#it's a littls janky in the back but it still looks nice

[otterlywyrdfirbolg]

Gave myself a haircut today! And I gotta say, for a first try, it looks and feels amazing.

I feel so handsome! 😊

[suguann]

an. a little 'and-they-were-roommates' drabble series to get me back into writing because it's been an age. | masterlist | part two

It starts as a situation built off convenience: he needed someone to take care of his place while he was gone, and you needed a place to stay. 

Simon never thought he’d get anything out of it other than coming home to a house that feels lived-in and the entryway clear of envelopes from months of neglecting his mail—another voice throughout the day besides the intrusive ones in his head that spun like a carousel with the word work etched on top. 

It’s not until you show up on his doorstep, three boxes and a measly duffel bag crowding your arms, that he thinks he really should’ve thought this through better. He’ll only realize this after the fact—weeks late, sleepless nights filled with images of daisy-shaped buttons down the front of a summer dress and a smile that nearly knocks him flat off his feet.

As it is, he’ll blame it on the handful of sleepless hours from tiny airplane seats and energy drinks sleuthing through his system that clouded his judgment, then admit it’s nice coming home to a woman who looks pretty reading a book on his living room couch.

Only his soap-slick fist in his bathroom late at night will know the honest-to-God truth. That is if there was ever a god he believed in. 

He never claimed to be a good man. 

(Can anyone claim to be good in his line of work?)

Just an honest one.

So it goes something like this: he tries not to come off as an obsessed, lonely fuck (the jury is out on either) by just existing in the same space as you whenever the opportunity arises—reading the paper while you make breakfast on the stove he hasn’t touched in too long to remember when, flipping through a book Simon didn’t even know he owned while you water plants you picked up on your way from work, watching whatever you have on the telly before you both go to bed—then he’s on a plane, being shipped out to who knows where with a gun holstered to his hip.

Rinse and repeat. 

The fourth time he comes home after an assignment keeps him away longer than expected, he finds you in the kitchen, covered in flour, a cute, frilly apron tied around your waist that he’s never seen you wear before. A smile curls the edges of your mouth as you look over at him, everything in your face soft and attentive—a vision suddenly takes shape.

You with a ring on your finger, Simon calling you his little wife, getting to hold your hand whenever he feels like it, and not because yours accidentally brushed up against his. His hand fisting in your hair, bending you over the counter, your cheek covered in powdery confectionery, fingers rucking up your skirt and apron because he can.

He blinks once, twice, and the little fantasy falls apart. 

Except you’re still in his kitchen, smiling prettily and happy to see him of all things. Imagine that.

Your lashes flutter, making crescent shadows across your cheeks. “How was your trip?” you ask. “You look more tired than you usually do.”

A shrug, a dismissal. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? I have some tea that might help.”

“Tea.” He repeats to fill the quiet if only to stand there a little longer, his bag still slung over his shoulder and his clothes smelling like recycled air. 

“Yeah, I got it from a friend a few weeks ago when I caught this cold that was going around the office.” Sometimes, you ramble, and he can do nothing more than let you get it out of your system—not that he minds. “I swear it’s nothing janky or anything. Just try it; it might help.”

You’re so damn earnest about it that he can’t bring himself to say no.

“Sure,” he says and watches a wide, satisfied smile stretch across your face.

It’d be easier if you weren’t so sweet and gave a sincere fuck about the comings and goings of his life. If the smell of your perfume wasn’t following Simon everywhere—sugary vanilla faintly clinging to his balaclava even after he’s washed it—as a reminder of what’s just out of his reach.

(A mindfuck is what it is.)

[hollyseb]

BARTENDER (part 1)

You need to make ends meet. How far are you willing to go?

Mob! Bucky x Reader

Authors note; this is my first fic. Pls be nice :)

Warnings; drinking. Minors DNI. Will get saucier lol.

Who am I? You were staring at yourself in the mirror of your janky apartment. Little red dress, white thigh high lacey socks. This wasn’t you. You felt silly. But you needed this

Since finishing college, the job market had been dry. You were broke. Undeniably. The rent payments are piling up, student loans begging to be paid, your unforgiving landlord constantly up your ass.

You smoothed down your dress, reminding yourself that this was temporary, just to make ends meet before finding a job in your field. You couldn’t deny that despite feeling a little on-show, you looked hot. Your dress hugging your curves, and your heels making your legs look everlong.

You’d picked up a job at a club uptown. You’d never been but you knew it was high-end, elite, and intimidating. Powerful men frequented this club. You were dreading meeting them; misogynists and man-whores, you thought. It’s okay, I’m just a waitress. Your only job was to serve at the bar, and deliver drinks to those rich enough to reserve tables. All I need to do is look good and smile.

Your best friend, Nat, had managed to land the job for you. She’d been working at the club for 6 months, and the money was supposedly “incredible”. You remembered laughing at that, accusing her of flirting with the regulars.

With that thought, you picked up your jacket, hugging it around your body, and headed out the door.

You adapted to the job easily enough; the thumping music, the strobing lights. Nat was constantly approaching you, checking in on you, “you’re okay right? Well you look amazing”, she whispered in your ear, winking at you, as you poured another drink.

She helped you climatize to the new environment. When service slowed, you found yourself drinking in those who frequented the club. The men on the floor were sleazy, approaching women while heavily drunk. The girls were dancing, swinging their hips, some finding company in those men. A part of you was envious, this had never been your scene and you felt a little excluded.

You were dragged out of your thoughts by Natasha asking you to drop some drinks off at one of the reserved tables. You felt a little reluctant, the table being hidden by a velvet curtain. You had yet to do this part of the job yet. I wish I could eye them up before approaching. Another part of you felt a little excited though, anticipatory.

You headed to the table, deep and low voices sounding. Some men were laughing, and others engaging in low conversation. Pulling the curtain back, a silence fell across the group of men sitting in the secluded area. You paused, taken aback. You had semi-expected the men to ignore your presence, you hadn’t expected this.

“H-hello. I have five whiskey cokes?” Your voice came across weaker than you hoped under the intimidating stares of the men. You hated the way your claim sounded like a question.

Your eyes fell upon the man at the head of the table. All black suit, perfectly tailored, with his hair falling over his piercing blue eyes. He wreaked power. His eyes were raking over your face. Drinking you in. You felt the breath get stuck in your throat when you met his eyes. He is gorgeous.

“You’re new, aren’t you?” a deep voice emerged from the man. It posed more of a statement than a question. Could he sense your anxiety?

“Yes I am”, you were painstakingly aware of how breathy your voice sounded, and also of how you were still awkwardly standing with the tray in your hands.

You eyed the other men, seeing the way their eyes dragged over your body, your curves. You felt naked. The eyes of the man at the head of the table had never left your face. He was enamored.

You cleared your throat and placed the tray on the corner of the table, trying to hide the way your hands were beginning to tremble. God, why am I shaking? You shot the men a fake smile before spinning on your heel and pulling back the curtain, their eyes burning into your ass.

When you had left the table, Bucky cleared his throat. “Get her name. Her social media. Her address. I want to know everything about her”.

Once leaving the room, you hunted your best friend down. “Nat, the men I delivered those drinks to…”, you waved your hands incredulously, reminiscing on the tense encounter and expecting her to have an explanation.

“Yes?” She smirked. She knew exactly what you were referencing. The intensity, the intimidation.

“What the hell was that? I mean- the guy at the head of the table… questioned me about being new, and the rest of them… ugh”, you rambled, your hands punctuating your questions.

“Oh…”, she raised her eyebrows at you, her face glowering in how she knew information that you didn’t, “the guy that questioned you, yeah he owns the club”, her smirk growing into a Cheshire Cat grin. She knew she had dropped you in the deep end.

Your eyebrows practically flew into your hairline, “the o-owner? God, Nat I’ve made a clutz of mysel-, I was stood there with the tray for so long, he must think I’m so stupi-”

She cut you off. “Well, at least he actually acknowledged you. He never even looks at the rest of us”, she explained, only exaggerating your confusion. “Shame really, considering he is probably the most attractive man I’ve ever seen, I mean, I would”, she winked at you again.

You laughed at that, knowing that she really would. She always knew what to say, and she was right. He really was breath-taking. But, he was also your boss. He probably only noticed me because I did something wrong.

You didn’t allow yourself to dwell on the encounter, convincing yourself that you were overthinking the fire in his eyes. He was staring at you because you were so awkward. He could tell you felt out-of-place, you thought, sighing to yourself and shaking the thoughts. Serving people drinks and cleaning the bar made for the perfect distraction.

The night continued without event, you were glad. You felt yourself ease up over time, Nat making you giggle as drunk men tipped you rather excessively. You weren’t sure if it was your best friend's humour, or the feeling of knowing you’d managed to cover this week's rent, but you felt pleased.

You picked up your coat, and slung your bag over your shoulder, deciding to call a cab to get home. You felt eyes on you as you hugged Nat goodbye. Looking over her shoulder, you locked eyes with that man again. Your boss. Stood at the top of the stairs, overlooking the bar. In a vast crowd of people, his eyes were narrowed in on you. You unlocked from Nat, drowning out her qualms about letting her know when you arrived home safely. You couldn't focus on anything else. He was the epitome of power; tall, broad, perfectly tailored.

You had to force yourself to rip your eyes from his, bidding Nat a farewell and heading out the door.

Bucky watched you until the door shielded you from view. He was fixated. It was only when Steve slapped his hand down on Bucky’s shoulder that he was brought back to the present.

“You’re gonna burn a hole through her body if you keep staring at her like that, pal”, Steve stated teasingly. He saw the way you commanded his friends' attention from the second you approached the table. It had been a long time since he had seen someone have such an effect on him.

Bucky turned to Steve, an exhale escaping his nose, “she is… certainly something”.

Steve continued, “… innocent, right?”, eyeing Bucky for his reaction. He tread on eggshells, he knew Bucky had taken a shine to you, he didn’t want to overstep.

Bucky nodded, his jaw twitching, “too innocent to be working here”. The pair nodded in unison.

You stepped outside and took a deep breath, relishing in the relief of being released from his intense gaze. You hailed a cab, being pleasantly surprised by the car that rolled up to you. Sleek and matte. A Mercedes. This was the nicest taxi you’d ever seen. When the taxi pulled up to your apartment block, you attempted to pay him with a remainder of your tips.

“Fee has been covered by… James Buchanan Barnes”.

Part 2 here https://www.tumblr.com/hollyseb/737991483216494592/bartender-part-2

[humanitys-strongest-bamf]

holiday drabbles 2/9

"wanna build this thing with me?"

you looked over and saw levi gently set a medium-sized box onto the dining room table. once you got closer and saw what it actually was, you raised a skeptical eyebrow at him.

"a gingerbread house? really?"

it wasn't that you thought the activity was silly. you just never expected that to be something that levi would be interested in, given the mess it always ends up making.

"four-eyes brought it into the office without realizing that miche had a gingerbread allergy."

"and they made you take it home?"

"tch, do you want to build this damn thing or not?"

building gingerbread houses was a fun activity for most. you got to assemble a little house, decorate it with frosting and candy, and take a few pictures before breaking it apart to finally eat it.

however, it was less fun for two people that both had a keen eye for perfection.

levi had attempted to stick one of the wall edges to another for the fifth time at this point. the icing must have been too warm or too runny, with the house beginning to methodically fall apart the more that the two of you fumbled with it.

in the end, you made a tent out of the two graham cracker pieces that were still intact and gathered the broken ones to the side to maybe turn into the crust of a pie or cheesecake that you'd bake before the holiday party that hange was throwing later in the week.

although it was frustrating getting started, you rarely got to see levi as focused as he was on something as silly as building a gingerbread house. you essentially had to pry the broken cracker pieces out of his fingers as he continuously insisted on trying to do it correctly or fix the house itself.

the holidays looked different this year. your family wasn't going to visit like usual and although you didn't always get along with them, spending the holidays alone felt daunting and lonely. getting invited to the holiday party as levi's date was a nice gesture, but it still wouldn't feel the same.

when you realized that levi had brought the gingerbread house kit back home in an effort to make christmas still feel somewhat special and not just like another normal day, your frustration regarding not getting the house right faded.

"i think it's cute," you assessed as you looked at the shoddily made house.

"it looks like a shitshow," levi grumbled, clearly still fixated on not being able to execute the instructions flawlessly.

"it's a gingerbread house. it's meant to be a shitshow," you reasoned.

as if it was waiting for your comment, the gingerbread house that looked more like a janky tent collapsed and you could visually see the frustration enter levi's eyes as he glared at it, as if he could intimidate the collapsed house to rebuild itself.

although his original mission to take your mind off the fact that you'd be spending the holidays away from family this year was successful, levi made a mental note to himself that if he was to try to bring home another festive activity, it would not be a gingerbread house kit.

[astoryisaloveaffair]

Fix You - Chapter 16 - Genesis

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Fem!Reader

Fic Masterlist

Read on A03

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Chapter Summary: 🤷‍♀️

Word Count: 4K

Rating: Explicit

Chapter Warnings: cussing, graphic violence, mentions of sex. I'm not giving more warnings than that, sorry.

A/N: Hey all. First I want to say I'm sorry. I literally had no time or motivation to write this. I'm gonna be honest, this is a really tough chapter, and it was hard to get in this headspace. Suffering a recent heartbreak, things in this chapter are things I have thought also, and so it was really hard for me to voluntarily want to address that. I also started working in veterinary medicine, i do not have the spare time that I used to. We also recently adopted a puppy who we named Bucky! And if you read my earlier posts, you know that I was SA'd last January. All that to say, sorry I couldn't do this faster.

Also want to wish a happy birthday to @musings-of-a-rose, my beloved, my bestie, and my constant support. This is for you. Sorry it's not a happier chapter....

* If a character is speaking fully in Spanish, I will put “[ ]” around the dialogue. I speak pretty decent Spanish but not good enough for this

Suggested Songs: "Exile" Taylor Swift feat. Bon Iver, "I Love You" Billie Eilish, "Vampire" and "Logical" by Olivia Rodrigo, "The Night We Met" by Lord Huron and Phoebe Bridgers, "Genesis" by Grimes

You didn’t even flinch at the landing, which was rough, so that’s saying a lot. When the janky cargo door (which looked like at any time during the flight would be ripped right off) opens, you barely even lift your eyes from the floor. You felt heavy and hollow, somewhere suspended in between shock and just not giving a fuck anymore. The only thing you could still fell was the pinching in your heart. It was still broken.

At some point during the journey, the co-pilot had taken pity on you and untied your arms from behind your back and bound them in front of you instead. You hadn’t struggled. There was no point. Where would you go? Jump in the ocean? You weren’t that great of a swimmer and you loved sharks and everything but the open ocean is not where you are supposed to be.

You have no sense of space and time, so you have no actual clue where you are other than not the mainland. You’re dehydrated as fuck, groggy, your vision’s blurry and you’d figured out the sticky moisture on your face was your own blood. 

Because when you had suddenly blacked out it was because they’d hit you, and had absolutely no hesitation doing so. They did not care about you, they did not see you as a human being, they didn’t even bother strapping you into a seat so you had been sliding around the cargo bay the entire flight, bumping into everything. You were in deep danger, any hope that you would have some ransom protection had pretty much disintegrated. You had hoped that the boys wouldn’t come for you at first. Then you had hoped that they would, because if you’re ransom, even if at the very least you’d be alive until then, right? But “alive” doesn’t mean unharmed.

A shadow looms over you and it finally makes you look up, squinting to adjust your eyes to something so close, as well as the brightness of the sun. It feels like it takes you 10 whole minutes to process that you were being spoken to in English.

“Eh!” The man leaning over you snips, and when you simply blink in confusion and don’t answer, he slaps you lightly on both cheeks. You’re stunned enough to finally look at him, his oval face, beady eyes and unique sideburns seeming so familiar to you but quite frankly you wouldn’t trust yourself with recognizing even your dad at the moment, so you push that thought aside.

He kneels down in front of you. “You listen to me. We don’t want you. We want the money. This means if you don’t fucking piss me off, I might be nice and not kill you, you understand? Be a smart little girl, eh?.”

You nod, you probably should be feeling some sort of panic setting in but you don’t. Whatever. Who even cares anymore.

He takes your silence as submission. “Bueno.” He whispers, leaning down and grabbing you by the arm, lifting you until you are back on your feet. He tilts his head and steps to the side, revealing 5 additional men with AKs pointed straight at you. From behind, you feel the sharp tip of another poking your back, urging you forward and down the precarious ramp. The pilots.

You didn’t trust that they wouldn’t hurt you, but you knew you had no other choice. Trying to fight was asking for it, and once you step out of the hold and realize you were in the fucking jungle, there would be no sensical place to go even if you did get away.

You step out of the plane onto a rickety steel ramp that bounces as the footpad of your sandals touches it and shuffle slowly down it. You feel suffocated sandwiched between four men, your hands chafe where they are tied and you have been in the same positions for so long your whole body is sore. Every touch and movement hurt.

You stumble as the ramp ends but one of the men grabs your arm and yanks you so you don’t fall. It wasn’t kindness. It was a way to hurt you that he could get away with. The tiny dirt landing strip is almost canopied completely by the jungle trees, leaving large patches here and there where the plane flew through, not noticeable from far above. It looks like you’re walking to nothing, just a dirt road that ends right into the thick middle of the jungle, but you don’t stop at the edge. You push through.

It’s hot as shit and you felt sweat buildup in every crevice of your body, your thighs are rubbing raw from your asinine decision to wear short shorts to the fair, and you could feel a heat rash growing under your tits that you couldn’t even scratch because your hands are bound.

You walk for forever. You walk until the friction rash on your inner thighs turn to lesions. You haven't drank water in almost 48 hours and it feels like 150 degrees out, with full humidity. You’ve had to stop twice already to vomit from heat exhaustion and you still occasionally gag even though there’s nothing in your stomach to come up anymore. All the years that you did not appeal to insects are making up for it now, they’re all over you and you can’t walk 3 steps without one getting in your eye.  The jungle gets tighter and you can’t breathe because it’s pushing in on you almost as tight as the hands on your shoulders pushing you forward..

You start crying. At least, that is what you tell yourself as you whimper and sob as quietly as you can. You know you’re strong, but this is just beyond reason that any normal person could take. And when you think about how this is probably what life was all the time in Delta for the boys, you cry even harder because you feel guilty, that you have no right to complain.

Finally, after what feels like forever, the tightness of the jungle seems to loosen. More open. You notice some of the trees look more oddly arranged than others. As you get closer you realize they aren’t trees at all, but tents and dilapidated buildings built into the shadows of the trees.  The huge roots and overhanging canopy of the jungle transformed a bustling camp into what looks like a little village. At the entrance, a line of guards in jungle fatigues that were impossible to detect until you got right up to them. You hear someone speak above you, alerting you to a man up in the trees on a platform tucked between the branches. There was another in the tree on the opposite side. He calls to the man with the sideburns, saying something in Spanish you can’t interpret fast enough, but it’s jovial and they laugh, and it makes you feel like you’re going to go mentally insane. 

It’s like it’s not even serious to them. And it’s so serious to you.

You are pushed through the camp quickly, but not quick enough that you don’t see the insane amount of cocaine packages piled up in the makeshift buildings, sheds, and tents toward the back. Men were milling about checking them, moving them and glaring at you as you walked past.

You continue past the main camp, crossing over a bustling creek whose bridge was literally just planks of wood, but you noticed there were tire marks across them so you felt at least safe it could handle a car’s weight. Across the creek, an old stonework manor stood. You can tell at one time it must have been glorious, but the white stone-worked walls were dirty and crumbling in many places, the fountains out front had dried crusty palm fronds and dirt in them and looked like they hadn’t sprayed water since the 1980s.

It was still oddly beautiful. You thought about how this house came to be, what it might have looked like when it had been first built. A beautiful Caribbean sea mansion. A jungle that hadn’t closed in on it yet. Fountains spraying and colorful birds resting on the rooftops. But then you  realize that this place has probably always been used for what it is now. Someone like Carl Lehder probably lived here and ran an entire cartel within this very jungle. Maybe it was the same one, just run by someone else.

There was a shabbily made shack to the left of the manor with padlocks, piles of debris piled next to the door. You assume that’s where you would be taken, but you were instead led up the stairs to the manor proper. And as your eyes focus in on the ground while you were being guided to the mansion instead, you realize the heap of matter by the shack that you thought was some dying plantation was actually a crumpled human body. A boy looking not much older than 17, shot execution style in the head and left to rot.

Then smell hits you, your knees buckle and you vomit on the stonework stairs, a scream of shock and realization pierces the jungle, making the nearby tropical birds explode from the treetops. When the sicarios pick you up and carry you through the mansion door, you’re still screaming.

Eventually whoever was carrying you became fed up, and simply dropped you at the bottom of the stairs and dragged you up backwards by the armpits instead. You didn’t even feel the step edges hitting the small of your back all the way up, but you would later. 

You were tossed stricken and shivering on a disgusting, top-sheeted mattress on the floor in the corner of a room, your feet still bound together and your rope-bound hands looped through a radiator that was long enough only for you to lie down or shuffle over to a bucket for your business. Everything stank and you still had vomit on your chin so you curled up in a ball and slammed your eyes closed, hoping that in time the voices and smells and fear would give way to just simple numbness. You didn’t hear a female voice speaking to you for several seconds.

Your eyes snap open, skin pulled taut from dried unwiped tears,and you jolt upright to look in the direction of the voice. A woman who wasn’t even tied up was propped up against the adjoining wall, and as you take in her condition you could understand why they hadn’t even bothered. She wouldn’t have been able to run.

Her legs look..wrong, splaying at angles that shouldn’t be possible. They look like they could be broken, but you can’t tell for sure because she was wearing jeans that cover up most of her skin. The jeans were ripped in some places and stained with dark blood spots, the color turning brighter wherever her skin shows through the tears in the fabric. She’s missing several fingers on her left hand that had been burnt at the ends to cauterize, and her face was black and blue, swollen and smeared with more blood that seemed to be coming from her scalp somewhere. Her lips are pale and cracking and her eyes are glazed over and barely open. When she speaks, she already sounds like she is dead. 

She swallows and winces slightly in pain, then licks her cracked pale lips.“Is…my…her–my brother. Did you see him? Out there?” 

Your face scrunches in confusion, which actually hurts a little and you’re not sure from what specifically. Perhaps you look just as bad as the other girl. “Your–I—I don’t understand.”

She’s too exhausted to even be annoyed with you. “My brother. They took him from me days ago. They do not talk to me anymore. They don’t—need me anymore.” A single tear falls down her swollen cheek and you suddenly feel so much connection with this woman and how  incredibly fucking strong she is. Her eyes roll over to you, meeting yours for the first time. There are burst blood vessels in them. 

“I think that they killed him.”

Your lips part and you utter a shuddering breath as you connect the dots. There’s no point in sugar-coating it. You nod slowly. “I think so. But it’s not…recent.” You look away as her eyes slowly close, the additional tears she was holding back finally spilling over and cascading down her cheeks. 

“Bueno.” She says. “Then at least he is not suffering like me.” 

You both fall quiet and you look over her again. Her pants aren’t completely done up and her t shirt is ripped at the neckline, exposing a gashed shoulder. Almost like…

You start crying again, and you feel even worse about it this time because you have in front of you a woman who has been through much worse and is somehow NOT crying. You curl tighter into yourself to try and hide. 

But she simply asks. “Who are you?”

You swallow, raising your head up off your arms, quickly wiping the access tears off on your sleeve. It’s incredible how adrenaline and fear can sometimes make you the most clear-headed you’ve ever been. Your thoughts are swirling but you knew one thing for damn sure, if they didn’t know your name yet, you weren’t going to say it now. 

If I look forward I am lost. Focus on right now. Nothing else. It’s my best chance.

You know enough about trauma that compartmentalizing this moment is your best chance. You can’t think what will happen if you don’t escape, if you aren’t found, if they never come for you. You need to stay focused. You need to keep hope alive. You need to stay coherent, because if a chance pops up, you need to be able to think quickly.

“I’m no one.” You mumble. “Just happened to be dating the wrong person.”

She sniffs and looks away, but it’s muffled because her nose sounds congested. You don’t miss her tone though. “Mmmm. His new one then.”

You blink. “What?”

Her glazed over, discolored eyes snap back to yours. “Pope.” She spits. “Your man. Santia—”

“NO!” You cut her off with a shout, you know there is a guy who is in the area and you still don’t know how much these men do or do not know. “Don’t. Don’t give them names if they don’t already know it.”

“I don’t give a shit about Agent Garcia, or his friends, or anyone else, it’s their fault I am here and it’s their fault my brother is dead and..” She finally, finally starts to cry. “I told him I didn’t want to do it. They said they would let us go if we gave them what they wanted.”

“It was you.” You exhale with a shuddering breath. “They found us cause of you. You told them.” You shake your head, and for some reason you feel betrayed by this woman even though you’ve never met her.  “How could you?” 

“Because all I care about is my brother, do you understand?! I wish I’d never met him, Garcia, we would have just snuck away and no one would never seen us, but no, instead we listened to him and helped them steal from fucking Lorea, and now they found us and I knew they would, and YES, I gave them EVERYTHING because they said they’d let us go so long as they found you and–”

“Eh!” A voice trails in with a watchman you knew was hanging out somewhere in the hallway beyond. He slips through the doorway, a smaller man you were not expecting from that voice, and leans against the deteriorating door frame. He crosses his arms and his legs and it makes the handgun on his hip jut out prominently from his skinny hips. “No talking to each other.” His voice is silky and the words all slide together so it sounds like ‘no talkintoeeachother.’

You shrink back into the dirty wall behind you as your associate spits a bloody phlegm ball in the man’s direction. “FUCK you!” She snarls, a tirade of cuss words in Spanish flying from her lips. 

A loud pop almost bursts your eardrums and your heart and you exclaim in terror as your associate is shot point blank in the head, her back slumping against the wall and her head hitting with a bang, pieces of blood and brain tissue spraying over the back wall with pieces flying in your direction.  

The man remains completely motionless with his arms still raised before huffing a laugh to himself, putting the gun back on his hip, and looking at you with the such an unaffected gaze it leaves you feeling dizzy and you scream and scream and scream yourself hoarse, crumpling onto your mattress in a terrified heap, arms over your head, sobbing hysterically.

A gentle but firm palm wraps around your forearm, yanking you back up to a seated position. You look away, but the man’s other hand takes you gently by the jaw and makes you look at him. And just behind him, the woman slumped in a pool of blood and brain matter. You try to wriggle out of his grip but he tightens ever so slightly, and you can’t help but notice how different it is when Frankie would grab you like that versus this man. Frankie held you the same, sometimes harder, but you had trusted his domination and his care of you and because of that, it made it arousing. That same motion with this man has you more scared than you ever have been in your life. 

“Bebita.” He coos, thumb lightly caressing your jaw. He wipes at a small speck of blood you don’t know is even there. You can feel yourself shaking and breathing so fast you can see his half waxed back tousled locks that hang past his temples are blowing in its breeze. You can’t answer him. “Look at me.”

You do. His eyes are a dark, almost black chocolate brown, shape mismatched, a scruffy beard and goatee and thin lips. In another world you would find him devastatingly attractive and the fact that you do makes you feel absolutely violated and disgusted with yourself. 

“Do not cry.” He continues. “You have no reason to if you behave, si? You be good and you listen and I will keep you safe you understand? Well, at least for now.” He shifts closer to you, you can smell his breath. It smells like orange and cloves. “There are a lot of men here Bebita. I am sure you understand what this means, si? Answer me.”

“Yes.” A final fat tear spills from one of your eyes, and it stings as it mixes with your sweat and the raw skin around your eyes. 

He juts his head in the other woman’s direction. “This one, she fight the whole time. I like a easy job. Make my job easy, I make sure you always deal with me. Do not make me call in the other guys, they are not as nice. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He releases your chin and you scoot back quickly as he saunters over to the other woman’s bloody body, grabs it by the arm, and casually drags her as dismissively as possible out the door and out of your sight, leaving a bloody trail behind.

At first you just sit there in a slump staring at the opposite wall,, you don’t know for how long. Probably hours. Maybe days. The man, whose name you figured out from when he spoke to someone else in the hall, is Angel. Sometimes he would sit up and watch you, as if figuring you out, your body and the way you shift and switch positions when you are uncomfortable, what it looked like when you were crying and trying to keep quiet and unnoticed. But most of the time he ignored you. Occasionally others would come into the room and either speak to him or approach you, but upon noticing Angel watching them they would hiss or spit a curse and slink off.

The room reminded you of those old houses from the 70s that had those drafty unfinished basements that were simply concrete floors, painted stucco or white brick. To the sicarios, it served as an overflow area, there was a rotting desk along the side wall with a metal folding chair and piles of scattered papers and random household tools on them. Against the opposite side wall was a pretty nice tv, considering, which was always playing soccer. Angel seemed to make that his home base, his lithe frame sprawled across a grandma-fabric sofa, head resting on one of the puffy arm rests. He binge-smoked cigarettes and his right hand was always stretched over his head resting against his forehead in the direction of to an end table with an massive overflowing porcelain ashtray on it. You didn’t used to mind the smell of cigarettes too much but now it makes you feel sick.

You’re ashamed of how little you actually think about your current situation and like the hopeless romantic idiot you are, mostly all you can think about is Frankie. The things he said–you knew he said mean things when he was mad, or things he didn’t mean, but isn’t there always some truth to things that are said in the heat of the moment? That was enough for you to silently spiral. You thought about every memory you had of him and how it could be viewed through the lens that Frankie just wanted to fuck you. Your self confidence was low enough it was believable, and your mind races through every instance of an older man being in a relationship with someone much younger and how of course it was predatory, and how could you not see it, that you didn’t have anything in common? It’s a tale as old as time. He just wanted to fuck you, he wanted to fuck you and dominate you, his dark desires seducing you into feeling so wanted you can’t believe you thought he loved you and didn’t see right through it. 

And his friends, well, they were all in on it weren’t they, because why would they want to hang out with someone like you either? Why would men such as that actually want to be friends with you when you have never experienced half of what they have.

Fuck him. Fuck him and his lying ass, he was a fucking loser addict and you’re pissed at yourself for even considering him. Like how lonely were you?? To choose an old man with a kid who served in an institution that represented everything you hated about this country? To be so easily blinded by pretty words and love bombs to immediately take your clothes off. Because how, if he actually loved you or even like you, could he possibly have lied about something so big?! Or bought you something nice with all that fucking drug money he stole. Not that you’d want it or expected it, but why wouldn’t you want to treat someone you love as much as he claimed to? 

How could he sit there and make up what happened to Tom like that, when you were being so coddling and trying to be a caring ear. And Benny…Pope...if they were your friends they should have told you, that’s what real friends do…

But they weren’t your friends. They were never your friends. 

And if you went the other way, and considered that it was all true, that he did love you, that they were all your friends, and that he lied to you and threw stones to hurt you and push you away, how was that any better? You couldn't even think about a future not being with him, but obviously he could. He could watch you cry and question him and not even look at you, completely ignore you, then not even think about you again. No texts, no calls. No “I’m sorry, please come back.” Silence. 

How could it be so easy for him? How can he just go about his life like you never happened? Why did you still care?

Why did you still want him? 

Why did you still love him so so much. Part of you wishes they’d get on with it and just kill you. At least then you wouldn’t have to feel this excruciating pain. You wouldn’t have to see him show up to rescue you because he has to, to have to see his fucking face and every line, crinkle, scar, the bald patch in his beard and the tousled little curls that pop out of his hat…only for him to save you and then leave again, or die and then you have the guilt of killing a man who no longer loved you.

Yea. You think you’d rather die.

You feel like you’re going to throw up again. You’d let him force his cock in your mouth as far as it could go, let him tie you up and fuck you hard enough to leave bruises you had thought of as a badge of honor. You’d let him cum on your face. You’d let him fucking cum inside you! He’d gaslit you so you actually wanted him to tie you up with zip ties—-

Your heart almost stops. You can picture how his face looked exactly when he said it.

Sometimes rope can give over time.

That’s why we always used zip ties.

You look down at your bound hands.

They’re bound with rope.

[kotir-propaganda]

Mossflower has so much going for it, like I’m not even being biased because my blorbo is in it. I will die on the hill of it being Best Redwall Book for several reasons.

-It’s as early Redwall as you can get without actually being Book 1. As such, it avoids a lot of subjects and patterns that would later become repetitive tropes... but it also avoids the Book 1 jankiness of horses and human structures and the implied existence of Portugal. The world as we will come to know it feels more or less fully realized here. The abbey’s not here yet, but its foundation literally is- and we also get our first look at Salamandastron and the extent of Mossflower Wood as a whole.

-It has some of the most solid protagonists around. The legendary hero Martin is here, but he’s at a low point for most of the story and has to work his way up to that legacy! And this is where he does it, this is what future Redwallers remember him for, not the events of Martin the Warrior. Also, Gonff is here? Hello? Maybe the single most charismatic character in the series? Not to mention Dinny, how often does a humble mole actually get to go on a quest in these books?

-This isn’t even getting into how badass all the rest of the woodlanders are, too, but... they absolutely are. This is a small band of rebels that’s been driven from their little houses, they don’t have the luxury of those huge sandstone walls to protect them, but they’re still fighting like hell and outsmarting their enemies to boot. Some of them are seasoned fighters, but some of them are just ordinary families, all banding together to take back their homeland. And they keep it up the whole time! They’re not just waiting around for a guy with a sword to tell them what to do!

-The villains are probably the most nuanced in the whole series. Seriously. There are four whole wildcats here (don’t forget Sandingomm!) and only ONE of them is unquestionably evil. It’s absolutely implied that Verdauga was a fearsome warlord in his day, but if nothing else, he raised ONE kid who turned out to be about as Lawful Good as you can get, and he actually scolds Tsarmina for being mean to her brother!! I wish we could have spent a little more time with Verdauga, honestly, I have so many questions for this man.

-There are a decent handful of morally grey characters here, actually. Chibb spies for the woodlanders, but he’s not the most dependable and is motivated by payment more than sympathy to their cause. Snakefish allies with our questing heroes, but he minces no words in warning them that he’ll just as soon eat them if it comes down to it. Even Argulor is really just out here looking for a bite to eat and can you really blame him, because ashleg is a snack

-Tsarmina herself is irredeemably cruel, but even still there are multiple facets to her. On one hand, she’s scary- big and powerful and ready to rip into anything/anyone with her bare claws. At the same time she can be a clever strategist when she wants to be- poisoning her father and framing her brother, and later manipulating two of her obstacles, Argulor and Bane, into taking each other out. And still yet it can be kind of funny to watch her in action, as she gets humiliated by the resistance on multiple occasions. And maybe there is even a little pathos there, as we see her mind start to slip, and get some glimpse into the deep fear and paranoia that completely overtake her at the end.

-There are just great supporting characters on both sides. Mask is amazing, Fortunata is fantastic. And yeah, Blorbo Supreme Ashleg is here, and I don’t NEED to write a whole essay about him to promote Mossflower as a whole but... having him here is nice! It helps!! May we all follow his example and pursue happier lives for ourselves!!!

-Mossflower laid the foundation for so many events and characters of later books. I mean yeah, it’s a prequel. It’s there to support the first book and by extension, everything that comes after. But so many other great titles in the series have a direct line to Mossflower, from Outcast to Long Patrol to Lord Brocktree and more. Did you enjoy those books? You’re welcome. The threads were already there, just waiting to be expanded upon.

-at one point a wooden leg gets used as a projectile weapon and if you don’t think that’s the best thing ever, I don’t know what else to tell you buddy

[be-my-ally]

Crash Landing

(aka Big Bunny 4)

Wheeew, only 6 months later than I intended! it's 4am and somehow, despite spending forever on this, I fear the grammar may be janky - so apologies for that. This follows directly from The Lisa-Marie, and the masterlist for the series is linked here!

This is the last of the planned ‘main’ chapters, but there are some time jumps in this and the last chapter, so if anyone has any requests for any bunny/elvis one shots pop them into my inbox and I’ll see what I can do. I have a few little plans to fill out some of the gaps, but no promises on when they might appear. 

warnings: 18+, some mild sexism, p in v, oral (v receiving), afab!reader, skiing, allusions to poor health, Elvis is swearing like… a lot in this chapter. Make of that what you will. References to drug use. THIS ENDS IN JULY 1977 - AUGUST IS IMPLIED. wc: 14k I don’t know what to say - there was meant to be a brief skiing interlude and then all of a sudden I’m 10k in and they’re still in Colorado. 

Early 1977  

Linda is gone for good, finally some of the guys would say, and you couldn’t totally say that you disagreed. It had been stressful - the ups and downs of their relationship, being caught in the crossfires. You had enough experience to know it wasn’t really specific to her but nonetheless it had still been somewhat difficult to witness. It had been hard to face her on the jet, knowing what Elvis was saying behind her back; how adamant he was for them to be over. On the way between stops in the October tour he’d sat on the couch on the plane, glistening with the sweat from the show and still dressed in his white jumpsuit with red flames jumping up his chest, he’d tugged you over, uncaring of the others in the room. Telling you that you were the only girl he could trust to have his back, that he didn’t even know why he kept her around. He didn’t seem to remember, and you didn’t care to remind him that he’d told you the same thing back in June too. Every time she’d suddenly reappear - his desperation to be looked after superseding any desire he may have had to say goodbye to her. Why you couldn’t be enough for him you didn’t know. 

Then, almost immediately after Linda’s gone - and, admittedly, briefly before she was too - you’re meeting this new girl, Ginger, albeit rarely. Elvis for some reason putting her on the Jetstar with her family more than with him. In some ways it helps - the fact that she’s not there all the time, in others it makes you feel awful — his rush fiancee and her family seemingly not even willing or wanting to travel with him. It’s mostly a slow season over the winter though and for some reason Georgia is getting more hours than you and so, you’re forced to say goodbye to your examination of the inner workings of his private life until after the New Year break. It ends up being early February before you get a call to come in for one of his vacation whims.  

It feels like it’s been an age since you last saw Elvis even though it had barely been a six weeks, and you felt guilty that it had felt so nice to relax a little. It was hard when you spoke to your friends, and all their careers or mothering sounded so stressful all the time, they were all jealous of your ‘easy’ job, the extra benefits sounding all too impressive.  Where else would you get a new wardrobe paid for? A shiny new car sat outside for you, or an apartment rented? But it was hard to explain without giving away too much, how it was impossible for you to ever really turn off; how you thought about him all the time, worried about him all the time, even when you were at home.  

He hadn’t been difficult to manage the last couple of months of the year, at least, not as bad as the middle and start of the year, but his moods had turned almost overwhelmingly blue, and it had been tricky to level your tone and actions to appropriately comfort him. You’d started feeling on edge every flight, worried and insecure. So, the break had been nice. It had given you a chance to re-evaluate, take a breather and consider what was best for you to do.  

Elvis himself called to wish you a Merry Christmas, he’d been sweet and kind and promised you a gift even as he made small talk that you knew he disliked, even if he was good at it in that southern way, and it had made you hate him just a little. Your chest aching with the feel that he was treating you like a total stranger. It hadn’t improved when you’d returned to your Memphis apartment from your parent’s house and discovered a card had been delivered in your absence. “Season's Greetings, Elvis and the Colonel and Friends.” You’d allowed yourself the briefest of cries staring at yourself in the mirror while the blotchiness crawled up your neck. You were still an ugly crier despite your best efforts. It’s the final straw, you thought to yourself as you stared at your wild eyes and messy hair where you’d tugged your hands through it. You’ll see it through the summer. Then you’re done. That’ll be just enough time to work out what to do next - maybe you’d go back to school. You dried your eyes, patting yourself on the cheeks. That’s it. Decision made. You refused to give it any more thought. Especially, about why you didn’t just quit immediately if you were planning on it later anyway, not willing to admit to yourself you wanted to give him another chance more than anything else. It was just altogether too much, being the girl on the side of the girl on the side, having to balance being his friend, employee and lover. But you’d had your moment, and you were using your trusty technique of just not. thinking. about. it. anymore.  

You were nervous as you tied your little necktie and pulled at your hem from where you were sure your dress had shrunk over the past month, preparing to greet the men loading onto the plane. It was informal, as it normally was, and you looked back somewhat fondly to your days on Big Bunny, where everything was written and handbooked out with the proper procedure for every situation. Now it was just up to you to decide what to do for every eventuality. In this situation you made the brave decision to hide. So, you tuck yourself away in the galley on the other side of the little half wall, waiting until enough of them have boarded that you’ll be forced to peek out and say hello. There were more people loading on than during the last tour, and despite the extra numbers you knew you were handling this mostly alone - Georgia had been unable to come in under such short notice; something about a grandmother. So not only were your nerves shot worrying about when you should tell Elvis you were quitting and how it felt like you were harbouring some awful secret, you were also having to steel yourself to be overworked and run down by the time you were able to get off the plane. When you peek out around the partition you get the first glance of him and you’re a little embarrassed at how you can feel a flush start to rise just from that look.  

He looks not dissimilar to how he did that first day on Big Bunny - open collared shirt and jogging jacket on - this time a navy blue with a baby blue stripe down the shoulder and arm. He looks good - like you could just burrow into him, and you’re relieved that the sudden demand for your appearance isn’t for something panic-inducing from the way he’s smiling and chatting - laughing with Charlie and Joe. You’d been a little concerned that the rapidity of the request was hiding a more sinister origin after a similar call had preceded a rush to the hospital last summer. But he was looking good, really good actually. Somehow his face had lost some of its puffiness it’d been holding onto and he was a far better colour than you’d gotten used to - perhaps a high from the success of his New Year’s concert as he’d been pleased with the reaction and reviews or maybe even just high off the excitement of his, apparently, serious relationship with Ginger. Although, evidently not altogether that serious since she wasn’t joining them; you’d already decided you’d keep your thoughts about that to yourself. You shyly watch him from across the plane where he’s already sat himself down, comfortable in his own space and leaning against the back - his legs spread wide, retelling some story you’ve already heard once before. You take a deep breath before heading around the little partition, fully intending on acting as if you had an important job to do by the door. You managed to keep the ruse up long enough to shut the door and let Ron know you were all set to go, long enough to hand out drinks and cigars and let them all settle in,  but you couldn’t pass directly by him again without him noticing you, and his arm shoots out, grabbing your wrist as you go to walk past. You barely have a chance to notice his hold on you before he’s pulling you in, forcing you to bend over in order to accept a kiss on the cheek in greeting. You can’t explain why you’re so nervous, but you find your tummy flipping at the close proximity to him. With anxiety or excitement, you can’t quite tell. In some ways it’s slightly more forward than you’d expected from him for having not seen him in a month, but perhaps you had just gotten used to him ignoring you in the months prior.  

“Good evening, Elvis.” It’s a fine line between polite and aloof, and you can already tell you’ll be reliving this interaction all night. His eyes are bright with amusement at your formality when he gazes back at you, his thumb still gently stroking over your wrist.   

“Well, it is now.” He grins as you visibly cringe at his cheesiness, “Good evening to you too, honey.” He looks you over as he lets go of your hand, allowing you to stand back up, and eyeing your hemline, “‘re you ready for the cold?”  

“Hopefully it’s not gonna be too cold on the plane,” You stumble over your words in nerves, “but I can always turn the heat up a little - “Elvis shakes his head, 

“Nah, I’ll keep you toasty, hon, snug as a, as a bug.” You struggle to regain your composure as your mind flickers with images of just how he could be keeping you warm.  

“Hmm, I suppose you’ll have to since someone makes me wear this. But I’m pretty well covered anyway.” You grin in response to his smirk when you gesture down at your stockinged legs.  

“Well, that’s real good doll,” He runs a hand through his thick hair, letting a hint of the grey around his temples show as he pushes it back, and you find yourself missing the steadying warmth of his grip, “but you know - we’re stopping in Vail.”  

You pause, unsure how to put it politely, “Mmhmm, that’s what Elwood tells me.” He frowns, leaning back and settling even further into the seat, arm spreading across the back rest and he shifts so his thighs are encasing you.  

“Alright then miss know-it-all, tell me what I was gonna say next.” He stares at you, and it makes your insides twist even as you can feel heat pooling in your stomach.  

“Uhhh,” You struggle, to try and think of what to say that will maintain the teasing playful tone, feeling like you’ve been called on daydreaming in the middle of class with everyone’s eyes on you and simultaneously totally distracted by the feel of his legs against yours. He smirks as you flounder, “Well, perhaps, that you uh,”  

“You can say you don’t know.” He sing-songs it, “Silly little girl like you can’t know everything, huh?” He raises an eyebrow, and you can feel the frustration rise at his teasing,  

“No. I suppose not.” He smiles crookedly, pleased he gets to tell you the next part, even as he explains it like you’re a little slow.  

“I was goin’ to say that I hope you’ve got a coat somewhere…” He pauses for dramatic effect, “since you’re comin’ with us.” Your brain goes blank.  

“Me?”  

“Why not?” He straightens a leg, it, perhaps inadvertently, knocks against yours and you immediately feel your gaze pulled to it, the heat of his thigh against your knee making your head go fuzzy. “Been a while since we’ve been off this plane together.” He’s looking at you hopefully, eyes wide behind his shades and you can feel your insides fizzing with excitement - even as you feel the need to protest,  

“Oh well that’s very kind but -”  

“C’mooon, honey - it’ll be fun! Hot cocoa, and, and skis, and playin’ in the snow.” His leg moves again, the soft cotton blend of his jogging suit catching on your nylons, “Dashin’ through the snow…” Your mouth opens, about to make a Paul Anka joke but one look at his encouraging smile puts you off,  

“Oh, well, like I said, that’s very kind - but I don’t, I don’t have any clothes or coats or boots or -” He cuts you off with a tut, rolling his eyes and shaking his head like you were being particularly stupid.  

“I was only kidding before.” He sounds a little petulant at the suggestion, “You don’t needta worry ‘bout that - we’ll get you sorted out.” He nods, as if you’d already given him your agreement.  

“That’s very generous Elvis, but I don’t know how to ski.”  

“Don’t worry I’ll teach ya!” He seems overwhelmingly confident considering you and he both know he doesn’t know how to ski, “You can just be - hey!” He sits himself back upright in his excitement, knocking against you enough that you shift on your feet, “You can just be my little snow bunny, can’t ya?” He laughs as he says it, and his laughter is infectious - you find yourself giggling along with him,  

“I suppose that would be fitting.” 

“ ‘Sides what else were you gonna do while we were out?”  

“Well…what I normally do - fly home or stay in whatever hotel I’ve had booked for me.” He looks curious for a second, “Sometimes I visit people if we’re close to someone I know.”  

“Do I book ‘em?”  

“Uh. Well. I think maybe your daddy does? Or, whoever’s organising everyone on your behalf yeah, sure.”  

“Oh…” He looks contemplative, before with a frown, “Are they nice?”  

“They’re fine El - it’s normally the same place the band is.” It’s sometimes a shithole but you’re not about to tell Elvis that.  

“Would you - why… did you not wanna come with me?” He half-whispers it and your brain stutters to a halt,  

“What? That’s not, that wasn’t ever an option Elvis.”  

“Well. It is today. Come with us.” He holds out a hand, serious for the first time in the conversation and with his eyes looking at you like that even if you’d wanted to refuse you couldn’t. You nod in agreement, acquiescing to his demand. 

 “C’mere then.” He tugs you down against him and you wriggle into place on his lap, the fabric of his trousers catching on your nylons as you settle against his sturdy thighs. He rubs gently at your calf, his thumb and forefinger encircling your ankle and you feel yourself relax out of your self-consciousness to enjoy the closeness.  

You laugh at a terrible joke at Joe’s expense and Elvis’ legs shake underneath you as you collapse against him in a fit of giggles. Your giggles taper off as you feel him twitch against your thigh. You school your face but can’t stop yourself turning to look at him in surprise, and more than a little excitement. His expression is unchanged, and you wiggle almost imperceptibly, come out, come out and play. It twitches again, and Elvis shifts as if in discomfort, you glance around but no one else seems to be paying you any attention - already distracted by something or someone else so you feel comfortable you’re not about to get caught as you try to wriggle your hand down to him. He immediately clamps an arm around your waist, holding you tight in place - your arm caught between you both. He looks down at you amused and you bite your lip - a pretty pitiful attempt at seduction,  

“Shh.”  

You indicate to the bedroom, more than a little disappointed when he shakes his head. “Later baby.”  

He keeps you trapped on his lap, making it impossible for you to go and do anything, making the boys make their own drinks even when they try and ask you. Even when you try to whisper that you need to get up, he holds you there, gently soothing you back into compliance with a press of his lips, a whispered promise, a stroke of his fingers.  

“Elvis I really hafta get up - we’ll be comin’ down soon and I’ve gotta make sure - “ 

“It’ll be fine baby, don’t worry ‘bout it.”  

“Well, we can’t just sit here forever - at the very least I’ll have to go and open the doors.”  

“Shit baby, Ron or Jim or God, I’m sure even fucking Elwood can manage that. No offense doll but I think they might even be more qualified at it than you. Besides I ain’t payin you to open doors.”  

You push off his chest, turning to face him and interjecting before he can even continue that thought,  

“You sure as hell aren’t paying me to keep you ‘company’ either.” He rolls his eyes,  

“We’ve been through this, I don’t give a fuck about the plane or anything else. Your job is to care for me.” His eyes burn behind his shades, and the intensity of his frown takes you a little by surprise. You stroke the wrinkle on his brow,  

“‘m sorry but look - I have a couple of things I have to do and anyway you’re gonna have to put a seatbelt on in a second, because it’ll get bumpy - and if you hit your head, I’m not being responsible for it.” You wag one of the heavy gold seatbelts at him and he sighs,  

“Well, fine, but you’re mine soon as we land. No excuses then.” His hand strokes your thigh, and your tummy flips,  

“No excuses. I’ll be yours as long as you want me.” There’s a hum, and you both suddenly realise Larry has come a lot closer than before, “Your hostess I mean.”  

——————————— 

Ron patted your arm as you disembarked with the others. “Remember we’ll be there soon too,” He looks at you, “We’re staying at Betty’s aunt’s place, but I’m sure we’ll be invited round.” You nod, reading between the lines and you smile, 

“I’ll bear that in mind.” 

“You do that. Have fun.” He winks, disappearing back into the cockpit and you take a breath before rejoining the group dispersing into a collection of cars.  

“What’s she doin’?” The whisper travels as you climb into the car, Larry and Joe start to reply but Elvis jumps in before either could get their words out too.  

“Goddamnit,” He kicks the seat in front although it certainly wasn’t Joe who had piped up, “She’s coming too - so shut yer fuckin’ mouth before I shut it for you.”  He shouts out the open door and slamming it shut. He slides across the bench seat to be pressed close against you, his hand curling over your thigh.  

You smile shyly, pleased when Shirley turns around to smile at you, you weren’t her biggest fan - she’d never been overly friendly, but at least she was now acknowledging you.  

A whirlwind shopping excursion ensued while Elvis sent the other car to scout out where he wanted to stay. You were a little taken aback, but not altogether surprised, that he’d demanded the trip on such a whim that he hadn’t even secured proper accommodation, but he did a fairly good job of explaining himself while you were being sent back and forth from different stores for the appropriate clothing.  

“The thing is …” You kind of zone out while he talks, the story leading from one to another, before returning to the actual point he was trying to get to, but you appreciate the rumble of his voice and the gossipy tone that makes you feel a part of his exclusive little group. You manage to capture the gist though; that he was pretty sure they could stay at the same lodge as last time, because it was a friends but he hadn’t actually asked - since the decision to go away hadn’t been made until yesterday, and that he couldn’t see any reason why not - but if they had problem with it there was surely other, bigger better lodges to stay that would be overjoyed to host him.  

You were tired by the time he decreed that you finally had a suitable wardrobe and he looked over the collection of bags with satisfaction, although - despite the three other coats he bought you, he still felt the need to lament that it was a; 

“Damn near trav’sty,  none of these backwater stores have white fur. Can’t be a proper little snow bunny,” He sighs, “Joe - make sure we order her one for next time.”  

Your chest glows at the nonchalant way he says it - like he just expects you to be there again. Like it’s no big deal. The other car returns with good news, and they all filter up to the same lodge as the year before. 

“I reckon Ron and Bob’ll regret being such fucking, well, they’ll regret it anyhow now - once they see this and know they could’ve been here too.” You don’t know what to say, so you stick with saying nothing and Elvis tuts and shakes his head, shifting to stare out of the window, although he doesn’t pull his hand away from where you’re making little circles on his palm.  

It’s dark and late outside, and yet Elvis demands everyone get suited up to go and play in the snow, and everyone is in high enough spirits not to protest. You’ve not yet had a lesson though, and as you pull on your brand-new ski suit you playfully refuse to even entertain the prospect of heading anywhere on actual skis - Elvis doesn’t seem to be disappointed, grinning at you under his mask and gesturing for you to clamber onto the back of his snowmobile.  

Despite his promises on the plane, things never did, that first night, progress past heavy petting in the bedroom - but it was something just to have his thick weight next to you in the bed, laughing and joking as he pressed kisses down your face and throat. His little huffs of laughter as you returned the favour tickling his chest made you feel the same pleasurable contentment as if he’d decided to fuck you for hours.  

It was rare, recently, for him to be in such high spirits and still lucid - and you couldn’t help but wonder whether Dr Nick had managed to work out the exact right combination of drugs to keep him perfectly stable, or if he was contributing more placebos. Either way, you weren’t privy to their intimate conversations, nor allowed to witness his daily dosing. The most you saw was the little pills he put into his palm, twice as many as he tipped into yours, before bed and in the morning alongside the occasional couple that he nonchalantly explained them away simply as “Jus’ a little painkiller.” Shrugging his shoulders.  But either he was being a lot sneakier - and you weren’t sure you should be viewing that as a good thing - or he was finally listening to concern and easing himself off a little.  

It felt like it had in those first few weeks after you’d met him - carefree and fun. And somehow you felt yourself relaxing from the tense feeling you’d had since the start of last year. The worries falling off of your shoulders. You spent the first two days joined at the hip - not even really partaking in the snow sports on offer; snuggling up on the snowmobile and then taking yourselves off to curl up in the lodge instead.  

The third day, or really night - since as always with Elvis you soon found your days and nights flipped around - he was ecstatic about the fresh, perfect snow and clear weather and you’d all been sent out to play.  

It felt like a long night by the time Elvis was happy to let everyone return to the house. He hadn’t even joined you on the slopes properly, instead choosing to order everyone about from the comfort of his snowmobile.   

“C’mon fellas - get into a line! Go on! I’ll chase ya!”  

“For god’s sake Billy, move it along! You nearly made me take your whole damn leg off!” A pause, before raucous laughter ensued, “Again!”  

Still, you hadn’t minded this turn of events since it meant you hadn’t had to try and remember your rushed and hurried lesson on the nursery slopes that afternoon. Instead, you’d given it one go accompanied by his shouts of laughter at your falling,  

“How’d a dancer get to be so goddamn clumsy?”  

“I wasn’t a dancer!” You’d protested from your position flat on your back in the snow.  

“You danced real pretty for me though doll.” You rolled your eyes, scrambling back to your feet, trying not to pout as you brushed yourself off, he shook his head laughing once more before shouting back at you.  

“Aw now darlin’, that ain’t a pretty sight. C’mon, better hop onto the back of here, it’ll be a bit safer for you.” He’d said it through giggles, and you felt the determination to get down by yourself rise up again,  

“That won’t be necessary!” You attempted to take off again, and just as you were attempting to straighten your skis, about 12 feet from where you had last fallen, you were on your side again in the snow. Elvis didn’t give you a choice this time, angrily killing the engine completely and storming over as best he could through the thick snow, yanking you up by your arm and dusting you off himself.  

“‘S not the time to be stubborn, C’mon now.” You can’t see his facial expression, obscured by his layers and the dark but you can hear that his annoyed words would be accompanied by tightly knitted eyebrows and a frown. 

“I can do it.” You angrily pulled your arm out of his grasp, the momentum immediately making you start to lose your balance again, and Elvis catches you before you could fall for a third time. 

“For heaven’s sake,” You can practically hear his eyes roll, accompanied by a sigh as he tries to change tact, “I’m sure you can, but it’s dark, and you’ve already tripped twice.” You frown, and he placates, a soothing hand rubbing down your arm, “I just, I just worry about you baby, c’mon, let me look after you - you’re liable to break - no no no, don’t look at me like that,” His hand comes up to cup your face, “I just care about you s’all, don’t want you to get hurt.” He says it so honestly and affectionately that you find yourself nodding in agreement, and truthfully, despite your obstinance, you couldn’t have agreed more - you probably would break a leg if he’d let you go on. He grins at you, “There we are, you know it makes sense, don’t you - there’s my good little bunny. C’mon then, hop to it,” He pats your ass encouragingly, although the padding makes the action redundant, and you slowly make your way over to the snowmobile. 

You climbed onto the back slightly awkwardly, almost reluctant to be too close in front of all the guys, despite your cuddling the days before - they’d always been a little more distracted by their own activities to spend much time assessing yours. But Elvis yanked your arm around at the first possible chance, patting your hand where it lay against his padded stomach and tugging you to press yourself against him. You were getting a little bored, and nervous, of all the commotion so you found yourself totally content to curl against his body for warmth and tuck your chin into his shoulder. Despite your brand-new base layers, and soft down ski suit, there had still been enough of a chill in the night air, and from laying in the cold snow, that you were eager to be as close as possible. Elvis’ figure was more padded than you were used to feeling him, his coat also puffy and filled with down. You took immense pleasure in squeezing him tightly enough that you felt the padding compress, eager hands trying to find his body underneath. You found yourself considering, as one hand came to play with the little hairs escaping his mask and goggles at the base of his neck, that it was a damn shame you were both so covered up, since you couldn’t smell him. If you’d been less love-drunk on him you’d have been amazed at yourself; at thinking it was a damn shame, you were unable to smell an undoubtedly sweaty man.  

You have no idea how long you spent on the back of the snowmobile, hands roving all over him; only that you quickly lost all sense of self-consciousness and instead felt a rising feeling of possession. A dangerous feeling if ever there was one, but enough that you felt your manicured hands staking their claim, rubbing over his arms and back. Elvis seemed to be enjoying it, shifting to be closer to you whenever you moved away, and patting at your arm.  

When he finally, at speeds far too reckless for the early morning night sky, drove you back to the lodge he barely said a word to the rest of the group grabbing your hand and pulling you straight to the master bedroom. It was exciting and, whilst you were almost reluctant to get your hopes up too high, your thighs had been clenching of their own accord for the past hour and you could feel the dampness of your underwear against your warm delicate skin - it was impossible not to; you’d been on edge for hours.  

He’s sweaty from his layers, his red face revealed when he pulls his ski mask and goggles off, there’s a hint of stubble coming through and his face looks alive, cheeks plump with his grin. You were happy to be back in the comfort of the wood-panelled bedroom, although its cozy feel belied the chill that seemed to remain in the air of the wintry cabin. Elvis doesn’t say anything as he concentrates on taking off layer after layer until he’s mostly down to his bare, pinkened skin. You smile when it’s revealed he hadn’t backed down from his childlike refusal to wear proper base layers, silk shirt coming into view but at least you can tell from the sweat patches and his damp skin that he’d certainly been warm enough. You feel like you’re melting from the inside out from the sheer fondness overtaking you until he tugs it over his head, an unusual lack of care shown to it.  You meet his eyes in pleased surprise, and you’re further taken aback at how he manages to make his eyes twinkle so much, playfully glittering in the low light of the room. You can see his smirk growing as your eyes travel down his bare chest, an involuntary noise spilling out of your mouth. It’s been so long since you had the chance to stare at him like this. Elvis gestures at you, disrupting your intense focus, and you suddenly realise you’ve been standing still staring at him for almost too long, so you rapidly start to unboot yourself. You don’t get any further than kicking your shoes off before Elvis is suddenly in front of you. He brushes your hands off of yourself, fingering at your zipper himself. He twirls it between his fingers, ever so gently with one hand - the other coming to distract you from the anticipation by cupping your face, drawing you around to look into your eyes.  

Elvis’ hair has always been long enough for you to run your fingers through, but it seems to have grown almost thicker, and you inch even closer to stroke his cheeks, pushing back his hair - frizzy from its woollen containment. Despite Larry’s accompaniment on the trip when you brush back the hair at his temples you can see the same hint of grey starting to show through as before, and you can’t resist stroking the strands there.   

He smiles at you, pulling you into him to kiss you, making you breathless. As soon as you were distracted, he was unzipping the jacket of your snowsuit, shoving it off your shoulders and down to your waist. It falls to your feet by itself and you immediately pull off your under layers. It simultaneously feels frenzied but also slower than before; like both of you couldn’t wait even though you knew you had the chance to take your time. You lean back so he can tug your undershirt over your head, barely breaking contact with his lips. He pulls back, grinning, after fiddling with your bra clasp, the straps falling from your shoulders. Soon you’re practically nude, your naked chest pressed against his.  

He feels solid against you; it’s been a long time since you both had the opportunity to take your time like this, and his body feels slightly different than before. He still had that uniquely Elvis feel but he was sturdier, and though you doubted it could possibly be true, it felt as if his soft carpet of chest and stomach hair had grown larger, trailing down into the swell of his stomach like a tantalising arrow. He’s surer of himself than he was the last time you found yourself naked with him, reminding you of how he was back on Big Bunny, his broad yet slender hands firmly spanning your sides. You couldn’t help but wonder if you were finding him so attractive because it had been a while, or if it really was just that he always looks good. Any thought was swept from your mind though when he recaptures your mouth, his lips soft and firm against yours, and his tongue insistently presses past yours in a way that could only be described as eager.  

The movement of your chests against each other is enough for you to gasp against him - desperately moving to be closer, trying to practically become one with him. You can feel him smile at your desperate noises, before he moves a little. One of his hands slide down to rest at your waist, the other encircling your wrist. He holds it at your side, your other arm is trapped between you, and you whine at him between gasping breaths that it’s not fair, “C’mon El, that’s unfair, let me touch you,” He grins against your cheek, his spare hand moving to palm up at you.  

Elvis presses a kiss against the side of your mouth, and as you start to voice your protests at his movement he mutters, “I just need - let me light the fire, hon.” against your skin, the vibration of his voice causing you to shiver. He pulls away with a final tug to your bottom lip, and you find yourself pouting at the loss of his heat. You fold your arms across your chest, a little self-conscious now he’s moved away and besides it was slightly chilly, but you couldn’t bear to let him leave you - besides weren’t you about to warm each other up? Although, maybe you were more ready than he was; as he was soft still, and the thought of him tending to the fire - the domesticity of the combination made your stomach clench perhaps more than if he’d been hard and ready to go. But still, you were reluctant to allow him to move away.  

“I’m sure I’m hot enough,” He shakes his head, kissing your hand as he lets go of you entirely, “Honestly - we-we’ll be under the covers in a moment anyway, and I’m, I’m already burning babe.” But he’s already wandered over to the fireplace; thankfully it had been left pretty well set-up, and all that really has to be done is the physical lighting of the kindling already in place and you console yourself with the knowledge that it should only take a few seconds.   

“Not gonna let my bitty baby bunny get cold, hims gotta take care of herses.” He mutters seemingly mostly to himself although he was more than loud enough for you to hear. It does the job he intended it to, and you can feel yourself start to melt in response. He glances back at you as he crouches by the fireplace.  

“Hadta do this in the army baby,” You start to laugh at his tangent, “Yeah I did!” He ardently refutes your chuckle, “- with none of these fancy tools,” He’s holding up a box of firelighters, “No siree, just two sticks and a rock and I could light anything up.” You giggle, finding the situation all the more amusing when you notice he seems to be struggling to light it now. He keeps trying with the book of matches from the side, but for some reason they just won’t seem to take and he huffs, swearing, standing himself back up from his kneeling position to storm over to his jacket, fumbling in his pocket for one of his lighters. Your jaw drops as you watch him reach inside the fire to hold one of the crumbling firelighters in his hand, and he lights it to the accompaniments of your shrieks and admonishments;  

“Elvis! Oh god put that down! You’ll set your - oh lord, you’ll set your chest on fire doing that!” He turns to grin at you, before swearing as the fire licks his fingers, throwing the flaming chunk into the fire, and finally - finally watching as the kindling starts to flicker.  

“Told you, honey, no problem at all.” He shrugs his shoulders, but your heart rate hasn’t yet levelled back out and you can’t help but continue to scold him.  

“Jesus, what would I have told everyone! I swear -” He stands up, away from the fire now crackling to life, holding his hands out placatingly,  

“No, no, no,” He grins, “No sweat, baby, I knew what I was doin’.” He’s got that boyish glint in his eyes, happy as only a man who has achieved a stupidly primal action like lighting a fire or setting off a firework can be, and when you continue to scold him he suddenly rushes at you, knocking you off your feet and sending you tumbling together onto the bed. His broad arms come around you, holding you like a movie starlet swooning in his arms.  

“Shhhh…. honey, bunny, I knew what I was doin’ ok? You see, I was just foolin’ around, pretendin’ I couldn’t light it - you know, just messin’ with you a little, just - just for fun.” You snort in disbelief, although you’re quickly distracted as he kisses the crook of your neck, following an invisible line down to your shoulder and back up to your neck, one of his hands coming to hold the back of your neck while the other traces circle on your stomach. You gasp, and you can feel his grin against you.  

“El—vis, oh - god, you can, let me get these off - please,” and you wriggle out of your panties, shoving them to your knees and kicking them off, when you manage to flick them off of your ankle  your legs return to the bed, slightly more parted than before, desperately inviting Elvis to do more.  

“You believe me don’t you honey?” His fingertips dance over you,  

“Wha-” He repeats the question, 

“You believe me, right, bunny? Y’know I could’ve lit it in seconds?”  his fingers trace below your belly button.  

“Uh, yeah, yeah, of course - who needs firelighters! Not Elvis!” He grins at you, and the sight of it makes you tease further, “Boy, you could, you could,” You giggle breathlessly, “You could make it a part of your show, you know - what can’t Elvis set on fire?!” You do a jazz hands gesture for emphasis. Elvis throws his head back in laughter, his head hitting the pillows and you wriggle in pleased amusement next to him for a moment before he sits back up,  

“Oh ho - you take that back, little girl,” His fingers prod into you, tickling your sides and you scrunch up as you giggle more,  

“I take it - oh! I take it back! You did, you did an excellent job.” He nods in self-satisfaction,  

“Now,” his hands soothe the pinkened skin from where he’d jabbed into you, “Let me make you feel good, baby.” Elvis leans up and over you, cupping your face to pull you into another, deep, kiss while his hand finally travels down past your navel, brushing over your inner thighs. Your hips jerk up, as if offering yourself up to him. You can feel his arousal growing against your thigh, twitching like the little bunny nose he claimed you had. 

“Lord, bunny, you’re so soft, can barely feel ya, s’like silk down here I swear to god.” Your eyes slip closed, your back arching at the feel of his soft pads sliding through the silky wetness of your folds, and your legs opening a little wider of their own accord in invitation, begging him to go lower or higher or something. When all of a sudden you feel a chill at the loss of his presence as he moves away. Your eyes flutter back open to see him, bare ass on show, bent over and poking at the fire - adding an additional log that immediately crackles and spits, onto the top.  

“El-Elvis.” The situation catches you by surprise; to be abandoned in favour of fiddling with a fire could be seen as a little offensive in some ways, but it tickles you and the giggles overcome you before you can ask what exactly he was playing at.  

“Ah, sorry honey, I didn’t mean to leave you hanging’ there but it was in danger of goin’ out.” He runs his hand through his hair as he stands back up, his hands falling to just below his hips for a second while he surveys the fire - making doubly sure he’d gotten it set up.  He stretches, and you admire the muscles in his back as they move with his arms for a moment. He turns and stalks back over to the bed - immediately jumping beside you, bouncing you up before he gathers you back into his arms. His hand reaching across you to cling you to him, arm over your waist, finger barely brushing a nipple.  

“You should worry about me going out at this rate -” He laughs at you, rubbing his thick fingers down your sides.  

“Ohh-ho, but baby, bunny, I thought you were burnin’ for me? “He does his famous lip movement, somewhat self-deprecatingly, “just a...” He moves his hips next to you, “burnin’ love. Uh-huh? Bunny love?” You bite your lip at him - it was funny, but more than anything you can feel the arousal growing again in the pit of your stomach. He smiles at you, not expecting a response before he shakes his head, leaning over to press a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth before flopping back to stretch out on his back. You roll with him, lazily kissing his chest. It’s the most relaxed you’ve felt with him in months, maybe even in the past year.  

He slides his hand back down, one of his long, thicker but still fundamentally slender, fingers preceding the others. You’re more than ready for him, and while your hips move in response to him pressing it past your entrance it’s not enough for the desire burning inside you.  

“’S no good - can I - are you, are you ready for me?” He looks at you a little surprised,  

“Yeah, sure, just - how d’you want the pillows.” He makes as if to get up and move himself off of his back, but you stop him with a hand to his chest. Your fingertips tweak his nipple, just the tiniest bit and you take pleasure in his open-mouthed reaction; perhaps a little surprised at your initiative and he looks wide-eyed when you tell him,  

“Well, maybe I could…uhh..y’know,” You gesture vaguely towards his cock, he blinks at you, “Climb on?” His mouth stays open for a moment before he seems to remember himself, remember that such an offer shouldn’t seem a surprise to him. If you had the brain power to think you would consider it a little sad; the confidence he’d had on Big Bunny in comparison to now. He shakes his head, even as he settles back against the headboard, seeming to recollect himself, smirking.  

“Sure thing, honey, I just thought women didn’t like doin’ any of the work.” You roll your eyes, not bothering to mention that this wasn’t even the first time you’d ridden him, but still, you swing your leg over him and with a helping hand from him to position himself you settle down, your thighs straining over the breadth of his lap. You immediately regret your decision to face him when you realise it means he’s watching your face almost too closely, and you say a silent prayer of thanks that you had had enough experience with him that you weren’t overly intimidated.  He holds himself steady, letting you sink yourself down onto the sturdy length of him. His own face screws up, falling back onto the pillow behind him at the feel of the warmth of your wet heat pressing down onto him. You struggle for balance for a second, before your hands find their way onto his shoulders for a moment while you adjust to him. It’s been a while, a fact Elvis points out as he gasps at you that,  

“Oh - lord, Jesus, honey, you been waitin’ for me? Ain’t - God, takin’ me so goddamn perfectly; feels just right for little Elvie, such a good little bunny, all for me.” Your hands scramble down his chest to his, admittedly thicker and softer middle, to push back and hold yourself up.  

“Elvis - you feel, oh, I, I’ve missed this,” You shudder around him,  

“Can tell,” He huffs as you start to lift up on your knees, “Can tell you’ve been so good for me, huh baby,” He grips your hipbones, “just a itty bitty baby bun bein’ good for me, holdin’ on jus for me.” You moan at the feel of the different angle he hits inside of you from this position, and as you find your momentum rising up and rocking yourself back down you feel your confidence growing.  

“Oh, uh-huuh, good girl, oh lord that’s sexy…” You moan in response as you lean backwards a little, encouraging him to come up to play with your breasts. It amuses you how he still tweaks and pulls like a teen in the back of his daddy’s car, yet somehow, he manages to get the pressure just right, grinning at you knowingly as he licks his fingertips before bringing them back to your nipples twisting them just enough that the combination sends a rush of wetness. It’s a distraction for a second, but mere moments later and your thighs are screaming at you. Unlike on Big Bunny though this time you’re determined to see it through, and you blink through half-closed eyes at him, his own sweaty face staring back at you, mouth-open. Your hands paw at his chest, struggling to find something to grip to get the leverage you need, fingertips scratching at his chest hair, and Elvis eventually puts his hands back to your waist, his own hips moving to help you bounce on him.  

You can no longer bring yourself to care about how you look - entirely lost in the sensations - groaning a little in annoyance as your hair falls over your face and into your eyes. You struggle to try and brush it away while still keeping your balance and momentum but quickly you feel Elvis’ hands move from your waist, one large sweaty paw coming up to push your hair off your face, his thumb stroking down your cheek after it’s tucked back. You let him slip it past your mouth as you rock onto him, moaning against his soft skin. His mouth stays open watching you with heated eyes,   

“C’mon now, mama, finish the job.” You nod rapidly, his thumb tumbling out of your mouth, and he trails the spit-soaked digit down to rub along your thigh, letting his hips jerk into you, rolling with the movement. His hand sinks down, and your hands come to his shoulders as he starts to roll his thumb against your clit, his hand resting on the joint of your thigh and his other coming to back down to clutch at your hipbone. You’re almost there when you feel his hand suddenly pause as his hips thrust up more aggressively than before - more like how he used to perform and you’re about to shriek in protest, tell him off for stopping you right at the precipice, until you see his face screwed up, perfect lips open.  

“Oh - Oh, fuck, fu-fu-uck.” He stutters the word, relief palpable, as if releasing after an immeasurable time. His hand moves back to play with you, his thumb moving rapidly, rubbing exactly over the right spot and it’s almost too much, the overstimulation making you lose your words as he slips and slides it back and forth. You’re begging him for something, although you’re not sure what and he praises you as you grind against him.  

“That’s it, that’s it,” Elvis is breathless still as he encourages you, “C’mon bunny, you can give it to me baby, c’mon baby, c’mon.” He’s growling in your ear and you fall forward, his softening cock rubbing wetly against your folds as you land against his chest. His voice is enough to tip you over the edge, and you find yourself rutting against him, gasping into his collarbone before going stiff, stomach muscles and thighs convulsing as you twitchingly hurtle through an orgasm.  “Shit.” He swipes his thumb over you again and you flinch away, but he pulls it away himself, shushing you before he pats his other hand onto your back and you jolt at what amounted to a an unintentionally heavy thump, his thumb stroking and soothing you back to quiet. His lips press against your shoulder blade, I love you it feels like he whispers against your skin, and you shout it back to him in your mind.  

The next day you think to get ahead of Elvis, sending him to go and play with the guys while you rush back into the house, claiming a headache and a desire for an early night. You’ve lit the fire by the time he gets in and while you’d debated waiting for him naked and ready, you’d grown too self-conscious in his absence, so you were tucked under the covers; supposedly reading his book he’d left on the nightstand although you’d done more listening out for their return than actual reading.  

You can hear him shouting to the boys on his way through, no regard for the idea that you might be asleep. He comes bounding through the door, coming to an abrupt halt at the sight of you. The door falling closed behind him with a clunk.  

“You waitin’ up for me, bunny?” You swallow, trying your best at seduction, shoving the covers off to unveil your lingerie clad body,  

“Uh-huh,” You nod, “Waiting and waiting just for you.” He grins, unzipping his jacket and starting to stalk towards you. The fire crackles and he pauses, his head turning to look at it.  

“Oh. You lit it without me?” Your mind runs in circles as you try to work out his tone,  

“Um, yeah - it was cold, so…” He frowns, looking back at you, huffing as he shoves off his jacket entirely, you come to the realisation that he’s actually a little annoyed, “I, I, just thought it would save you a job - you know, it would all be done, and you could just…” You gesture down yourself. He doesn’t respond, finishing stripping himself off and collecting up his pyjamas to take them into the bathroom with him. 

“Elvis? You’re not, don’t be mad at me - I really was just trying to be helpful.” He shakes his head,  

“I’m not mad, baby.” Elvis disappears into the bathroom leaving you to squirm on the bed, your tummy in knots. You’ve put his book back on his nightstand and have tucked yourself back under the sheets, feeling too exposed to stay as you were, by the time he comes back out clearly ready for bed himself. He throws back the sheets, climbing in,  

“I-I like doin’ it honey, honest -” He opens up his arms for you to curl into, “I know the place has proper heat and all, but it just feels more, uh, atmospheric, doesn’t it?”  

“I know El, that’s, that’s why I lit it?” He hums against the top of your head,  

“I know sweetheart, uh, thank you, but I like taking care of you.” You nod in understanding, trying not to be too disappointed that your attempt at doing something nice seemed to have derailed your night. “So, what did you think?” He nods towards his book, 

“Oh, I- I barely got a chapter in, I didn’t wanna lose your place,” You settle against his chest, 

“Oh no, honey, I’ve - I’ve read it over and over, not got a place to lose - you go right ahead.” You mumble a thank you, but make no attempt to move, “Or I could read it to you?” His hand strokes your back, and you nod your head against his chest,  

“That would be nice - yes, thank you.”  

“Did you like it?”  

“Mmhmm…. what, what do you like about it?” He never picks the book back up and you happily drift off to the sounds of his deep voice rumbling on about his spiritual conclusions from the text.  

——————————— 

The next morning you find yourself waking up much earlier than everyone else, and you end up unable to fall back to sleep. You eye the bottle of pills on Elvis’ nightstand, but you would be too nervous to take something without waking him up and he looks so peaceful, gently snuffling beside you. Instead, you end up pottering about in the kitchen, making yourself a drink and curling up onto the couch in the living room with his book. An hour or so later Billy stumbles across you on his own hunt for a cup of coffee, and it’s almost awkwardly silent for a second as he stares at you from across the room. You’re just about to ask if there was something he wanted you to do when he breaks the silence first,  

“You know…he’s really going for Ginger.” He looks you up and down, “But, you could - well, what I mean to say is that the boys like you.” You’re taken aback, unsure what he even means by that, and you stumble over your response,  

“Oh, I don’t - I don’t wanna step on anyone’s toes or anything, you know I’m just - I’ve never been skiing so Elvis asked and -” He cuts you off mid-sentence,  

“Look I’m not saying you’ve gotta go around acting like you’re off the streets, but just you know. If you wanted,” He gestures in the general direction of the hallway and Elvis’ bedroom. “I’m sure… well I know I wouldn’t protest.” You swallow hard as you try to consider the correct response.  

“That’s very kind of you to say. I appreciate it.” You’re a little nervous this is a test and while part of you wants to bombard him with questions about what the issue is with Ginger - and does he really think you have a chance with Elvis? Like his girlfriend? You’re not sure how much will get back to Elvis and you’d rather be painted as cold than desperately vying for Ginger’s spot.  Part of you cringes at the implication that all the guys were out discussing his relationships; that they all thought they knew best, on the other hand the little you’d seen of Ginger did little to change your perception from the same as theirs. She seemed nice enough, but Elvis certainly seemed a lot more hot and heavy than her. Even if there hadn’t been a lot of hot and heavy lately - except, apparently with you.  

Later, when everyone but Elvis was up and despite everyone else’s protestations (and Billy’s attempts) you stayed firm in your resolve not to let them light the fire in even the main room. If Elvis wanted to do it and liked doing it, you were going to be damn sure it was there for him to do. It was storming quite heavily outside, and while you waited for Elvis to wake up, you’d all decided it was best to hang around inside.  

You settled down on the floor by the coffee table to set up some cards, pretending to be nonchalant about where you’d placed yourself even as you hoped your position would put you exactly by his legs, and the perfect distance for optimum warmth from the, soon to be lit, fire. Elvis chooses that moment to walk in from the bedroom, in yet another strange silk shirt and tracksuit combination.  

“Hi doll,” He bends over to press a kiss the top of your head, and you lean up into it. He rubs his hands together in an exaggerated motion as if for warmth when he stands back up.  

 “Shit. It’s fucking freezing in here.” He looks around, “Why’d no-one light the fire?” They all turn to glare at you, and you start to explain, stumbling over your words.  

“Yesterday! Yesterday - you, you were offended, when I - I just thought you’d enjoy it!” You protest, and Elvis stares at you, eyes narrowing as if you were the white witch putting the cabin into permanent winter. 

“Offended! Lord, the whole goddamn world will be fuckin’ offended when I can’t sing for shit b’cause I’ve caught pneu-neu-monia and my throat’s scratched to all hell!”  

“Oh, I didn’t - I mean, the main heat is on - I didn’t think…” He ignores you to plop himself down opposite to where you were sitting, miles away from where you’d been planning and anticipating for him to sit. Elvis angrily gestures towards the fire and both Ed and Dick rush towards it, making sure it was lit quickly. You can feel the other girls look at you sympathetically, even as you desperately try to avoid everyone else’s eye, annoyed and upset at being publicly scolded. It’s bad enough for Elvis to be pissed off with you in public, you didn’t need their pity too. It felt like you were being judged for not knowing how to deal with him like this, you can feel some of them - Joe and Shirley for sure - rolling their eyes at you, but you didn’t know better; every time he’d been annoyed in the past you could escape with the excuse of needing to get something from the galley or you were alone in the bedroom together - and you could use other methods to soothe him. But to be in this situation in public was completely unchartered territory, and though you knew everyone there had to be aware of your relationship and situation, it still made you uncomfortable to be having an argument out in the open. At the first opportunity you have you excuse yourself, claiming another headache and shaking your head at Dr Nick’s offers of painkillers you head off to the bedroom. 

Elvis comes barging in an hour or so later, and you flinch at the bang of the door against the wall, already bracing yourself to be accused of sulking or some other continuation of the argument but you remain where you lay in bed, on your side facing away from the doorway and try to concentrate on the words on the page of his book again. He sighs, and just as loudly as he’d opened it he slams the door closed. He makes his way over to you, sitting on the other side of the bed and looking over at you.  

“My little bunny isn’t mad at me is she?” His tone is almost contrite, and you immediately roll yourself over to look at him. He’s got a boyish look on his face and you can feel yourself starting to melt, but you’re not entirely ready to forgive him yet.  

“I’m not mad at you Elvis.” He frowns, titling his head like a confused golden retriever. He lets his head flop into his shoulder as he peers at you.  

“Come on baby, you know I didn’t mean it.” You hum back at him, trying hard not to be swayed by his expressive blue eyes. He clambers up onto the bed, to cuddle into the side of you, running a finger down your arm, “Oh you can’t be mad at me, bunny can’t be mad at him - not when he yuvs her so so much,” He curls his arm around you to tug you closer to him, and you struggle not to smile as he continues baby-talking you, “not his bitty bunny,” He presses a kiss into your arm, shifting himself to place several leading up the back of your neck, and then leaning over to press them against your shoulder, he murmurs against your skin, “she wouldn’t ever be mad at him, his bitty, baby, bunny who he yuvs…” Your heart clenches. You know he’s manipulating you, and you’re still embarrassed, but he sounds so sincere. Even if he’s only saying it so he doesn’t have to outright apologise Elvis suggesting he loves you in any way is enough to make you forgive him.  

“I’m not mad at you, I promise.” You roll around to look at him, staring into his eyes, “I swear Elvis - I’m not. I’m sorry for trying to control the situation.”  

“Nah, nah you were just, you were just tryin’ to take care of me - I see that, let me, let me make it up to you baby,” His fingers glide over your stomach and sides, toying with the waistband of the corduroy trousers you were wearing. He looks deep into your eyes, searching for something, and he smiles a moment later, “C’mon bunny, lemme make you feel good. Let hims make it up to hers.” His fingers wriggle under the waistband while the other pops the buttons and you lift your hips to allow him to take them off.   

He presses his lips to yours, ever so briefly, and you try to chase him even as he pulls away, his palm holding you down while he moves his mouth down your neck. He sucks a bruise onto your collarbone, and you shift in his grip, rubbing your thighs together as he laps at the little maroon mark. He sits up, settling himself between your legs but keeps his hand on your stomach, its wide span pinning you against the bed. No rings this time to dig into your skin, just the intimate feel of his fingers flexing against your abdomen. He brings his other to pat your legs apart. You flop onto your back, unable to stay in a crunch staring at him, the look on his face as he stares at your pussy too much to take.  

You’ve been tense waiting for him, and though you feel yourself automatically relax into his thick hands you still worry momentarily that it’s going to be hard to get you to finish. You don’t want to disappoint him, and you open your mouth to tell him as much when his rough tongue laps at your soft folds, twirling around your clit. His tongue has lost none of its finesse, and he has no difficulty, with the help of two of his fingers to bring you to the brink within a few minutes.  He laps against you, sideburns tickling your inner thighs, for what feels like forever and you’re struggling to keep your legs open and not wrap your thighs around his head, contenting yourself with tangling your fingers into his hair, holding him into place with the little strength you could muster. He’s not quiet when he does this - Elvis never is, uttering his own pleased little hums that seem to harmonise with your own, much louder moans and curses, the vibrations rebounding around your core. It’s not long before he sits up, mouth glistening - clearly ever so pleased with himself while you pant away the white spots behind your eyes.  

“There’s a good girl now.” He pats at you, “C’mon back out now - ‘s no good sulking in here.” And though you never were sulking you find yourself tiredly nodding at his instruction, more than willing to do whatever he asks of you, boneless and biddable.  

——————————— 

It’s strange when you get back home - It felt like you’d been away for months, wrapped up in your little Elvis vacation bubble, and yet it had scarcely been two weeks. It’s absurd that it’s such a struggle to adjust again. You’d let yourself get so close during the trip that it was painful to have to force yourself to watch and listen as he calls Ginger before you take off on the way home, or to be totally ignored as they all clamber out of the plane when you hit the ground in Tennessee. The trouble with Elvis, you thought to yourself as you finally sunk back into your own bed, was that he was everything. More than everything - everything revolved around him, like planets orbiting the sun and it felt near impossible to escape his gravitational pull. You knew your mother would say, “Baby, finish on a high; keep the memories.”  The issue with that is that now you’ve had a little you want more. There’s no way in hell you can quit now. Not before you’ve had just a little taste more, just one more fumble, one more heated look from him, one more whispered I love you into your neck. But you have no idea if the desire is reciprocal; it’s hard not to read too much into it when your presence is conspicuously absent in March. You didn’t even know they were going to Hawaii, or that they had gone until Georgia told you about it while mentioning their rushed return home. Did he think you’d have a problem flying him and Ginger somewhere? Or did he think you wouldn’t be able to be discrete; a laughable idea since you’d been proving yourself in that department for the past three years. Elvis doesn’t mention it to you, so you keep quiet too, and almost immediately after regular service seems to resume.  

You weren’t pleased for long, when it became clear that while he hadn’t looked much worse for wear after the apparent ordeal in Hawaii, and his voice sounded as good as before - none of this was to last. The monotony of the road, the easy habits of most of a decade immediately flooding back to him.  

Despite having spent as much, if not more, time with him than a girlfriend would have done in the past three or four years, the long days and nights spent together you can feel him drifting. You had been there when other girls were there, there when they weren’t - watched over him awake and asleep. But you weren’t. You weren’t his girl, you were, at your core, essentially an addition to his jet. An amenity. So, when you get the call that a couple of tour dates were cancelled and that your services weren’t needed, before an almost immediate redaction and urgent request for your services, to get him ostensibly home, and in reality, quickly to the comfort of a hospital. You were at once concerned - you weren’t allowed to be worried, that was for family and friends - for Ginger and Vernon to pace back and forth in a waiting room. Your job was to remain calm. Professional and calm, even if you knew that had he been more conscious he’d have demanded your presence. He’d said as much after Linda had left - that you were his first choice. Maybe not just an amenity after all. That you would have been the one with his head in your lap, dabbing at his forehead - rather than Ginger’s hesitant pats to his arm. But it’s not you, and you have to simply take a deep breath, hoping that you’d at least get an update. 

There were, by May, so many signs that things are going wrong, even to your untrained eye. Maybe because you saw him less and less, the flights short between tour stops, the requests to see you at the hotels suddenly lacking, that it doesn’t feel like a gradual change in the way the men describe it to be. The paranoia, the fear, and the sheer absurdity of his behaviour all seem to hit you all the more because you were able to directly compare to when he was doing alright, to how, mere weeks ago, you’d been having a grand time in Vail together.  

The guns. The guns had become a symbol of his sheer level of turbulence. He’d threatened you before, at a time where it had seemed so out of the blue it was laughable - now, if he’d done the same thing you’d be more worried - he wasn’t as careful as he had always been. You weren’t a pilot, you didn’t have the same responsibilities, but even so the guns at Binghampton had almost cost you your job and would have certainly cost you your reputation had it all gone south. Had Elvis not somehow, despite his state, been able to effectively charm the officer in charge into forgetting his apparent oversight; although how, considering the guns had tumbled out right in front of them, was anyone’s guess. The ramifications were awful though, you and Ron and Elwood stressed about the ‘cargo’ on the plane, while Elvis shouted to anyone who would listen that he could do what he goddamn liked, waving his narcotics badge at anyone who tried to tactfully protest. You hated it.   

It’s a long flight, at the end of a long week. It’s been trying for all involved, although Elvis has spent a lot of the time that you’ve seen him in a half-asleep state, desperately trying to recover from the strains and stresses of the brutal tour schedule he’s been put on again. You’ve corralled him into the bedroom on the Lisa-Marie, it’s a six-hour flight - not nearly long enough for him to recuperate properly, but enough that you actually have a fighting chance for once. He’d been playful and handsy the day before, the way he was sometimes - likely having taken one too many uppers, but you could tell from the lines and bags under his make-up that, though it’s been ages - to try and tease or play with him now would be borderline cruel. Instead, you focus on making him comfortable, tucking him up with you under the soft covers of the large bed, petting him exactly as he likes it. He’s just starting to calm himself down and you continue to murmur to the top of his head when he suddenly starts talking,  

“I don’t, don’t wanna marry-marry her.” His speech is slurring, and you can’t be sure if it’s from sleep, or the effects of the palmful of pills he’d taken an hour ago, or some combination of it all. Oh, so maybe that’s why he’s gone off the rails?  

“You don’t, - you don’t have to El- if you don’t want to,” You murmur back to him, acknowledging internally that he must be both absolutely exhausted and feeling miserable if his immediate response wasn’t to tell you to mind your own goddamn business.  

“I’ve gotta take care of it - get the boys to take care of it…. Daddy'll do it for me. He should.” He nods to himself, but his eyes stay closed.  

“Elvis, sweetheart,” You whisper to him, “you can’t make your daddy do that for you, you’ve… gotta do it yourself.” You pat his back, and he burrows his head further into your lap, your fingers finding their way into his scalp, curling around and into the hairs at the nape of his neck as you gently stroke his head and back. “She’s, she’s a reasonable girl - I’m sure she’ll understand-”  

“That’s…” There’s a long enough pause as his breathing evens out that you’re fairly sure he’s asleep, but then he mumbles back, “’S not her ‘m worried about…’s her, her folks.”  

You try desperately to reassure him, muttering about how no-one could judge him for making a sensible decision, and better to cool it off now than later, but it’s too late, and the only response you get back is the sound of him snuffling in his sleep, his eyelids and forehead relaxing as he curls his legs into you, snuggling against your warm heat, tucked against the thick gold comforter.  

You try to relax yourself, but your mind is whirring at a thousand thoughts a minute; all too many of which were imagining poor Vernon being gifted with the unfortunate task of breaking up with his son’s girlfriend.  

You feel sorry for him, you never believe when the husbands of your friends make jokes about how they’ve been ‘trapped’ - it’s a man’s world, and it seems absurd to suggest that someone’s womanly wiles were solely the root of their relationship crisis and yet, his description of his relationship is starting to sound less like young fun and more like a calculated entrapment. For perhaps not the first time in his life. You sigh again, and jump when Elvis pats your arm,  

“Shhh, s’ok, s’ok baby, I got you,” He’s fast asleep, eyes twitching being their lids — but still, his hands swipe over your side as he clumsily pats at you, shushing you while he does. The notion makes your eyes fill with tears, how could he still be so utterly sweet and dependent? 

The next morning he made no reference to the night before, or his whispered confession and you dressed and continued on as normal. Your mind though kept floating back to the words Billy had said to you back in early February. Should you attempt to make a move? Or at least, make sure Elvis knew you were totally available? Before you have the chance to act on any of these impulses though there’s a rumour spreading across the group - that Elvis wasn’t coping, that he needed a break, that the tour was going to have to be cancelled. You’d pushed it out of your head, hopeful he’d just need a decent rest that would be enough to rejuvenate him to get through the tour. But tragically, the rumour had turned out to be true and you’d delivered him home to Memphis amidst cancelled shows and runs to the hospital. He’d looked terrible when you’d left him, looking back at you at the top of the plane steps. You want to turn up, check he’s ok, check that he’s sure about Ginger, that if he’s not going to end things then that she knows how to take care of him. That she’s doing the best she can.  

It had been radio silence since that last flight and perhaps you should be assuming that no news is good news, but you find yourself thinking about him most days. Worrying and waiting. You wonder if he would let you in if you went to Graceland to see him, or if that was altogether too presumptuous, hell you’d heard all about how he hated girls that were too forward. But he loved to be taken care of - you supposed it all came down to control, and though you were desperate that he be well looked after, and you wished you could supervise that yourself, you were otherwise happy to let him take the lead – it was just altogether too scary to do anything else.  

——————————— 

Finally, in the middle of the third week of July you get a call reminding you of the upcoming tour, and then, almost immediately after you agree, an unusual call from Elvis himself. The phone ringing insistently less than 5 minutes after you’d agreed to the tour details.  

“How’re you doing baby?” He’s talking in that slow drawl he does when he’s sleepy, worn out from the day - from rehearsals maybe, or just life in general. “My bitty baby doin’ ok, huh?” 

“I’m just fine,” You’re impossibly hungry for details, but reluctant to sound too eager, 

“My yittle bun-bun lookin’ after herself?” You’d basically already told him this, but the wording makes you blush, and you don’t mind repeating yourself for him, “Of course. I’m ‘cited to see you.”  

“That’s good, well, that’s reeeall good honey, because, uh, you see,” His voice takes on the explanatory tone he so enjoys, both didactic and gossiping, “I don’t know if you’ve heard… or I suppose you wouldn’t have yet, but uh, Ginger’s not, she’s not coming on this tour with me, we’re, uh, we’re well…” He trails off, and there’s little breathy noises down the phone to you, which lets you picture the way he would have just taken off his glasses, rubbing his fingers along the bridge of his nose.  

“Oh,” What else is there to say? ‘Oh Elvis, I’m glad you’ve ditched your fiancee?’ Hardly.  

“She was just, just a lil too young, jus’ a baby, not, she just - it wouldn’t be right to make her settle down with me right now. Not, not when I don’t know if she really…well you know.” You don’t know what to say, and Elvis waits only for a brief second before filling the silence himself,  

“The thing is - I wasn’t sure, I don’t know if you’d heard, I’ve uh, I’ve been, well, I’ve been real sick to tell you the truth. Weren’t sure I were gonna make it out to this tour and we thought for sure we were gonna have to cancel but well, here we are.”  

“You’re not… you’re feeling better?”  

“Yes ma’am.” At least that sounds confident, “Got myself a new doctor, and ‘m, uh, on some new, uh, treatments and uh stuff.” He pauses, “Playin’ a lot of racquetball.”   He sounds slightly sheepish, and while you’re endlessly curious you don’t press the point.  

“Were you just ringing to confirm I’d be around?”  

“Well, here’s the thing, the thing is, honey, the thing is - I know you’ve already had a call, but you see, I was sorta hoping maybe you’d be happy to cancel them plans?”  

“Oh. You don’t want me on the plane?” There’s a moment of silence before he swears to himself, muttering down the phone that he’d learn to have some balls one of these days.  

“No, No, you misunnerstand - I want you on the plane, and off the plane - I just want you to come with me.”  

“Oh.”  

“If you can’t, well, I understand.” He sounds resigned, and your heart breaks a little, “But, I want company baby, and I want yours.” You twist the phone cord around your fingers, breathless in your excited agreement, 

“I want yours too! I’ve been - Billy said, well I’ve been hopin’ for months El, I miss you so much when we’re at home, and oh, I’d love to.” Somehow you can hear him shaking his head through the phone,  

“That meddlin’ shit.” You giggle back at him, and he laughs in response before he keeps talking, “So - pack your bags, honey, and I’ll send a car to get you at the usual time?”  

“So, am I - like working?” He huffs at you, 

“No - no, not workin’ for me no more - just being there for me. Want you to be my girl baby - be good just for me - not chasing down the other guys to make ‘em drinks.” You shake your head, brain skipping over the important part of the statement to the last part for a moment.  

“I don’t believe I’ve ever ‘chased’ the other guys,” He huffs down the phone,  

“Well lemme tell you they’ve been chasin’ you, wolves chasin’ their lil bunny,”  

“Hmm, there’s only one wolf I want to eat me though Elvis.”  

“S’that right?” 

“That’s right.”  

“Well then, I’ll have it all ready for you, s’probably easier, y’know this late notice and all,” You read between the lines that Ginger’s still at Graceland, “that I’ll uh, you’ll be waitin’ for me on the Lisa-Marie?” You cringe, but he does sound more like himself than he has in weeks, and hopefully - unlike with Linda and Ginger he’ll keep to his promise and actually get rid of her before you get on board.  

“Mmhmm, that should be fine.” You hear him move away from the phone for a second, talking to someone else for a moment,  

“Right, honey, I’ve - I’ve, I’m bein’ told I’ve gotta go now - got a meeting in a minute, but don’t be afraid to call - anytime, you’re to be put straight through to me, y’hear?”  

“Yep, Elvis, I hear,”  

“Alright then, I’ll see you in a couple of weeks, then - you take care of yourself baby,”  

“You too El,” You’re about to say something stupid, like I love you, but with one last,  

“Ok - buh-bye.” The line’s gone dead.  

——————————— 

TAGLIST:

i’m just gonna tag anyone that’s specifically msged me about it and/or anyone who commented/reblogged the last three chapters -

@lookingforrainbows @ooihcnoiwlerh @ellie-24, @whositmcwhatsit, @thatbanditqueen, @vintageshanny, @doll-elvis @18lkpeters @prompted-wordsmith @richardslady121 @meetmeatyourworst @marriedtopresley @steph-speaks @a-literal-no-name @elvisabutler @precious-little-scoundrel @eliseinmemphis @iloveelvis @literally-just-elvis-fics @livelaughlove-talia @angelborn1 @amydarcimarie @peskybedtime @shakerattlescroll @i-r-i-n-a-a @saintomie @literally-just-elvis-fics

[dmwrites]

Sleeping arrangements in the team TIES base was a little precarious, to say the least. They hadn’t actually planned an area to sleep in, too busy trying to survive and fortify, so they mostly just plopped themselves down wherever there was room. Skizz usually fell asleep on top of the table, cuddling whatever was nearest to him (chairs, a furnace, Tango whenever he was feeling lonely). Tango slept in front of the furnaces like a cat, usually curled up on his sleeping bag, also like a cat. Etho slept amongst the crops and animals- he said he liked the earthy smell, but Impulse was pretty sure that there was also an escape tunnel in one of the water holes. And Impulse slept in a small alcove tucked away in the wall of the staircase.

It was cramped and odd, but it worked for them. Impulse didn’t mind his spot, meant he could watch people come and go, slip away unnoticed if he needed to. It wasn’t as soft and warm as his sleeping arrangements in Double Life, his brain would sometimes unhelpfully remind him when he was tossing and turning on sleepless nights, but it was good enough.

——

It was one of the sleepless nights, with Impulse tossing and turning in his sleeping bag and trying to just will himself to sleep. He could hear Skizz and Tango snoring, a badly tuned symphony of mouth sounds, and the gentle lapping of the ocean against the land.

There was a sudden soft slap of flesh on wood, and Impulse cracked an eye to see a glowing red one looking back at him. It was Etho on the stairs, and Impulse raised a couple of fingers in a lazy wave.

Etho just looked at him, and Impulse looked back. It was hard to read Etho’s expression in the dark- hell, it was hard to read Etho’s expressions period, what with the mask he kept on. Impulse raised an eyebrow, a silent question. Where are you going? Etho glanced up the stairs, then, after some kind of mental dithering, it seemed, he held out his hand to Impulse and raised an eyebrow. Want to come with me?

Impulse took Etho’s hand and got to his feet. He followed him up the stairs and out into the ocean. The water was still warm from the sunny day before, and it felt nice on his skin. Impulse followed Etho onto the land, and up the water elevator to the second floor of their tower base. Etho pulled a small bag out of a chest, then went and sat on the edge of the balcony, legs hanging off the side. Impulse sat next to him.

“Want some berries?” Etho proffered the bag to Impulse, and he saw it was full of bright red berries. “I like to keep them up here for a nighttime snack.”

Impulse chuckled and took a few. “Thanks, man.”

They ate in silence for a while. All was quiet on the horizon, just some hostile mobs walking about in the dark. Impulse glanced at Etho from time to time- it was odd, allying with Etho. Etho had always been such an enigma in Impulse’s mind, quick-witted and sharp as a tack, calculating and smart. And he was all of those things, but also just kind of to himself, always fidgeting with redstone and wires. And there was this kind of friction between him and Etho, just in short glances and the odd joke. The standard procedure was to let the old series go, leave old emotions in the past. But no one ever really forgot, not completely, anyway.

Etho looked out towards the janky clocktower near spawn, and it wasn’t hard to figure out what he was thinking about.

“It’s weird to not be… there.”

Impulse somehow knew that it wasn’t a place that Etho was talking about.

“Yeah.”

Etho turned to look at him. “You and me. And Cleo. We know…” he trailed off, looking back towards the clockers tower. “I used to think of all of you as my enemies. Especially you, because you’re so…” Etho sighed. “You were really good to him.” His eyes crinkled slightly. “As much as I hate to admit it. You loved- love, you love him like I do. He never said a bad thing about you, even when I goaded him. And you… it was, is, clear that you adore him.”

Impulse chuckled. “Well, that’s Bdubs for you. You said it yourself. You, me, and Cleo, we just know… I don’t know, man, it’s the Bdubs effect or something. I will never know him like you do, and that’s okay, but I get it. I understand.”

Etho gave him a funny look, eyebrows furrowed, looking at Impulse like he’d never really seen him properly before.

“You’re a pretty great guy, Impulse.”

Impulse bowed his head, a blush coming to his cheeks. “Oh, stop that. You are too.”

They sat in silence for a while longer, lulled by the waves. Impulse kept thinking about what Etho said, or, more specifically, what the silences between his words had meant. It felt good, being here with Etho, like someone had smoothed out the wrinkles of the fabric of their friendship. Impulse wasn’t sure what would come next, no one ever did in these life series, but he felt a little more confident that he would follow Etho until their timers ran out of life to give.

——

Additional lore I couldn’t fit into the story:

Skizz will grab anything while he sleeps. Like, you know how if you give a baby something they'll wrap their fingers around it? Yeah, that’s Skizz. He’s grabbed Tango, Tango’s sleeping bag with and without Tango in it, furnaces, crafting tables, chairs, blocks from the floor, Etho once when he was passing by to get a drink of water. Impulse, when he can’t sleep, will sometimes peer around the corner to see what Skizz is holding this time (and save Etho if he’s there). He and Etho have def played a game to see what Skizz will cuddle if they hand it to him.

[sataara]

Window Shopping

Small holiday fic of Ingo and reader walking around the city together, it's short and just plain fluff! I wrote it on request of my good friend Snowy and inspired by this art from twitter!

You can read it on Ao3 too, hope you enjoy and happy holidays!

The warm cup of coffee you held, helped keeping the chill away. Not that you minded much, the cold being much more welcome than the searing heat of summer. As you sat on a bench, just outside the station, you hoped he didn't take too long to finish up for the day, while you held your own drink, his was resting next to you, on a cup holder, the rising steam gave you hope that the warmth would hold until he showed up.

With so many people transiting to and from the station, you didn't notice him until a shadow stopped in front of you.

“I hope you didn't have to wait here for too long, my dear.” You looked up at his warm expression, your own following along with the contagious mood.

“Not at all, love, I've only been here for twenty minutes or something. You're right on schedule as always.” Your smile grew just that bit more at using his own turn of phrase on him, Ingo rolled his eyes fondly.

“A train should always arrive at the station on time to not inconvenience any passengers. Or maybe I just missed you after these busy few days.” He picked up his drink, sitting down where it had been and letting you lean your head on his shoulder. His free arm snaked behind you to pull you closer, hand resting on your waist.

“I missed you too. How did work go?”

After Ingo finished telling you of his and Emmet’s latest battle against Nate and Rosa, you decided to walk, restless after sitting for such a long time in the cold, despite how comfortable you were against your partner.

As you walked, you decided to link an arm with Ingo, wanting to stay close even while moving.

“Do not try and lie to me, I know you're just trying to steal all my warmth.” Ingo said with a playful tone.

“Well, that's just a bonus.”

“I think it's the main goal.”

“How dare you insinuate I'm nothing more than an opportunist.” Your tone exaggerated, a hand falling to your chest dramatically.

“I would do no such thing. It's not an insinuation, it's a statement.”

You gasped with fake offense, making you both unable to contain the giggles bubbling up in your chests.

“Oh, look, Ingo! Isn't that model from the Orient Express?”

Your attention was taken by a store front, the lights shining just right on a few products for people to react just as you did. The decoration around the display also reminding you that Delibird Day was getting close, you already had an idea for Ingo’s present, but you wanted something nice for his brother too. After all, you became good friends since you started seeing Ingo frequently. Not that everyone would know that, since you showed your love by calling each other names.

“Yes, that is, but we have a better model at home, more faithful to the original and with better quality.” You loved hearing the pride in Ingo's voice.

You leaned closer to the glass using his arm as support, so you could get a better look, seeing the almost janky way the locomotive moved on the tracks and many other little flaws, that you only recognized thanks to the many times you were shown the twins’ beloved collection.

“I wanted to give Emmet something nice for Delibird day, I have no idea what, though.” You said with sincerity, eyes still on the objects in display, seeing a chess set with knight like pokemon inspired pieces, the pawniard pawns not very well made, much like the model train.

“Do you have any ideas?”

“I feel like everyone that doesn't know you two well just go for train themed presents, easier to get right. I wanted something different, I guess.” You right your posture and go back to walking, Ingo seamlessly moving with you.

The next store is a clothing one but nothing close to your or Ingo’s style, so you glance at it but keep walking.

“Hm, I think it's a nice gesture already, to not go for the obvious, but you need a starting point.”

“I know, I know. Emmet likes gaming too, so I gave his wishlist a look, but after nothing seemed to pop out I thought that maybe a physical present would be nicer.”

You went to take a sip of your drink but when nothing came out you noticed you'd finished while you were talking, your mind so focused on your conundrum that you didn't even realize you were taking sips every pause or so. Ingo brought you back to Earth by taking the empty cup from your hand and throwing it on the nearest trash can, seemingly having done so with his own just before.

“You're thinking plushie? That's always a nice gift.”

“For me, maybe, but all your plushies end up with either Galvantula or Haxorus, I want to give him a gift, not his pokemon.”

“Well, that may be true but at least it means I don't have to share my bed with ten million squishy creatures.”

“I don't understand the issue, they are cuddly and soft!”

“I know that perfectly well when I wake up holding a huge fake dratini, instead of my beloved partner.”

“Don't be a baby, anyone would be lucky to wake up with Catarina in their arms.”

Ingo huffs in amusement, the smile on your face betraying your own statements of annoyance.

“But back to the topic, maybe something pratical then?” Ingo said as you stopped again, this time in front of a bakery, eyes skimming the baked goods with interest.

“What, you want me to give him socks? Extra ten identical dress shirts like the ones you guys use to work?”

“Sure, give him those fuzzy joltik socks we saw the other day.”

“I can give the socks plus something else. Would be a shame compared to yours.”

“Oh?” Interest clear in Ingo's tone. “And what would that be?”

“It's a surprise, I'm not telling you.” You gave him a conspiring smile.

“Hmph, now you just made me more curious.”

You laughed and said nothing as you gave up on the bakery, not feeling particularly hungry. The next store had tacky shirts and mugs on display, one of them making you snort as you read “Of course I love double battles, I'm bisexual”. You pointed it out to Ingo who took a second looking it over before barking out a laugh, getting some eyes on you for a few seconds before people quickly moved on with their business.

Something else caught your attention, a t-shirt with Pier’s logo hung next to others of similarly known artists.

“Hey Ingo, does Emmet have any Piers merch?” You squeezed his arm to make sure he was listening, a plan already forming in your mind.

“He has a simple t-shirt and an autographed poster, but I think that's it.” It sounded like Ingo was following your train of thought.

“What if I called Piers to meet up here after Delibird day? And maybe sending a signed official tour shirt too, if he still has one somewhere?”

“Sometimes I forget that you have some weird connections.” Your eyes met, you recognized the bewilderment in his face.

“Crazy shit always happens to me. And we send each other cute pokemon videos every now and then, his zigzagoons are adorable.”

Ingo shook his head, amused. He looked back at the bakery and pulled you along, but instead of walking inside, he stopped by the wall just at the end of the shop’s window, resting his back against it and pulling you in an embrace, arms around your neck. You snuggled closer as if it was second nature, your own arms around his waist, letting your head fall on his chest.

“I thought you wanted to get a few pastries.”

“I do… But it can wait a few moments, can't it? I… Missed you more than I can put into words, I missed your arms around me, your touch, your voice close instead of over a speaker.” He let out a sigh, resting his cheek on the top of your head. “You were not here, we could talk but not actually see each other, something was missing in the apartment, your music while you moved around the kitchen, your excited talks about the things you love…” He took another deep breath and brought you just a little bit closer. “I don't mean to be sappy, I'm sorry.”

“Never apologize for this.” Your voice was muffled by his shirt, you had to hide your face while he talked, embarrassed by how much those sweet words affected you. “You are extremely sweet and that's one of the many reasons why I love you so much. Don't apologize.”

Ingo's grumbling stomach interrupted the sweet moment, making you both chuckle.

“You did just come back from work, we should go inside and get something to eat.”

“I know but this is so nice, can't we stay here just a little bit longer?.”

“I do not want you passing out on me.” You pulled a bit back just to stare him down and poke at his chest in accusation.

“Dragons, why can't you just let me starve so I can hug you for a little bit longer?” He said dramatically, moving one of his arms to rest a hand on your chin, thumb caressing you softly.

You leaned into it with a laugh, meeting his eyes and resting your own hand over his.

“You're lucky that I love you.”

“I am.”

Your comment was meant to be playful but Ingo's reply made you soft. You moved closer and he did the same, lips meeting sweetly in the middle. For a few more moments you lost yourselves to the kiss, to the feeling of being close, to the warmth shared. Although it didn't last long, his stomach once again reminding you that he had not eaten in a while. You separated, smiling and giggling at each other. Your arm found his and once again you walked close, this time entering the shop while joking and poking fun at each other, your smile was a constant for the rest of the night.

[adobe-outdesign]

Could you review the Eyrie? They're one of my favorite Neopets.

(Note: I don't have any Pokemon review requests right now, so I'm doing one extra Neopet review to backlog through those a bit.)

I always thought Eyries were really nice-looking pets. They're basically griffins, but with these really distinct owl-like feathery "ears" on their head that have edge markings dividing the front from the side. It gives them a really nice head shape when combined with the beak, and the overall anatomy is surprisingly realistic (wings are a bit off technically speaking, but that's okay). Like out of all the Neopets, Eyrie are one of a few that you could picture IRL without many changes.

In addition to the head markings, they also sport several lighter areas on their wings and tail, along with a thick fluffy mane that's usually darker but not always (even the base colors don't have this consistent). These break up the body in classic Neopets style and make it easy to read. Their beaks are traditionally orange, which is accented by their eyes so the color is carried through.

Eyries are one of a few species that benefited from customization. Their old art wasn't bad, but the wings were all wrong (they were going backwards against the body lengthwise for some reason, and were halfway down the torso instead of coming out of the mane) and elements like the mane shape and tail position look a lot better. Otherwise, the changes were minimal.

Favorite Colours:

Chocolate: The chocolate Eyrie does everything you want it to do. Whipped cream for the areas with long fur, wafer wings, chocolate swirl ears, white chocolate accents, and some fancy decorative filigree markings. It is completely over-the-top and looks delicious. My only nitpick is that the waver texture is flat, when it should go back in space at an angle and have more of a bend to it.

Darigan: The Darigan Eyrie honestly doesn't event look that different than the regular Eyrie, but it does emphasize how well griffons work as vaguely demonic high-fantasy creatures. While subtle, changes include a different beak shape, more fur, extra-thick wings, a fluffier mane that goes behind the head, and giant claws.

Both the converted and UC/styled versions are fine, though they have their pros and cons. The converted version looks a bit too much like a normal Eyrie due to the change in pose, and the lose of the spearhead tail-tip and subtle feather wing textures is criminal. However, it is much better shaded than the UC version, and it fixes some of the janky anatomy like the weird fold in the wings and the screwed up haunch and foreleg.

Maraquan: A lot of Maraquan pets nowadays tend to be based off of specific aquatic animals, and while that's fine, I really like it when they just take the base Neopet and adapt it to living underwater in a more abstract way. Such is the case of the Maraquan Eyrie, which has pretty fin-like wings, fins on the head instead of feathers, a swisy, extra furry tail, and a beautiful orange and blue color scheme. Little details, like the speckles and the lighter orange on the underbelly and paws, dd a lot to the design, and the whole thing flows beautifully.

It has a UC/styled version, though the differences are fairly negligible. The UC version has a slightly better pose, high-contrast thick and thin lineart, a wavier mane, and a better head shape. However, the converted version is still pretty spot-on, and it fixes the wing anatomy by putting them on the shoulders where they belong (Neopets artists learn to draw wings challenge) (impossible). In other words, both are great.

[lunaroserites]

The Moon and Stars

Word count: 1439

Requested: No

Pairing: Castiel x fem!reader

Additional character: Dean, Sam and Bobby

Warnings: Marriage, fluff, cuteness. Not beta read, we die like Supernatural Characters.

Plot; Castiel and his fiancé get married.

The stars hung low in the dusk sky as it became just dark enough for them to be visible. They stood with Bobby and the Winchesters on top of a cliff overlooking the ocean. You could hear the waves as they splashed against the rock below, a soft breeze drifted through the pine trees behind them. It was peaceful. 

Sammy had a small portable music player set up with Hozier’s Like Real People Do playing quietly in the background. Bobby held an old, worn, but well loved bible in one hand, wiped a stray tear with the other. The brothers wore button ups rolled to their elbows and nice slacks, a bottle of beer held in their hand. 

The Impala was parked a little away from them, the headlights providing a small amount of extra light in the dusk.

She wore an elegant dress, it was white with lace stars and moons embroidered all over it, it was floor length and pooled at her feet, a slit ran from the bottom of the skirt to mid thigh. She wore a veil adorned with delicate pearls, and embroidered with stars and moons, matching the bodice and skirt of her dress. Her finger lay bare waiting for the ring that she had worn everyday to be placed back during an exchange of heartfelt words. She gazed up at him through the veil, it did little to obstruct her view of him. 

He wore his usual trench coat over a black suit, it was new and well tailored. The Winchesters had taken him to a local shop in town and for the first time he picked out something of his own. A tie pin of a silver moon and star, matching her dress clipped delicately to his tie, he had specially made, with the help of Dean of course, the internet was still lost on him most days. He matched her gaze, she looked utterly magically in her dress, everything picked out and placed in deliberate manner. 

Dean, Sam and himself had arrived at the lookout spot prior to her and Bobby. Bobby insisted that if they were doing this, they were doing it right. If his (adoptive) little girl was getting married he would be damned before she was married in some janky drive thru chapel, wearing greasy jeans and one of Dean’s band tees. Sure this may not be official in the eyes of the government, but in the eyes of heaven it was as official as it could get. 

He was not an emotional man by any standards, usually stoic and hard faced. She had never seen him this emotional before, when she walked out of her room asking him to zip her dress up he couldn’t help but shed a few tears. She was stunning in her dress, it was as if it was crafted for her and her alone. But all he could see was the little girl she once was standing in the center of pooling fabric saying “daddy, zip my dress up please.” Once it was zipped up and she spun around with a bright smile, taking the skirt in her hands and swaying it. “How do I look dad?” He choked a cry back and gave her his best smile. 

“Like an Angel, baby,” he had pulled her into a tight hug, she let a few tears fall into his shoulder. He helped her into his truck making sure her dress was safely tucked into the cab. The drive was quiet, something she was grateful for because it gave her time to calm her nerves. Once at the lookout, Bobby helped her step down from the cab, and walked with her on his arm making sure she wouldn’t trip on the uneven terrain.

Dean nudged Castiel when he noticed Bobby and her approaching, he turned slowly. Once fully facing the two approaching he finally looked at her, the dusk sky making her white dress stand out. She was beautiful, he choked on air looking at her stunning beauty. She made Angel’s grace look dull. Dean let out a low whistle and Sam gasped. The two had never seen her dolled up this before. She grew up alongside the brothers, she was rough and tumble with a side Singer sass, even if she wasn’t one by blood. 

Bobby spoke softly, reading a couple verses from the bible in his hands. His voice was rough, from the unshed tears. She stared into his eyes, listening to the soft chorus of their song as it melded with Bobby’s voice. He spoke so soundly, speaking to her, him and the night. They had prepared a few worlds for each other to exchange before they placed rings on each other and sealed the deal with the all important kiss.  

Castiel started, “In this space right here that we have made for each other, you can say anything and I will not abandon you. Unwrap the worst things you have done. Watch me hold them up to the light and not flinch. Your love is the light by which my soul follows. You are my sun, my moon, and my stars. I may never find words beautiful enough to describe all that you mean to me, but I will spend the rest of our time searching for them. With this ring, I am bound to you, mind, body, and soul.” He slid the ring onto her awaiting finger. It was a three part ring, the center ring was a moon stone with three crescent moons around it and smaller stones filling the space, the second sat underneath it, 7 little stones creating a ‘V’ shape. The third and final piece was two wings wrapped around both of the other rings. Castiel had it made custom for her, he poured all his love into the design. When it arrived 18 months ago he had been on a hunt with the brothers, one she skipped out on because she wasn’t feeling well. When he got back to the bunker and she mentioned a package he feared she knew what it was. His fear was for not as she had just laid the small shipping box on his side of the bed undisturbed. 

“If you came to me with a face I have not seen, with a voice I have never heard, I would still know you. Even if centuries separated us, I would still feel you. Somewhere between the sand and the stardust, through every collapse and creature there is a pulse that echoes of you and I. Till death do us part, they say. I say, I will love you till this life to the next. And if the next life won’t grace me with you, I will still love you till the next one, and the next, the next. Till death finally gives up on us,” her voice wavered slightly, the weight of her words and how she felt crashed like the waves, she loved him so deeply. “With every fiber of my soul I will love, cherish and care for you. For you are the moon, the stars and the sun in my soul.” With trembling fingers she slid the matching white gold ring on his finger, it had an engraving of their names in Enochian on the inside band, and etchings of angel wings with little stars dotted on the outside. A custom piece made by the same person who made her rings. It wasn’t planned that way, but it was a happy coincidence when the seller messaged her asking about the ring she wore. 

Bobby spoke a few more words and announced they were husband and wife, and he may kiss the bride. Castiel’s hands found the tull of her veil and lifted it gently over her head, not to disturb her hair, or damage the veil. He placed it down once her face was fully uncovered and looked down into her eyes, his own eyes pouring every ounce of love into hers. His water line had unshed, happy tears. He cupped her face in his hands and poured his soul into the kiss, her cheeks wetted from his now spilled tears. She wrapped arms around his neck and pressed close to him. 

Sam, Dean and Bobby all clapped their hands hollered. Castiel pulled back from the shared moment and rubbed his nose to hers lovingly. 

“Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips, We should just kiss like real people do,” the song closed on them, it had been playing over and over through the whole ceremony. Castiel put his lips to hers once more. 

[godshitgirl]

DILF SKK IM SORRY

Also headcanons bc I'm so normal about them

Dazai

Janky old broke hobo spiderman energy

When I say broke I mean BROKE

Will swindle his way into getting money

Absolute SLUT will sleep with someone just to have a place to stay the night

Not exactly homeless, he's more like a roach. Just kinda scatters anywhere and stays somewhere he finds comfortable even if he's not welcome (cough cough chuuyas apartment)

Giving frank Gallagher energy but if he actually tried to be a good dad (source: shameless)

Oh did I mention he's a dad

YESSSIRR HES GOT A DAUGHTER BC GIRL DAD DAZAI CANON

His daughter is actually kinda embarrassed of him

She's def the one who worries about him the most

Lives with her mom, who is one of dazais old one night stands (IT SHOULDVE BEEN ME FR)

Her mom couldn't give two shits about this man even if she tried

His daughter doesn't want to be anything like him

She inherited his intelligence tho, just not his irresponsibility

Dazai doesn't live with them, he and the mother aren't dating but they're not friends either, she just kinda accepted that he's this cockroach in her life and her daughter is a nice piece of leftover trash he can't get enough of

Don't get me wrong, dazai LOVES his little girl

Absolutely adores her

She's usually just annoyed by him

He finds it cute when she yells at him cause it reminds him of when she would throw tantrums as a toddler

But she does genuinely love her dad more than anything

It's just hard for her to show it

She's not particularly close with her mom either since she's kind of a cruel and bitter woman

Still not over how dazai treated her

He's not perfect, but he tries

Chuuya

This man is like the complete opposite of dazai

He's a single father who wouldn't leave his daughter alone for a second

Unlike dazai chuuya fell genuinely in love with a woman but she died during childbirth

At first he was angry that his wife was taken away but one look at this little girl in his arms and all the pain and anger washed away

He promised her he would give her the world no matter what

He's absolutely the best father you could ever ask for

His daughters spoiled spoiled SPOILED

Nothing but the best for his little girl🥺

And unlike dazai bro is LOADED so yeah she pretty much gets anything she wants with a snap of her fingers

But she's not a brat tho (at least, not when she's older)

She takes after chuuya in her need to be useful and independent

She's actually way more calm than he is, but she does have a little of his demeanor

Anyway enough abt her since I'm very early into the development of this au and Idk much about how I want the kids to be yet

Chuuya does bulk up as years go by cause ain't no way this child having a TWINK for a father🙄

He does also get a teensy bit taller bc I wanna throw this dog a bone, man

"I'm still growing" You know what?? Yeah you are buddy keep believing in urself😊

Still in the mafia, but since having a kid he's withdrawn a lot more from this life

He's not the type to try to get a higher position for his kid since he knows that the more involved he is with the Port Mafia, the more danger he and his family is in

Only a few in the Port Mafia actually know he's got a kid

For a while they tried to keep it a secret from mori not knowing what he'd do

Also do not leave his young daughter alone with this man

WEVE SEEN YOSANOS BACKSTORY GOODBYE

Chuuya is a lot less violent than he was in his 20s

Having a kid really softened him up

Now when he's on a mission, he doesn't kill anyone unless he was ordered to

He can see the fear in his enemy's eyes and all he can think of are their kids and what would happen to them

So unless he absolutely has to, he won't kill anyone

His job is also a secret from his daughter

He doesn't want her involved in any way whatsoever

He wants her to find her own path, to be her own person, and most of all, to be safe and happy

Wasn't gonna do this part but

SOUKOKU

Dazai and chuuya do get back together in this au

After the unofficial breakup they did have a couple nights together but after a while they drifted apart, chuuya finding a wife and family, and dazai slowly spiraling deeper and deeper into his own mess

Their lives are intertwined again upon an incident where their kids are in danger

That's when they pull a spy x family and secretly defeat the enemy without their daughters knowing about it

It was supposed to be a one time thing, after this they're back to their normal lives

But unfortunately their girls became quite good friends, so they had to keep seeing each other

They went from hanging out with their kids in a daddy-daughter tea party to absolutely destroying each other in the bedroom

Ok that's all I genuinely wanna develop this au so ask me anything! I'd love to answer ur questions!!!

[nitewrighter]

if you DO manage to piece together some sort of a reading list for that 'editor Clark & foreign correspondent Lois' era, would you be okay to share it? Suddenly I am also very interested.

Honestly it's all very "Monster of the Week," and a real pain in the ass to figure out the sequence of what title the actual next chronological part of the story is taking place in. Basically I've been dependent on the "Find out next week" preview notes at the end of various issues (Which sometimes aren't even there...) or the "Coming Soon!" promos that have their own little section in the fan letters page. So like.. REALLY my first trip down the rabbit hole with this era (Post-Return of Superman Mullet Era!!!) started with the supervillain Conduit, so that starts way the hell back with Superman: The Man of Steel Issue #0.

"Oh, #0, you say, that sounds like a very simple place to start."

Oh--Oh you'd think that, wouldn't you! Except this Man of Steel is not to be confused with Byrne's Man of Steel! This Man of Steel is #0 as part of the "Zero Hour" event--so this "Man of Steel" title "starts" in 1991, but it's previous issue was fucking Superman: Man of Steel #37. But honestly yeah, you start with Man of Steel Issue #0, then Adventures of Superman Issue #0, then Action Comics #0, and then, FUCKING SUPERMAN: MAN OF STEEL #38. But anyway, yeah, it's tedious, but honestly I've been blazing through these issues too fast to really come up with a curated list for you, but if you keep fucking five tabs open on your super-janky comic pirating site and repeatedly click back to the wiki for additional reference and just keep an eye out for the "Next Week!" end of issue notes, you too, can have the brain worms I do!

I should probably mention that there are more curated compilations of this Era, so like, if you really want the 90's Full Court Press but don't want to wade through as many issues, you can start back with the whole Death/Reign/Return of Superman saga (AKA Supermullet: Origins), which has plenty of trade paperbacks. Like, that's really the baseline starting point I'm working with even before I started digging through the issues for Conduit. (It all started... when I died...)

So like, to actually answer your question the "Acting Managing Editor Clark" thing only got started with Perry's cancer diagnosis, and honestly I can't tell you which issue that started in. It's... *gestures vaguely* somewhere in there. The Lois as a Foreign Correspondent thing really got kicked off because of her and Clark's breakup, which has its major catalyzing event in Action Comics #719 (...and I also recently wrote a fic inspired by it *cough*). So you can also start at Action Comics #719 to wade through all the breakup drama, again, just by following the "Next Week" notes, and honestly this *is* the period where you have stressed-out editor Clark, which is fun. NOW we're getting to "The Final Night" Crossover event, which is where Clark loses his powers--I still have to read the crossover event itself because I realized I was just reading all the Superman issues on the margins of it, but honestly I'm looking forward to it. From there you can jump into the Superman & Lois Lane Wedding Album for a nice happy ending (And if you're still worried about Clark's powers then you can look up the issues for the "Power Struggle" story arc. Okay.)

I should also give the caveat that this Superman is largely shaped by Byrne's reboot of Superman, which has its pluses and minuses. Like, Byrne very much emphasized Clark's being raised by Ma and Pa Kent and he also established Luthor as more of a hypercapitalist than just a pure mad scientist archetype, but he also made Clark a popular chad High School football star in Smallville, so that can be jarring if you're coming into this from the MAWS crowd and are used to a much softer shyer Clark. So many women are throwing themselves at Clark in this era and it's kind of a pain in the ass (Go AWAY, Maxima! No means no!).

So like... obviously YMMV, read critically, and be mindful of like... the era.

[man-moth-hook-hand]

Welcome to My Nighmare Ch. 2

I absoluty clown on david in this and my scrunkly boi deserves it. Also, I fully believe that Paul uses the most cheesy words/phrases in his speech. He’s pulling no bitches, he’s hypnotizing women to convince the boys he has sex appeal. 

Master list

Chapter Two: The Freaks Come Out at Night

There was a dead guy on the porch of my new residence. Jesus-fucking-Christ, I’m with crazy people.

“Dad?” Lucy checked on the old man on the steps. “Dad?” She asked sounding more worried.

“If he’s dead, does that mean we get to go home?” Sam excitedly asked. Lucy gave him a stern look but was brought out of it by the dead guy.

 “Playin’ dead. And doing a damn good job of it!” The old man finally spoke. Lucy hugged him, laughing off the encounter. She then told us to go inside and unpack.

“So, you’re living with us now?” Michael asked.

“Sorta,” It was kind of a complicated question, “I’m only staying until I can afford another place. Don’t get me wrong, you guys are nice, I just, Uh, want somewhere else to live. Plus, I’m sure it’s kinda weird for you guys. I mean you did just move states after your mom got a divorce and now you got some homeless kid in your house.”

“I guess.” Michael left it at that. “Well, it’s still nice to meet you. It’ll be nice having someone other than Sammie around.” Same gave him a dirty look for that.

Lucy introduced me to ‘Grandpa’ which I guess is what I was supposed to call him, the brought me to the attic. “It’s not very big, but,” she trailed off. I cut her off saying it was fine and that I was more than happy to have somewhere to be. It wasn’t really an attic anyway; it was more like a small room that had a few steps above the rest of the walkway. It overlooked a field in the back, I gazed out of the window and noticed some horses playing with Nanook. Horses are a symbol for total freedom from everything. I think maybe I finally got that freedom, even if it’s a little unorthodox.

In the room was a full-sized bed and an old chest of draws that came up around to my chest. At least there were sheets on the bed; however, they most certainly weren’t my style. It looked like someone’s grandma died and became the bed. It didn’t help that dust covered every corner of the room. I decided to unpack the few things then sweep. All my clothes fit in one of the five drawers. On top I set my Walkman, wallet, book, and new pair of sunglasses to give it a little bit of a homey feel.

 “Here,” Mr. Emerson gave me some kind of taxidermized animal, “As a welcome gift.” He smiled at me. I smiled back and said thank you. At least it was kind of cute, it was a fox. I think. Maybe it was a janky coyote.

/|\^._.^/|\

 Later that night, we clamored into the car heading for the boardwalk. It had such a different feel to it at night. I’ve always been a bit of a night owl, but oh my god this was beautiful. The lights, the salty air, the music, everything felt so alive! It wasn’t like during the day where kids rounded every corner crying and parents gave you dirty looks for wearing a crop top. No, at night, it was when the real freaks came out. Goth kids, weird surfer guys, bikers, and drunk teenagers flooded the area. They infected every corner, crevice, and as much surface area as possible. It was intoxicating.

I quickly remembered that I needed a job, fast, so I looked anywhere for a help wanted sign. I went into that bookstore from earlier, but the man just looked at me with pity. He gave some excuse of not being able to afford more people besides himself. Then there was a burger joint, the manager looked at my low-cut crop top before saying no. Seriously, what gives? I looked at a few other places and almost gave up, but a jewelry store had the sign saying HELP DESPRETLY WANTED, WILL HIRE FELONS. Couldn’t hurt, right? Every other place rejected me.

“Hi! How can I help you?” A girl a little younger asked me. She had long, straight, black hair and wore what some would consider too much blush. She was tan wit freckles, so I guess it events it out.

“Actually, I saw the sign for help wanted. Who should I talk to?” I asked as polite as I could. The girl yelled for a woman in the back.

A woman who looked like blonde Joan Crawford came out from behind a beaded curtain. She had dark purple eyeshadow and dark purple lips to complete her look. “I’m Ms. Brenda Cheney. I heard you’re looking for a job?”

“Yes ma’am,” I shook her hand and said It was nice to meet her. “When can I start?” It was a little bold, but damn I needed a job.

“Tomorrow!” she smiled while chewing her gum. “I like you kid. Be here by nine am, Jennifer will show you how to open.” Thank God. I introduced myself to Jennifer and spoke for a little bit. The rumbling of my stomach brought me out of it. I told her goodbye and that I would see her tomorrow.

After I ate probably a too processed hot dog, I noticed a really sweaty guy playing a saxophone. I didn’t usually go into crowds for fear of pickpocketing, but why the hell not? I literally just packed up and left home and I’m doing pretty good so far. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a dude that looked like Billy Idol got his shit rocked and was washed out from fame. He looked disgusting, it was a little hot. The other looked like a tall, punk Shaggy, with longer hair. I think I would have been put off by a Scooby with him. They made eye contact with me. It was kind of creepy how much Billy Idol was into it, so I decided to lose him in the crowd.

I saw a familiar glimpse of black hair in the crowd and spotted Jennifer with a guy. “Hey!” I said. “Do you remember me?”

 “Of course!” She said “You’re that girl that came in earlier, it’ll be nice to have someone other than Brenda and James around. This is my brother Adam,” She gestured to the guy beside her.

“Hey,” He was a little taller than me, freckles, dark brown curly hair, and best of all he had a nice ass. I noticed from when I walked behind them to catch up. “It’s nice to meet you.”

 “Nice to meet you too, do you guys mind if I follow you for a bit? I’m not from here.”

 “Sure! I know all the best places here. Let’s do the Ferris Wheel, ice cream shop, then I’m thinking the movie rental. Sound good?” she asked.

“Sure, you seem like you got a plan.” I laughed. I scanned the boardwalk trying to locate where Jennifer was talking about, spotting the Billy Idol guy. He was just watching me. It was creepy instead of mysterious now.

“Oh, she’s bossy.” Adam piped up. I laughed, damn was he cute. Once we got to the front of the Ferris wheel they split us up into groups of two, I told them I’d catch the next one.

“I could be your rider.” The shaggy guy from earlier said, “I’m Paul, sugar."

“I’m not sugar.” I hated men like that. He apologized and asked if he could ride with me. I caved; he was weird but sadly I liked weird. I had to admit, he was decently interesting and had a good face. “And if you look over there, there’s a bridge that I jumped off of.” He pointed to a bridge not too far from here. He had been pointing to almost every location and telling me tid bits of his ‘adventures.’

I laughed, “It’s like when your mom asks, ‘if your friends jumped off a bridge, would you?’ I’ve always like falling from really high places, which is ironic since I have a fear of height.”

“Nah, it’s like flying,” we reached the top. “So, you looking to hang our with some cool cats?” Paul finger gunned me. “Oh, by the way, the coaster goes higher.”

“How charming, but no thank you.” I did consider it, only for a moment, “You’re really cheesy, ya know? And maybe I’ll ride the coaster with you.” I peered down into the crown and spotted that white haired guy again, Jesus Christ he’s persistent.

 “Hey, that’s what draws the babes!” Paul said bringing me out of my daze.

“I don’t think it does Paul.” I had noticed we reached the bottom when the attendee pulled the safety bar off. I thanked Paul for riding with me and suggested the coaster again, he said he had to get going. Just when you think a guy’s into you.

“Who was that guy?” Jennifer asked.

“Uh, Paul. He rode with me, so you guys didn’t have to wait.” I explained.

“Oh, ok.” she said. I spent the rest of the night with the both of them. The ice cream was good, Adam is a strawberry guy. I noticed a glimpse of white hair in the distance. I should find Lucy and go home before it’s too late. What if he’s stalking me? Is he gonna kill me?

“What’s wrong?” Adam asked. He noticed I had been acting a little weird.

“At the concert that happened earlier, there was a guy and I made eye contact with him. I started noticing him at the Ferris Wheel and at the ice cream shop. It’s like he’s stalking me.” I felt weird explaining it to Adam, maybe it was all a coincidence.

“That guy got kicked off of the boardwalk a couple of days ago, that night, the security guard that kicked him off went missing.” Adam said. I guess I was making a weird face since he said, “Well, maybe it was just a coincidence, ya know? I don’t think he wants to kill you.”

“Ok.” I didn’t really believe him. “I think I’m gonna find my ride and head back home. It’s been really nice to get to know you guys.” I waved my goodbyes and made my way to find Lucy. I spotted Nanook about 30 feet away.

“Hi Lucy, are you about to leave?” I asked her.

“Oh, yeah. I was looking for Michael, but Sam said he wandered off with someone.” She dug in her purse for her keys. We clamored into the car and mentioned her new job at the video store.

“That’s nice, I also got a job to help pay for some rent. It’s at a jewelry counter here on the board walk.” I felt bad for what I was about to say. “My job starts at nine tomorrow, it’s ok if I can’t, but could I borrow your car to get here?”

“My shift starts at ten tomorrow, so I’ll just drop you off and wait for Max’s store to open up.” She explained.

“That’s great, thank you.” Thank God. I didn’t want to have to walk like 12 miles to get here.

Once we made it back to the house, everyone started to settle in for the night. Lucy gave me some pajamas and hygiene products. It was a set she was gifted and never used. They were still in date and actually smelled pretty good. After peeling off the clothes that reeked of other people, I scrubbed every inch of my body. My mind wandered to that man from earlier. I couldn’t understand why he was watching me.

I stepped out and dried off, thankfully Lucy’s pajama’s fit me. They had hearts all over them, it was probably also gifted in the bathroom set she didn’t use. I made my way into my room and began to close the window. A man with white hair. I quickly shut the curtains and went to bed. There’s no way he knows where I live. Even if he did, we would’ve seen headlight following us, right? Eventually, I found a way to calm myself enough to fall asleep. That’s a problem for tomorrow.  

[cyborgpulsebooks]

My last Big Important™️ fanbind for a little bit before I work through some author’s copies! 

Were I forced to pick, I think I would name this fic my absolute fave* - The Way They Were, by @asidian, a promptis fix-it back from Ye Olden Fandom Days before pretty much any of the DLC came out. I still prefer it to the canon’s fix-it honestly, but that’s mostly just because  it centers around my blorbo of all time, and does so beautifully :,)

The copy I’m keeping is the black full cloth cover with the gold stripe and the star paper as the endpapers - I got really experimental with that textblock (new thread, some misguided repair attempts, and I’m still learning how to make full cloth covers look nice in the first place). It’s janky. But it’s pretty, and it’s readable, and both of those things are the point!

[*Runner-ups are Blue Sky (Portal 2) and Hearts of Ice (Ranma 1/2), which I will also bind both of someday.]

[goorehound]

okay but here me out.... mary goore proposing/marrying mary hc 👀

Took me a bit to get around to this but that you for bearing with me. Not really sure where the fuck I went with this but I hope it satisfies!

Mary Goore x Reader, marrying and proposal headcanons, sfw

Marrying Mary

When Mary met you, he was vehemently anti-marriage. Fuck the system, why do I need the government to recognize my love for somebody, I don’t need signed contracts to keep me committed to somebody, etc etc. He was very vocal about his distaste for marriage.

But then, you were stoned. Discussing future plans, shooting the shit - and you said when you’re my husband and fuck did Mary ever get caught up on that. Husband. Yours. He liked the sound of that way more than he’d liked to admit.

You were embarrassed of course, you knew that wasn’t what he had in mind for the future - and you weren’t resentful of that. It would be nice to have a wedding, but you didn’t need that to spend your life with Mary. You planned to do it anyway ceremony or not.

When you sobered up, Mary asked you about it. Very seriously. Like, weirdly serious. Asking if you wanted marriage, if that’s something you were into, if that’s what you needed from him - and you explained the above. It would be nice, and you’d love to marry him, but it wasn’t a necessity. You were happy with him and you would be happy with him regardless.

Mary was cryptic and quiet and it was sorta fucking scary. He didn’t say much more about it, sort of drifted off into absent mumbles as he dug into his breakfast.

You weren’t aware of his ring shopping, or him awkwardly stumbling over his proposal in the mirror. Over and over and over. Styling his hair, slicking it back, buying some nice new clothes. Then he decided fuck that. It had felt way too weird, and he looked like a stranger, and he decided if you wanted to marry him it was for his janky style and all.

He was still nervous as all hell. He worked hard until he had the ring and enough money to buy the fancy beers and a nice dinner to take you out to a drive in movie. Settling up cozy with a makeshift picnic, and a little box weighing heavily in his pocket.

He was jittery the entire night, and it started throwing you off the longer it went on. It wasn’t like him to act that weird about a date, and somewhere in the back of your mind you thought he might be buttering you up to have a threesome.

That particular question never came. Instead you finished up your food, reclining back in his truck to finish watching the movie tucked underneath his arm and head pillowed on his chest, legs intertwined under a blanket.

His hand disappeared into his pocket for long enough that you’d forgotten he’d even moved. His closed fist came to rest on his own chest just below your face, slowly uncurling to show off a little box. His fingers practically trembled twitched as he opened it before your eyes. A nice simple ring. Nothing extravagant. Your heart was in your throat, your eyes were stinging, and you craned your neck to look up at him.

“I want to uh, be with you. For a while. Make it official, and all that jazz.” Endearingly awkward. “So.” He had to breathe through the nerves again. “Will you marry me?”