lives and mundane jobs, moving on and slowly drifting away from each other. But helping people has always been the Tracy brothers' true calling. That’s why each are given by a mysterious Guardian a magical artifact called a Miraculous and told to use them for good.

But evil forces want to find the Miraculous and use them to control the world. To prevent this, the Tracys will have to unite and become the heroes they were always meant to be.

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Stormhawk

Civilian name: Scott Tracy Miraculous: Thunderbird Item: necklace Concept: Acceleration Element: Wind Weapon: Grappling Hook Gun

Previous wielders: Windrunner, Captain Thunder Abilities:

- Enhanced physical speed and reflexes - Gliding (wingsuit) - Limited wind manipulation

Attack:

- Tornado: creates a funnel of wind that can blow away objects or slow down someone's fall. This attack will not work under water or in space, as there is no air to manipulate.

Transformation: "Zapp! Updraft!" / "Zapp, Downdraft."

Info:

Stormhawk uses his agility, speed and an occasional boost from his wind control powers to perform incredible acrobatic stunts, swinging or gliding between buildings to reach the danger zone fast and assess the situation.

After a few misunderstandings and frictions with his new teammates, Stormhawk proved himself to be a competent leader, able to strategize and make split second decisions.

Kwami name: Zapp Kwami personality: Zapp is a bossy little drill sergeant who wants to turn Scott into the greatest superhero ever, whether Scott likes it or not. He's impatient and pushy, seemingly more interested in his wielder's superhero exploits than their well-being.

Kwami Favorite Food: Popcorn

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Titan

Civilian name: Virgil Tracy Miraculous: Roc Item: Belt buckle Concept: Demolition Element: Earth Weapon: Shield

Previous wielders: Colossus

Abilities:

- Super strength - Vibration detection - Limited earth manipulation

Attack:

- Tremor: Creates a shockwave that will shatter almost any kind of solid material. Works best against rock like materials like concrete, works the least against wood and other bendable matter. The complete effects of this attack are hard to predict. Transformation: "Bronnz! Move Mountains!"

Info:

The Roc Miraculous grants its wielder incredible physical strength and the power to destroy any obstacle in their way, but the gentle Titan would be the last person who would want to use this power. He is fully aware of the damage his Miraculous could cause and only uses his full power as a last resort.

Titan might seem intimidating at first glance, but he’s a down-to-Earth (hehe) guy with a big heart who just wants to help people.

Kwami name: Bronnz Kwami personality: Bronnz is shy and nerdy and fascinated by modern technology. He likes to take things apart to see how they work but is not very good at putting them back together.

Kwami Favorite Food: Brownies

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Nightwatch

Civilian name: John Tracy Miraculous: Owl Item: Ring Concept: Perception Element: Night/Darkness Weapon: Telescope

Previous wielders: Ghost Owl

Abilities:

- Night vision & enhanced hearing - Camouflage - Limited shadow manipulation

Attack:

-Blackout: creates a sphere of total darkness and silence over a limited area, only the Miraculous user will be able to see and hear inside it.

Transformation: " Nyctti, Nightfall!" / "Nyctti, Daybreak."

Info:

What the owl Miraculous lacks in offensive capabilities, it makes up in stealth. Over the centuries, it was often used by spies but sometimes fell into the hands of criminals.

Nightwatch rarely engages in rescues, gathering information and guiding his teammates from the sidelines, while also trying to unravel the mystery of who chose them to wield the Miraculous and why.  

Kwami name: Nyctti Kwami personality: Nyctti can be an annoying know-it-all who always thinks she’s the smartest person in the room. Fortunately, John is more than smart enough to keep up with her and earn her respect. Nyctti also has a habit of falling asleep randomly during the day, since owls are nocturnal and all.

Kwami Favorite Food: Sesame Bagel

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AntarctiKing

Civilian name: Gordon Tracy Miraculous: Penguin Item: Ankle bracelet Concept: Adaptation Element: water/ice Weapon: Harpoon

Previous wielders: Kororā (maori word for the Little penguin)

Abilities:

- Enhanced swimming ability - Resistance to the cold - Limited water manipulation  

Attack:

- Frostbite: creates ice spikes or similar simple constructs of different sizes according to the user's will.

Transformation: "Tchill, High Tide!" / "Tchill, Low Tide."

Info:

It's hard to take a penguin theme superhero seriously but Antarctiking should not be underestimated. His water and ice powers can be the most versatile of the Miraculous, to be used in many offensive and defensive ways.

Laid back and cheerful, AntarctiKing can give the impression that he doesn't take being a superhero seriously, but nothing could be further from the truth. He will not hesitate to push himself to his limits to help someone in need.

Kwami name: Tchill Kwami personality: Tchill is the go-with-the-flow type who never worries about anything. He also hates heat and likes to sleep in the freezer.

Kwami Favorite Food: Anchovies

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Fireflash

Civilian name: Alan Tracy Miraculous: Phoenix Item: ear cuff Concept: Combustion Element: Fire Weapon: Ax

Previous wielders: Fire Angel

Abilities:

- Fire Immunity - Limited fire Manipulation

Note: Like the Ladybug Miraculous can counteract the Butterfly's powers, it is rumored that the Phoenix has a secret ability that can cancel the Owl's powers (Foreshadowing? Me? Of course not ;).

Attack:

-Blaze: this attack will surround the user's body with fire, turning them into a human torch. The flames can also be manipulated to propel the user in the air and fly for limited distances.

Transformation: "Sparkk! Ignite!" / "Sparkk, Burn Out."

Info:

The Miraculous were never supposed to be used by children, but the guardian took the risk of giving one to the youngest Tracy brother. Had Jeff Tracy been still alive, the Miraculous would have gone to him instead.

Fire is the hardest element to control but Fireflash seems to have natural talent with it and an instinctive understanding of the magic of the Miraculous. He forms a deep bond with his Kwami.

Kwami name: Sparkk Kwami personality: Sparkk is a little cinnamon roll, a real concentrated ray of sunshine who’s always there to cheer Alan up when he feels down. His Miraculous has unfortunately been involved in wars in the past and with each new wielder he is afraid of being used to cause harm.

Kwami Favorite Food: Snickerdoodle cookies

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Black Swan

Civilian name: Tanusha “Kayo” Kyrano Miraculous: Black Swan Item: Brooch Concept: Transmutation Element: Prima Materia Weapon: Whip

Previous wielders: Alchimia

Abilities:

- Boosting other Miraculous powers.

Attack:

-Swan Song: Allows to transmute one element into another.

Transformation: "Oodil, Join the dance!" / “Oodil, Take a bow.”

Info: The Black Swan Miraculous is an anomaly that should not exist. It was the result of an attempt to create the Philosopher’s Stone using the Elemental Miraculous. It has very little power by itself, but combined with the other Miraculous, it can grant almost limitless power to reshape the world.

Kayo was not given the Black Swan by the Guardian (her father Kyrano), but she could not stand by while her brothers were in danger. She took the Miraculous and uses it to help the heroes from the shadows, while trying to find whoever is behind the suspicious events and accidents happening around the city.

Kwami Name: Oodil Kwami personality: Oodil appears to be mute, communicating mostly by body language. She has a calm and childlike personality in general, but will not hesitate to attack if her holder is threatened (careful, she bites). Kayo and her have been friends since Kayo’s childhood, when her father became the Miraculous Guardian.

Kwami Favorite Food: Black Licorice

[matan4il]

Anti-buddie people keep saying that Fox can’t write slowburn romances, but Bones had a 6 season will they/won’t they with Booth and Bones. Even when they confessed feelings it still took a season or more to get together, and the writers said it would’ve gone on longer if the actress playing Bones wasn’t pregnant at the time. Soooo Fox can definitely have shows will slow burn.

Bones also did a sperm donor plot, a coma dream, Booth was an army guy, relationships that don’t work, Booth was a father (divorced), they have so many overlaps

Hi Nonnie! Thank you for the ask.

Wow, I did not realize that anti-Buddie people were saying that. Well, maybe Buddie won’t go canon, but it’s not because Fox “can’t write slow burn romances.” I mean, to begin with, networks don’t write anything, that’s the creative team and it’s a different one for each show. Networks can choose to avoid or focus on certain types of stories, but why would any of them want to avoid slow burn romances? It’s one of the most effective tropes to get people hooked up and emotionally invested long term. It’s good for viewership, which is what networks are all about.

And yes, in the case of Fox, it did Bones (I love what you pointed out about the story arcs Bones and Booth went through! Thank you for sharing), and I’d like to add that they also did The X-Files. I do believe Mulder and Scully are one of the longer cases of slow burn romances in TV history! And let’s not forget, that show’s creator actually actively came out against the shippers. Yet, it was clear that he always played with the element of “will they, won’t they?” and whether it was the original intent or not for the couple to go canon or to continue to play with ambiguity to the end, by season 7 Mulder and Scully share a romantic kiss for the first time. I have never watched this show, BTW. But this is a part of TV history, this slow burn romance is that notable, Buzzfeed even noted it as the #1 slow burn 100% worth waiting for, which says something about its perceived cultural impact.

Also? Fox made Glee, which gave us Blaine and Kurt. I know that they were not a slow burn in hetero terms. Blaine first appeared in 206, and before the end of 216, they kiss. That’s a gap of just 11 eps, it’s not even a season. But it is half a season, and you gotta remember, this was back in 2010. You might have noticed, I’m fascinated with history in general, with TV history, as well as the history of gay representation. So...

It took television A BLOODY LONG TIME to introduce gay characters as anything more than a joke. It took even longer for them to get partners, and then it was almost universally a pre-established relationship because that made the gays non-threatening. Let me explain what I mean by that.

Once gays were allowed to exist as more than a joke, shows usually featured one gay character at most as a part of the regular cast. At first they were completely sterilized, they existed as a representation of a gay person and the discrimination they suffer, their wish to be accepted, but those characters weren’t allowed love, desire, dating, partnerships... the very things that tie into being gay! Then, when that became too ridiculous and some viewers demanded better rep (see for example back in 2000, Will and Jack’s kiss on Will & Grace, which wasn’t even romantic, it was just about demanding the right to see gay characters kiss), gay characters got to have a romantic life, but to make sure there was no fear of them crushing, seducing or “corrupting” straight characters, they would get a very minor character as a partner, with shows just telling us that as a fact, without any interest in telling the story of how they met, how they fell in love, how they got together... As I said, pre-established. They were a fact, not a love story.

Slowly that got better as well, gay characters started getting real love lives and stories dedicated to who they fell in love (or into bed) with. But we still often see that even now, when gay characters are allowed to fall in love or get together with each other, it’s usually a fast burn. There's dating, but the characters usually get together within 2-4 eps at most, once again quickly removing the “threat” that they posed to the unchallenged heterosexuality of all the other characters. We have a few exception, but that’s still generally the rule. Even Tarlos on 911 LS are no exception to it.

So 12 years ago, making the audience wait for 11 eps for Kurt and Blaine to kiss, while also throwing in an obstacle in their way, in the shape of another guy Blaine was crushing on and the way Blaine didn’t look at Kurt romantically, that was actually the closest thing to a gay slow burn we had up to that point. It was worth it, too! Viewers lost their minds when the kiss happened, people shared vids of their reactions to watching the kiss, it made waves. You won’t find Kurt and Blaine on any slow burn list, but this mattered so much, especially the enthusiastic response.

Now we’re in 2022 and I still can’t think of a slower burn for a same sex couple than Kurt and Blaine. Not even Victor and Benji on Love, Victor, a show dedicated to telling a queer coming out story AND a gay romance. It takes them just 7 eps to get to the moment where Victor kisses Benji, or if you prefer, 10 eps to get together. Or take Blackbeard and Stede on Our Flag Means Death. Again, 10 eps and they kiss for the first time. And it’s a damn brave decision to make the whole show revolve around this romance! But it’s still nothing compared to opposite sex slow burn. I might be forgetting a ship or there’s a notable queer story I missed, please correct me if so. But as far as I’m aware, Fox is still the record holder on gay slow burn before the first kiss. At just 11 eps! Just half a season!

And that’s why I stand by what I said in my Buddie shipper statement, the first thing I ever posted about them: if Buddie goes canon, it would be a HISTORICAL MOMENT in the development of gay television. It would BREAK A GLASS CEILING that we’re currently experiencing in gay representation. It would be phenomenal and make 911 go down in TV history. It will be the first ever REAL slow burn for a gay couple. And Fox can do it. Just like when with Glee, it raised the bar, and proved that people were genuinely enthusiastic about a gay couple and were willing to wait for it for a while and cheer all the louder once the two got together, so Fox has a chance to make another breakthrough now with Buddie (and remain the undisputed queen when it comes to gay slow burn).

IDK if Buddie will go canon, but if they won’t, it won’t be because of any kind of bad record Fox has when it comes to slow burn.

Thank you again, sorry for the length! As always, here’s my ask tag, and if you’re interested in some of my other gay-related meta, you can find some of it here. Have a great day! xoxox

[magicmindless]

have any hcs for Emmlette?

Y’all I’m sorry it’s been so long since I’ve made one of these😭😭 mainly due to (lack of) interest in making these and other sorts of things

Anyways

A HC List but it’s just Emmlette

I really like her… theatre kid chicken lady…

- Very cheerful and sweet but is down-to-Earth. Being a transparent person, she can come off as a bit snarky sometimes but she only means well. She’s a gem to have around and usually tries her best to make people feel comfortable around her

- Has ADHD. It’s hard for her to focus and stay in one place, her thoughts overlap a lot, and she can be forgetful sometimes. She wasn’t diagnosed until her 20s. She uses medicine now to deal with it which helps her enough

- Developed depression for a good portion of her teenage hood and college years. She hated school and needed accommodations to barley keep her grades up but. Undiagnosed ADHD didn’t make it any easier

- Unsurprisingly she’s a theatre kid. It was one of the few classes she was good at and she always made sure to audition for every single musical/play Sakura Bay High ever did during her high school years (yes she went to Sakura Bay High and became a teacher there. Funny huh?)

- Her favorite musical is Into The Woods and she has a fond memory of it because she got to be the witch back in high school (I’m sorry I haven’t watched enough musicals and most of the ones I’ve watched idk if she’d like bear with me-)

- She used to write songs and play them on her piano as an outlet, even going as far as to record them though she’s never really shown them. She still has the recordings and admits that they’re really cringy looking back at

- Should be mentioned she’s actually really good at singing and playing the piano

- Her nails always look bad since she tends to bite or rip her nails whenever she’s bored or stressed out. Vicky nearly fainted seeing her nails for the first time

- The reason she became a theatre teacher was due to not only her having a lack on confidence in herself to make it big as an actress back then, but no one else at the time believed in her either, so she settled for teaching. She does sometimes wonder what could’ve been though…

- She does like teaching and has met some incredible students who’ve gone off to do great things, but teaching can also stress her out whether it’s from misbehaving students, or those who just have no interest and are taking theatre as only an “easy grade” in their eyes

- She’s not only a good support for her students, but also for her adult friends when they need someone to talk to or provide a shoulder to cry on

- Always had a bit of a chicken obsession. She had a neighbor who had chickens when she was little and she’d frequently go to their place to spend time with them. Now she has 4 of her own chickens named Scrambles, Tamagoyaki, Sunny, and Fluffles

- People think it’s weird that she doesn’t like to eat chicken out of guilt but is willing to eat eggs and other meat. It’s just an attachment thing for her

- Likes giving gifts to people randomly. Usually they are edible things like mochi or bread from a bakery but she also gives things like cute little keychains

- A great cook. She likes making cute bentos and stuff like that and has even cooked for her friends and family

- She’ll act like a mom sometimes trying to make sure her friends are eating enough and doing well. Some of her friends (like Petrona and Rollie) have found it irritating but they will sometimes tolerate it

- Is able to cry and stop crying on command. It’s a little disturbing, but helpful in acting

- Is the type of extrovert to adopt introverts, including Petrona

-She can read people’s faces and body language scarily well. Even if someone stands slightly off she can tell if there’s something wrong or bothering someone

- Keeps a bit of a close eye on Petrona since she always worries about her physical and emotional health due to her work ethic. She’ll usually try to do things like get food for Petrona’s lunch break or talk to her a bit if she suspects Petrona’s been crying/having a rough day. And despite Petrona’s annoyances, she seemed to have warmed up to her overtime

[awkward-outsider]

The Owl House Headcanons pt1 

* This is just me infodumping things that had been in my head as of late, mostly about Alador Blight.*

Alador is definitely on the autistic spectrum. He has a hard time concentrating. his mind often wanders, during conversations even if it with one of his children or someone he is engaged in a conversation with, he does it subconsciously.

His special interests are insects, and abomination and abomtrons.

He hardly ever makes eye contact with strangers or people he feels uncomfortable/ intimidated by ie Odalia .

He tried to maintain eye contact with his children and his S/O, he does the best he can.

Edric also displays some same autistic/nerodivergent behavioural traits, like Alador. He usually can confide in his twin sister, ie info dumping etc but once he begins to repair the the relationship with his father, they share their special interest with each other, seeing that some of them overlap ie beast keeping.

(I ship Alador with Darius, but for the sake of S/o /ocs purposes this is in that scenario)

If Alador were to get in another relationship, after his divorce it would require patience for both parties.

(***Disclaimer: Alador made lots of mistakes with his children and in general, but he is admitting his fault and trying to correct his wrongs, that more then some parents do.**)

He was in a abusive relationship for 20 + years, a lot of bad habits from that marriage will carry over into his next relationship.

For example: He has hard time, sharing his opinion because he was usually shutdown or ignored so after awhile he didn't share at at all.

Sometimes if his S/O other raises their voice he flinched or completely disassociates.

Alador has horrible sleeping habits, if he isn't torn away from his work by someone, he will forget to sleep/eat, he has pretty bad executive function.

[shellibisshe]

— ocs in a tragedy

tagged by @corvosattano @jackiesarch @nightbloodraelle @marivenah @leviiackrman and @poisonedtruth to take this uquiz for some clowns! thank you all !

tagging @loriane-elmuerto @chuckhansen @risingsh0t @florbelles @confidentandgood @indorilnerevarine @denerims @arklay @jendoe @phillipsgraves @unholymilf @shadowglens @queennymeria @roofgeese @kingsroad @shallow-gravy @adelaidedrubman @dickytwister @blissfulalchemist @purplehairsecretlair @swansuspirium @minaharkers @calenhads @ishwaris @girlbosselrond and anyone else!

these are all super long so

sweet supporting character

i wanna be your grandma so bad, please let me pinch your face and knit you a sweater. you're most likely the best friend of the protagonist, and there's some possible overlap between you and the narrator. you're sweet and try very hard to be selfless. you watch the ones you love descend into darkness, and make every effort to help them through it all. it's not enough. you keep trying to make it enough. you provide comic relief, a listening ear, a hug, advice── any method of support you can think of. your own personal tragedy isn't documented. sometimes you wish it was, even though you're the one who ensures it is not. you want people to care for you the way you do for others. but you refuse to ask for it, so you wait for others to read between the lines. they usually don't. at least you're the one who gets to survive the tragedy. no matter how many times you beg to trade places, it is always you at the end, sitting at someone else's grave.

tortured love interest

you're so hot. sorry about the horrors. you're the kind of person people immediately notice. whether you have a distinct style, are more outgoing, or are just plain beautiful, you make an impression. people usually feel the need to protect you, which probably frustrates you to no end. you're not weak! you're not fragile! you're not helpless! but the people in your life tend to disagree. maybe it's your lover, the protagonist, trying to keep you out of their own turmoil. maybe it's someone responsible for you in some way, keeping you away from your lover, while they head down an increasingly dark path. regardless, all you really want is a sense of autonomy! unfortunately, you're very likely to die before that happens. the audience will be so caught up in the grief your death causes the protagonist that they forget to grieve you as a person. you deserved better, but unfortunately this is not your story. maybe it should have been.

desperate narrator

this story is a cycle, and you're spinning around it like a hamster in a ball being tormented by a cat. you know how this story ends. after all, you've told it a thousand times. but you try to change it every time. you love the people in this story more than anything. so watching them fall victim to the narrative breaks you in a way you can't begin to describe. but all you can do is tell the story── their story── with tears in your eyes. you're prone to anxiety and feelings of helplessness. you have so much love in your heart, and for once you wish it would change something. it didn't. it doesn't. it won't. but you refuse to stop telling the story. and you refuse to stop loving the people in it. in this way, no one is stronger than you. you just wish being strong hurt less.

misunderstood villain

prepare for an onslaught of both the most dehumanizing and hateful takes, and flood of thirst comments. you are chronically misunderstood. whether or not you're actually evil is debatable. you may be acting out for revenge, to defend someone you love, or even just to protect yourself. you're a pretty jaded person. you don't trust or even really like most people. maybe you did at one point. but that part of you is gone, and you don't go a single day without grieving it. you think a lot about what your life could have been. you're stuck in the past. you're angry and maybe you don't even want to be, but this is the only way you can see to survive. you're open, but less in a trusting way and more like a wound. you don't like to let people see you, but the hurt spills out of you before you can stop it. you're impulsive, even as you try hard to plan and prepare. maybe someday your side of the story will finally be heard. until then, you can convince yourself that being hated is safer anyway.

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

What's your OC's role in a tragic play

tagged by: @corvosattano @nightbloodraelle @roofgeese @detectivelokis and @voidika Thank you lovelies <3

to do this uquiz

tagging: @direwombat @strangefable @adelaidedrubman @marivenah @madparadoxum @nightwingshero @indorilnerevarine @dumbassdep @fourlittleseedlings @inafieldofdaisies (no pressure of course) and anyone else who wants to give this quiz a try, consider this me tagging you :)

misunderstood villain

prepare for an onslaught of both the most dehumanizing and hateful takes, and flood of thirst comments. you are chronically misunderstood. whether or not you're actually evil is debatable. you may be acting out for revenge, to defend someone you love, or even just to protect yourself. you're a pretty jaded person. you don't trust or even really like most people. maybe you did at one point. but that part of you is gone, and you don't go a single day without grieving it. you think a lot about what your life could have been. you're stuck in the past. you're angry and maybe you don't even want to be, but this is the only way you can see to survive. you're open, but less in a trusting way and more like a wound. you don't like to let people see you, but the hurt spills out of you before you can stop it. you're impulsive, even as you try hard to plan and prepare. maybe someday your side of the story will finally be heard. until then, you can convince yourself that being hated is safer anyway.

sweet supporting character

i wanna be your grandma so bad, please let me pinch your face and knit you a sweater. you're most likely the best friend of the protagonist, and there's some possible overlap between you and the narrator. you're sweet and try very hard to be selfless. you watch the ones you love descend into darkness, and make every effort to help them through it all. it's not enough. you keep trying to make it enough. you provide comic relief, a listening ear, a hug, advice── any method of support you can think of. your own personal tragedy isn't documented. sometimes you wish it was, even though you're the one who ensures it is not. you want people to care for you the way you do for others. but you refuse to ask for it, so you wait for others to read between the lines. they usually don't. at least you're the one who gets to survive the tragedy. no matter how many times you beg to trade places, it is always you at the end, sitting at someone else's grave.

tortured love interest

you're so hot. sorry about the horrors. you're the kind of person people immediately notice. whether you have a distinct style, are more outgoing, or are just plain beautiful, you make an impression. people usually feel the need to protect you, which probably frustrates you to no end. you're not weak! you're not fragile! you're not helpless! but the people in your life tend to disagree. maybe it's your lover, the protagonist, trying to keep you out of their own turmoil. maybe it's someone responsible for you in some way, keeping you away from your lover, while they head down an increasingly dark path. regardless, all you really want is a sense of autonomy! unfortunately, you're very likely to die before that happens. the audience will be so caught up in the grief your death causes the protagonist that they forget to grieve you as a person. you deserved better, but unfortunately this is not your story. maybe it should have been.

[catierambles]

Null Ch.5

Pairing: Incubus!Charles Brandon x Anna Williams (OFC)

WC 1206

Warnings: None? But still Minors DNI 18+ ONLY

@brattymum96 , @ouroboros113 , @peaches1958 , @summersong69 , @henryownsme , @fvckinghenrycavill , @raccoon-eyed-rebel

Charles mostly left her alone while she worked, popping in from time to time into the study to ask her where certain things were or coming in to grab a book. For the most part, he waited until she was on her breaks to do that so he didn't disturb her.

"Hey, Charles?" Anna asked once she was clocked out for the day and her work laptop was shut down.

"Yes, darling?" Charles responded, leaning into the room from the doorway.

"Something you said last night kinda stuck with me." She said and he gave her a questioning look. "When I asked you if this is how you really look, you said it was close enough. How do you really look? Can I see?" There was a pause where he just stared at her. "Did I just ask something really rude?"

"Rude? No, not that." Charles said, "It's just, my actual appearance can be a bit…shocking. I am a demon, mind you, I look demonic."

"Like Christianity/Catholicism demonic? Or eldritch horror, if I see it I'll go insane, demonic?"

"More the former than the latter." He said, "I just…don't want to scare you, is all. My actual appearance isn't too far off from how I look now, but just enough to where it can be a bit…jarring. We usually don't reveal our true selves to humans, for reasons which I hope would be obvious."

"You don't want to scare them away."

"Precisely." 

"If you're not comfortable with it, forget I asked."

"It's not that, either." Charles said and sighed, "I guess, I mean, I suppose if I want you to eventually trust me, I have to show you a level of trust as well."

"Don't think you have to just because you want to get naked with me." Anna said, "I was really just curious, and it's really not a big deal."

"No, no, my mind's made up." Charles said and walked into the room, "Just promise me you won't panic, please?"

"I'll attempt not to, but I won't know for certain until I see."

"Fair enough." Charles said, "Do me a favor? Close your eyes?" She said and heard him take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. An odd sort of feeling washed over her skin, making the hair on her arms stand on end and her breath hitch in her throat. "Okay, you can look, now." His voice was slightly deeper and she opened her eyes, looking up at him.

"Oh." She said after a long moment. His skin looked soft to the touch and instead of hair spreading across his chest, he had a layer of what looked like overlapping dark scales, the musculature of his chest more heavy and defined in this state. Dark horns swept back along the top of his head from his hairline, turning up at the tips and his blue eyes were even more vibrant, the pupils slitted like a cat’s. Getting up from the chair, she went to him, noticing how closely he was watching her. "You're…"

"Monstrous?" He supplied but she shook her head.

"Not at all."

"Anna, are you…drawn to me like this?" Charles asked, "I'm still not getting sexual interest, but there is interest there, just as there is for the form I take most often."

"Charles, I…" She paused, "I've been called weird or unnatural by so many people in my life because of what I don't feel. Friends, family, doctors. They find out and they look at me like there's something wrong with me inside. Is it any shocker that I feel a kind of…draw towards those whose outward appearances society might consider weird or unnatural? Or monstrous, as you put it?"

"I…I never thought of it that way." Charles said and when he reached for her, she noticed his nails had turned dark and sharply pointed like claws. She allowed him to pull her in and her eyes moved over the scales on his chest before she met his eyes.

"I've always felt more comfortable with "monsters" than I have with humans. Keep in mind, I am talking about it in a literary sense as I had no idea this existed in real life." She said and he reached up, touching the side of her face gently.

"Anna, may I…may I kiss you?" Charles asked, "You have my solemn vow I won't attempt to take it any further than that."

"Yes." She said, nodding, "You can." He leaned into her, his head tilting to the side slightly and her eyes closed at the first touch of his lips against hers. His lips moved against her lightly, almost hesitantly, and she pressed back against him. It was no shock that he was a great kisser, and she was sure she was glaringly amateur compared to him. His hands came up to hold her face as he fell into the kiss but to his credit, he didn't try to deepen it.

"I got…" He started as he pulled away, his eyes still closed, "Enjoyment. You enjoyed the kiss, but you had no…expectation of it going any further than that. No…desire for it to be anything more than what it was."

"Sometimes a kiss is just a kiss, it doesn't have to lead to anything else." She said and he nodded.

"If you…would like, if we ever go to bed again, I can be in my true form."

"If it ever happens again, I would want you to be in any form you want to be in, the one you are most comfortable with. Both are very nice in their own ways."

"Thank you, Anna," Charles said and she watched as the horns retreated into his skull, the scales diffusing and becoming hair. "For accepting me as I am. You're a rare sort of human."

"Thank you, Charles, for understanding me and accepting how I am." She said, “And you were right, you showing me a level of trust by letting me see how you really are did go a ways to me trusting you. You were vulnerable with me, not knowing how I would react as I get the feeling it hasn’t always been positive, but showing me regardless. Thank you.”

“I don’t want you to think that everything I do is with the intention of getting us into bed, as I told you, if it never happens again, then it never happens again.” Charles said, “I don’t have an ulterior motive for my actions. It’d be nice if it went that way, but ultimately, it’s completely your choice and I respect that.”

“You’re making it very difficult for me to be cautious around you.” Anna said and he gave a laugh, pulling her against his chest. “Kinda weird how you’re a better person than most humans.”

“A demon is just what I am physically, it has no bearing on my personality or my way of thinking.” Charles said, “Now, what have you eaten today?”

“I had coffee.” She said, pulling away to look up at him, “This morning.”

“Anna.”

“Does that not count?”

“Oh, sweet Lucifer.” He sighed and bent quickly, throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her from the room, her surprised laughter following them down the hall.