#people are often unflattering and it's genuine

[silverspleen]

Every time I see that G--gle phone photoshop commercial my heart is filled with infinite sadness, like, yeah it's cool you can have a good family photo, it's cool you can do that, but god, there is something to be said for the honesty of a family photo where you're blinking, or crying, or have ugly wrinkles.

What is too unsightly for you? Would you swipe-click-replace out the image of my cousin crying on our Florida trip family reunion photo? Would you remove the plastic snake I have clenched in my grip, which I still have to this day? Would you scoff at the wrinkles around our eyes and the strands of hair on our faces as we squint into the wind, the day before the massive storm? Would I remember it if I didn't have these reminders, if the picture was perfect and clean, all children in a row with perfect gleaming white tombstone tooth smiles? No tears. No plastic snake.

Everyone is beautiful and no one looks genuine.

[kisses4choso]

#SUPER SHY

SYNOPSIS: their praises are just too much for you, but in their eyes, you're deserving of every last one of them, and more. CHARACTERS: SANJI, ZORO, & LUFFY WARNINGS: short headcanons, foul language with zoro bc it's zoro, duh! NOTE: @matsunok02 is the lovely person who requested this, but i can't tag you, so i hope this finds its way to you!

SANJI:

your number one hypeman, no matter what.

you put in effort to dress up? he's going to lay down over muddy puddles so your new outfit won't get dirty.

you dressed down today? he's absolutely in awe of your 'effortless beauty', in his words.

when you shy away from compliments, it breaks his heart a little bit

he loves to talk and talk about you, so seeing that it might make you feel uncomfortable makes him rethink a little...

when he realizes it's because you feel undeserving?

he's not having it at ALL.

will make you do self-affirmations; he's not playing

"you're beautiful." "..." "well?" "i'm beautiful..." "I KNOW RIGHT?!"

he's kinda (really) annoying about it, but he's naturally cheesy so you gotta put up with it

and he doesn't limit himself to looks

no, he's ALL about you

you saved the crew's ass with a last minute strategy? you must be a genius!

and he goes into DETAIL

his strategy is mostly getting you used to compliments, so over time they don't feel so disconcerting to receive

if you're one of those people that deflects a compliment by complimenting someone back... he's gonna get you outta that habit

"look at you, i've got you all to myself? how luck-" "you look handsome too." "hm, i wasn't done. let's try that again."

and once you gain confidence around him? he's going insane.

something about your shy smile gets him GOING.

"you're an angel." "thank you, sanji." "ohmygodyou'resosexy."

10/10 confidence booster, might call you cringe petnames but worth it

ZORO

tbh... zoro isn't one for compliments

but he's honest, a man of his word

so if a shirt is unflattering, trust me he'll say "that shirt's ugly as shit"

you ask him how something looks on you really often

he might be saying "DAMN" in his head

his heart's pounding, he's having a coughing attack, he feels lightheaded, and suddenly he's losing grip on his swords...

but out loud? you're getting a "looks nice"

not even a full sentence, sorry

you'll probably hear more skill-based compliments

imagine the crew's celebrating a successful trip with a round of drinks and they're about to make a toast for you

(bc you kicked ass)

and you try to push the credit onto SOMEONE ELSE?

he's ready to fight you

"luffy tripped over his own feet and face planted, sanji missed a kick and started spinning, chopper and ussop fell overboard, nami steered us until we almost tipped over, robin got locked in a storage room, and i almost drowned. give yourself some credit."

now wtf are you gonna answer to that? nothing... so as everyone else is laughing and retelling their stories, he just brings his bottle close to yours, "cheers."

tough love

but he's so serious. you work hard for your acheivements, so if you won't recognize them yourself, he will.

now if you're tryna get a compliment compliment from him?

drunk zoro

he's like 1 shot away from passing out, slurring his words and all

"hmm? oh, where'd y'get that? s'pretty, yeah."

"that smile's gonna kill me one day."

"shit, y'look cute."

"fuck, don't look t'me like that."

yeah, alcohol is his worst enemy.

in the end, he mostly just shows you how he feels through actions LOL...

LUFFY

oh, he's completely unaware

but he's always tryna hype everyone up, and you're not an exception

will ALWAYS compliment you after a fight against the marines

"you did really well out there, let's get a meal to celebrate!"

if you go, "i was kinda useless, i don't know"

he's like "???"

just take the compliment because he's genuinely concerned and will argue with you until you give up

"what do you mean?" "it wasn't my best" "which means you're amazing even when you're not trying?" "oh" "yeah! cmon lets eat!"

if you compliment him, it turns into a competition

"i like your shirt, luffy." "thanks, yours is cute too!" "well, i think it goes nicely with your hat." "i think yours goes well with your shoes." "have you been working out more?" "i have, did you paint your nails a new color? they look cool!"...

yeah, it's never ending bc he doesnt know how to stfu

but trust, you'll never feel like luffy's lying to make you feel better

he's got a way with words when hes not being idiotic

"y'know, you're the kindest person i've met. i'm so lucky to have you next to me."

LIKE DAMNNN why are we being poetic

but if luffy's anything, he's genuine

so trust that the big stupid smile on his face when he sees you is something he cannot hold back

"why're you smiling like that?" "just happy to see you!"

and you're getting tackled to the ground

he doesn't expect anything back when he praises you, he does it because he feels like it

just don't try to deny it because he will NOT allow anyone, including you, to slander your name

also, whatever captain says goes

so if he says you're the bravest, prettiest, nicest, least smelly person in the entirety of the sea, it's true

just something quick to put out ><

[thevalleyisjolly]

As an intrinsic part of their Mortal heritage, I like to think that all the Half-Elven in Middle-earth have at one point in their lives (but most especially their youths) had a fairly unflattering haircut that they genuinely believed was the hottest shit ever:

Dior had a long feathered mullet that was a pure flex to show off how naturally full and voluminous his hair was. He only cut it once the twins were born and it became too much work to maintain while looking after two babies.

Elúred and Elúrin got their hands on an unattended bottle of hair dye when they were five and gave themselves skunk hair bangs that took months to wash out.

Elwing once experimented with teasing her curls into a big 80's hairdo because people told her how her father used to have big hair.

Eärendil had to cut his hair after a lice scare onboard one of Círdan's ships and went for a bowl cut that he thought would be quick and easy to do. Unfortunately, the bowl he used was a little too small and the high fringe made it look like he was wearing a small hat made out of hair. Idril had conniptions. Tuor managed to hold in his laughter until he could reach the privacy of an inner room. Elwing demonstrated the incredible power of love by both saying yes to his proposal and offering to neaten his fringe so that it at least looked a little less choppy.

Elrond stubbornly sported a man bun undercut for two whole years after he lost a bet with one of Maedhros' Mortal retainers and Maglor made a sighing comment about how he shouldn't worry because his hair would soon grow back out "nice again."

Elros gave himself curtained hair in solidarity with Elrond so that Maglor would get off his back, and kept it until the first time he commanded a war party and got good-naturedly ribbed to hell about looking like a 14 year old kid.

Like father like son, Elladan wore a rat tail for a few years after one of the Dunédain wagered he couldn't pull it off. He really couldn't, although he thought it looked great and was forever trying to do fancy styles with it until Elrohir staged a sibling intervention.

Elrohir maintained a buzzcut for nearly fifty years after his parents a little too amusedly said that he could do whatever he liked with his appearance now that he was of age.

Arwen went through a phase in her 200s where she dyed her hair with whatever colours she could get her hands on. The silver was very nice (Celeborn was extremely proud) and the blue highlights were interesting but still managed to work. She even made a decent ginger. However, the attempt at Arafinwëan gold just ended up a washed-out bleach blonde that is to date the only thing that has ever stunned Galadriel into utter speechlessness.

+Although not born Mortal, Lúthien spent a full Valinorean year with feathers instead of hair while trying to shape-shift into a nightingale. It actually made for quite an aesthetic when she took the time to preen them properly, but as she was far too busy running around having adventures with Daeron, the effect was more often ruffled bird's nest than sleek wings.

[aconflagrationofmyown]

but then… Gigi

Chapter 2 - An Elvis Presley fanfiction

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

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

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

Chapter 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_____________________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pat pat pat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?” she perks up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know what!” Ginger snaps.

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

“The papaya shit–”

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

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

Gigi’s.

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

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

“Gigi’s it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No way.” She swears.

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

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

“Oh? What on?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She doesn’t have one.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You bi–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Elvis, don–”

“You did that on purpose!”

“No, she didn’t!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She is a little girl.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It makes him pause.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God moves in mysterious ways.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hopefully Elvis’s drive is worth it.

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

@prompted-wordsmith

@parodsal000

@ab4eva

@stylespresleyhearted

@presleyenterprise

@kendralavon7

@coolgirl462

@colahola

@lillypink

@stephthestallion

@vintageshanny

@landmermaid12

@ashtag2887

@notstefaniepresley

@butlersluvbot

@steph-speaks

@eliseinmemphis

@lookingforrainbows

@dkayfixates

@ellie-24

@memphisflash1935-1977

@marriedtopresley

@powerofelvis

@thatbanditqueen

@elvisabutler

@butlersxbirdy

@heartbrake-hotel

@fav-fanficssss

@austinbutlersbaby

@freudianslumber

@kxnnxy

@kingdomforapony

@be-my-ally

@crazymadpassionatelove

@that-hotdog

@missmaywemeetagain

@fallinlovewithurlove

@richardslady121

@lilycherries123

@18lkpeters

@xenaspace3-blog

@lil-mamas-obsessions

@father-of-2cats

[docholligay]

I maintain that people can find reflections of themselves in complex adult media, I think part of the problem is that those reflections are often unflattering, and people absolutely do not like to see themselves like that.

I'm thinking of the last two times I saw myself, or more correctly broad strokes versions, reflected in fiction--Mick Kennedy and Taissa Turner--and the lesson was very much, "You will find a problem you cannot will through and so you will eat yourself alive." Contrast that with something fucking made for children, Luisa in Encanto, singing about how she's the strong one, that strength and dedication is what makes her valuable. (Meanwhile she is saying all this to another person and I'm sitting here going, "People who genuinely feel this way do not fucking cry about this to their little sister.") And the problem is solved by learning that teamwork is great! And she doesn't have to do it all alone.

And that is FANTASTIC for kids. Great. I am absolutely not saying that kids' media should tell driven people to cool it before they set themselves on fire, and here are the consequences. But. When we are adults, I don't think that oversimplification and softening of our negative traits is compelling. I don't think it's anything but soothing. It's like eating fast food, every once in a while that shit is fine, but making a regular thing of it is going to really destroy your palate for more complex topics and ideas.

I mean, Yellowjackets, The Haunting of Hill House, even The Dublin Murder Squad, these are all, 5 seconds of thinking, things that have a vast range of personalities, but, BUT, they all are like, "and here are the good things about that. And here is the issue." I just think that is a more interesting and thoughtful way to engage with the world as an adult than, "And Bluey learned to be a graceful winner" unless I am 5.

Send hatemail to:

Doc Holligay

PO box 1621

Billings MT 59101

[crankityart]

Arcane characters and how to make them laugh + their laugh headcanons PART 1

Feat. Vi, Jinx, Caitlyn, Jayce, Viktor + Heimerdinger

This was really fun! I love making up these quirky little hcs and this was just on my mind. uwu Stay tuned for part 2.

Note: reader insert and implied character x reader, platonic and romantic.

Vi

Despite being a sarcastic person, Vi doesn’t laugh out loud too often

Most of the time she will react with a cocky chuckle or snort

Definitely enjoys way more making you laugh and listening to your sweet giggles

However, there is one thing that ALWAYS gets her: real-life slapstick

One day you went ice skating together and the first thing you did after bragging about how good you were at it, was accidentally fall flat on your ass

Vi immediately burst into laughter upon seeing you unhurt but absolutely dumbfounded by what had just happened

You were a bit flustered but hearing her unrestrained laughter echoing through the frost-covered park made you feel all warm all of a sudden

Eventually, she calmed down and offered you a hand to get back on your feet

Not without teasing you for the rest of the day about it of course

You wouldn’t expect it but Vi’s laugh is very similar to Jinx’s, raspy and high but definitely less hysterical and sometimes it even has some qualities of Vander’s if she does more of a belly laugh

She will even do a knee slap if something amuses her particularly

Jinx

She absolutely loves it when you do an impression of Sevika

Bonus points if you dress up as her with a cloak and something to substitute her robot arm for extra mockery

First Jinx will just be giggling, biting her lip while watching you put on a little show but by the end of your skit you will have her crying with laughter and kicking her legs 

She definitely has a childlike sense of humor and doesn’t shy away from letting herself loose

That involves hysterical giggling, heavy snorting, and cackling like a mad chicken 

Her laugh is definitely a lot and can be super annoying to the people around her

But not to you

Seeing her so genuinely happy is quite a nice change

Silco also doesn’t seem to mind it

Will also laugh her ass off seeing other people – especially those she dislikes – getting pranked   

Caitlyn

So … Caitlyn is quite experienced when it comes to retaining her composure

She doesn’t just burst out laughing even though in the past there have been a couple of close calls

Her mother usually cut her off when she started to giggle about something in an unflattering situation

When Caitlyn is not around her parents she’s usually much more comfortable showing her emotions

However … there is something she is insecure about: her laugh

You found out about it one time when the two of you were goofing around on the couch

You started tickling her and to your surprise, she burst into the biggest high-pitched dolphin laughter you have ever heard from anybody

You were taken aback and she was  m o r t i f i e d 

She explained to you that she hates her laugh but you assured her that it was the sweetest, most beautiful sound to ever exist on this planet

She just rolled her eyes, telling you to shut up while turning bright red  

Jayce

Jayce will laugh about anything really

Comedy shows? 

He will be in tears not even halfway through

You accidentally letting one rip? 

He will ROLL on the floor!

But something that will particularly amuse him and infuriate you (affectionately) is making you flustered

When he sees you blushing deep red, stumbling over your own words, and then putting on that hilariously pouty face he just can’t help it 

It’s TOO cute!

He will let out a hearty laugh at your expression, sometimes giving your a firm pat on the back or just wrapping his arm around you 

It’s hard to stay mad at him though because his laugh is just so charming

Like … this man is mocking you, how can he be so handsome about it?! >://(

Also claps loudly when laughing

And you always feel like your eardrums are gonna explode when he does it out of nowhere

Viktor

Oh boy, here we have a tough candidate …

Viktor has a peculiar sense of humor and it’s quite hard to make him laugh out loud

A soft chuckle or grin is the most you can get out of him usually

He is definitely one to cover his mouth and giggle in secret when people aren’t paying attention

However, there was this one time you accidentally called Heimerdinger ”Heimerdaddy” in front of the yordle’s face when you bid him goodbye

And much to your surprise Viktor just … lost it

It caught him so off guard that at first, he tried to keep his wheezing down, pressing his fist against his lips as hard as he could

But there was no way he would get a hold of himself anytime soon

It was just 10 minutes of suppressed wheezing and giggling only interrupted by him choking on his own laughter and coughing 

Afterward, he wiped away the tears from his face, apologizing about a million times

Weirdly despite your blunder, you didn’t feel embarrassed for being laughed at but instead felt a sense of pride for experiencing this side of Viktor that probably no one else has seen before

Needless to say you you never managed to make him laugh like this again sadly

+ Heimerdinger

He will laugh at really corny jokes or witty wordplay

Thing is: he is always the one laughing for WAY too long

Everyone else will have moved on while he's still repeating the punchline of the joke in between laughing fits

It gets really awkward ...

His laugh is kind of a Santa Claus-esque ”Hohoho” 

Only if Santa Claus was a gerbil

[odinsblog]

Tankies be tripping like a mf

Sometimes I see tankies posting their usual bullshit and I’m just endlessly smh hard enough to cause myself brain damage

I could, if I wanted, make a dozen social media accounts across various platforms and proceed to talk as much shit about Joe Biden or Donald Trump as I want. I could do that 24/7/365, all day, every day and every night, and do nothing else but that. I mean, I could talk straight up bullshit about either of them or both of them, and their spouses and their families, and as long as I don’t make any threats against their lives, guess what would happen to me?? NOTHING. Not a goddamn thing

I know this for a fact because I’ve done it (talk shit about them, not make troll accounts), and I see people do it every fucking day

Meanwhile, in “glorious” communist countries™ like Russia or China or North Korea, if anyone dares to publicly say anything even slightly unflattering about those country’s leaders, they will be punished, arrested, jailed, disappeared or murdered. And God forbid if you’re an actual journalist or dissident or a political activist trying to speak out against Putin, or Kim Jong Un, or Xi Jinping — your corpse will never be found (except maybe for Russia, where you would either “accidentally” fall out of a window, or “accidentally” ingest a rare but deadly radioactive material) ☢️ 🙃

Look, this isn’t me going, “America is soooo great and everywhere else sucks,” because as a Black man living in America, I’m well aware of how thoroughly anti Blackness is weaved into our society, and as someone who has LGBTQ loved ones, I am also aware of how homophobia and transphobia are also woven into American culture. So no, America was never great. But anti Blackness, homophobia, and transphobia exist everyfuckingwhere. And yes, that most definitely includes the tankie fantasyland utopias of Russia, China and North Korea

Anyway, I’m just blowing off some online steam because every time I see a tankie profess how communism™ will make everything equal and just sO much better, and how Russia, China and North fucking Korea! are heavens for love peace + equality, every fucking time I see that BULLSHIT on tumblrdotcom I wanna pull my teeth out with a rusty pair of pliers 🤬

I just do not get it

Only tankies could look at murderous dictatorial authoritarian regimes and go, yeah that seems much better

LOL, I could almost overlook Russia and China, but when I see tankies defending N. Korea?? I’m like, that mf is farther gone than the Voyager space probes

SN: I know that despite their political party names, Russia and China aren’t really “communist” countries, but I often wonder if tankies understand that fact

And please don’t get me started on the allegedly “pro-Black” tankies who stayed on mute about Brittney Griner, because I guess saying anything would have made Putin look bad 😒

I mean don’t get me wrong, I dO understand that capitalism has utterly failed people so thoroughly and so fucking completely that literally anything else might seem preferable by comparison, but ☭ ain’t it, fam

To be crystal clear: I hate capitalism as much as the next compassionate human being and I know capitalism ain’t it, but neither is communism, sorry

I genuinely do believe that a better world is possible, but seeing people (surprise - disproportionately white dudes) constantly blathering on and on about how good Russia is, makes me feel like 🤮

[citrinekay]

What’s Beyond Evil about? What about it do you love?

Hello, thanks for the questions! I'm always happy to promo Beyond Evil and gush about why it's 16 of some of the best episodes of television I've ever watched 😊 Assuming this ask is for recommendation purposes, I'll try to keep my explanation mostly spoiler free.

Plot-wise, Beyond Evil is about a 20 year old serial murder case that took place in the fictional small town of Manyang. Lee Dong-sik, local dilf nutjob, was accused of doing the crimes, including killing is own twin sister. He has since become a police inspector in Manyang (returning home 18 years after the murder accusations because an investigation went wrong while he was stationed in Seoul.) Han Joo-won, the son of the Deputy Commsioner of the Korean police force and previously an inspector himself in Foreign Affairs division, comes to Manyang specifically to catch Dong-sik, who he believes to be the killer based on other crimes he was investigating at Foreign Affairs. They are quickly assigned as partners, much to both of their displeasure. (Dong-sik doesn't like Joo-won's snooty, rich city kid attitude and Joo-won wanted to surveil Dong-sik discreetly for his private investigation). What can be described as a cat-and-mouse game between them ensues when a new murder occurs with the same MO as the cases from 20 years ago, exacerbating Joo-won's determination to catch Dong-sik at all costs. But wait, the preppy little hot-shot from Seoul has some secrets of his own and motivations for being in Manyang that aren't purely moralistic or justified ... Most of the show involves them trying to solve the crimes and importantly, the consequences that occur when the answers are revealed.

What I like about Beyond Evil ... well I could probably talk about it all day but I'll try to condense it down into a few bullet points:

The characters - they are all fleshed out, flawed, realistic, and compelling, even the "bad guys". Friendships of all genders and ages are included. The idea of family and what makes people family by blood or choice gets discussed in almost every episode. The people who are portrayed as lifelong friends do genuinely seem like they love and care for one another in an organic way. I don't think there's a character in this show that I don't love for one reason or another even if it is just loving to hate them.

It's a "cop" show that is kind of ACAB tbh. The police are portrayed in a unflattering light unlike most American dramas. The rules surrounding how and when missing persons can be looked for and how the investigations into the various female victims are conducted based either negative or positive societal reactions to the victims are criticized at every turn. In the end, you're left with a lot of questions about how the justice system could be improved but the realization that any kind of change won't be simple or easy

Segueing off the prior point, the victims and their families are the main focus. There's no understand or sensationalizing the killer and the criminals. Trauma, and the lingering affects of a family member being killed, is a major theme that often gets excluded in mainstream crime dramas.

My main pairing. When it comes to Joo-won and Dong-sik, the writers really revolutionized the older jaded cop vs. the younger hot-shot rookie trope. Their relationship is so fascinating and unique. It could be a recipe for disaster or a very mutually advantageous partnership, depending on the situation lol The push-pull between them never fails to satisfy. I love examining power dynamics in my pairings and this one has it in spades. Shipping aside though, the evolution of their relationship and the way Shin Ha-kyun and Yeo Jin-goo portray the characters and how their chemistry ignites onscreen is, in my opinion, a major selling point for the show.

The themes - justice, injustice, atonement, redemption, despair, healing, what it means to be vulnerable and give someone else the power to destroy you or restore you, food as a love language ... Above all, this show is about love

While I feel I've only scratched the surface of explaining why I love this show and would recommend it to everyone, I'll stop here so I don't give away too much. If you do happen to watch the show based on this answer, I hope you enjoy it as much as me!! Thanks again and have a lovely day 🥰

[unfortunatelyilikebnha]

Ok now that I’m thinking abt it cfv cast social media headcanons if cfv was set a little closer to now than 2011:

Aichi: he has Instagram but mostly to follow Kai (who didn’t actually accept his follow request until like the end of season 1 lmao) and Misaki and all his other friends rather than out of a particular desire to post pictures himself. It’s a private account and he posts when the mood strikes him, with content wildly varying from like pictures with friends to cute animals to cool new vanguard cards to food that was particularly good. Has Snapchat because Kamui bugged him about it and mostly uses it for streaks (but he forgets a lot & kamui’s like BROTHER AICHIIIIIIII :( OUR STREAK :( ).

Kai: Instagram. It’s also a private account, and for a while he just had 2 followers (Ren and Tetsu), then after their fallout he blocked Ren and Tetsu but Miwa bugged him into accepting his request (though he didn’t really post during that time just used it to observe), then after s1 he finally accepted more of his friends’ follow requests. Eventually he starts posting food he made & ofc his favorite kagero units (& maybe his friends. Occasionally. He’s not big on writing captions though). I can also see him having a Twitter where people try to antagonize him & he roasts the shit out of them (Kamui is constantly in his mentions trying to start shit, at first out of genuine dislike - he gets blocked for a while because of this - but then just for fun. Kai still blocks him every so often, and/or occasionally plays along and snipes back with some rude comment, but it’s mostly to annoy him back rather than out of genuine malice. Mostly. He does enjoy being an asshole to Kamui though). Has Snapchat but pretty much only opens it when Aichi sends him something (Ren likes to send him a million snaps chronicling his whole day to annoy him so mostly he ignores the app).

Misaki: she’s a Pinterest girlie for sure. Very organized Pinterest boards with images that are always properly sourced. She also has Instagram (also a private acc) but she didn’t use it much before she met her card capital friends, now she uses it to keep tabs on Aichi and the others. She doesn’t really post pictures except on special occasions but she is an avid close friends story user, especially when she knows Kourin will see her posts (before s4? Or au where she doesn’t disappear I guess? Idk it’s my city & I’m already diverging from canon to say they have social media just roll with it). There’s also an official Card Capital Instagram, and when she becomes the store owner in G she doesn’t really run it but she has to approve the content that gets posted there. I can also see her having tumblr just bc of her “strange” sense of humor, like she’d be very anonymous about it and not put basically anything in her bio (MAYBE her name but maybe not even that, & possibly a fake name), but I can see her being fairly popular here.

Kamui: he’s too young for social media AND YET he has it anyways. Can frequently be found getting into fights on Twitter. He’s also a big Snapchat user and HATES when people leave him on read, or when someone’s about to break a streak. Very big on streaks in general, has insanely long ones with Reiji and Eiji. Also he definitely has tiktok and (he will deny this but) he’s jealous when anyone he knows has more followers than he does. How does Suzugamori Ren have that many followers anyways >:/? In G era he downloads Instagram because he heard that Emi did it.

Miwa: definitely a Reddit user (but like not in the derogatory way, he’s just fascinated by the site). He has a personal Instagram as well as a wildly popular other account dedicated to unflattering candid pictures of his friends (mostly Kai but Misaki Kamui and Morikawa are also frequent features, and, on one memorable occasion, Jun). Semi-popular on TikTok for being a sweet & funny guy and also for casually mentioning insane things that happened and never elaborating (“yeah sorry I was absent I got kidnapped because my dumbass friend wanted to play cards with a gang leader, that guy better be grateful”).

Reiji and Eiji: have the same social media Kamui does, and hype him up on it (/occasionally bemoan how lame he is) but also do their own things.

Morikawa: Tumblr user, fully believes the wizard blogs are real wizards. Gets anons from people like “I want to study you” all the time & he always misses the point and makes it into “the Morikawa vanguard school is always open to new students because I am the greatest teacher ever”. After meeting her, a lot of his posts start focusing on Kourin and his followers have an equivalent experience to when someone you’ve followed suddenly turns into a K-pop blog with absolutely no explanation. Kind of famous just because of how fucking weird he is. He also has Snapchat but is like really bad at taking pictures so everything he sends/posts is blurry or at a bad angle, but unironically. Had no interest in any other social media until he heard Kourin had Instagram and Twitter, at which point he downloaded them both and immediately started posting about her.

Izaki: Twitter user /derogatory (sorry Izaki but I know this in my heart to be true. He’s gotta have some red flags to have stayed friends with Morikawa this long). Also has Snapchat and tries (and fails) to help Morikawa take better pictures. Kamui frequently bullies him about losing their streak, which since they’re not actually that close is probably their main form of communication. Izaki’s not totally convinced that Kamui actually knows his NAME, so he’s confused about why he cares so much (it’s bc Kamui has a Snapchat streak with literally everyone he knows who 1. has Snapchat and 2. does streaks). Also possibly has an Instagram where he occasionally gets influxes of followers when he’s tagged in pictures with his more famous friends, but some of them probably don’t think he’s that interesting and soon unfollow (lmao rip)

Emi: does not have social media in the main series but gets an Instagram by G era (when Kamui finds this out he suddenly downloads Instagram even though he has never expressed an interest in it before, and thus so does Nagisa, somehow sensing what Kamui has done).

Nagisa: has Twitter only so she can follow Kamui (again, she is too young for Twitter). Kamui has her blocked but she can still somehow sense when someone’s arguing with him & she comes into their replies like “leave my man alone!!” I would not be surprised if she doxxed people tbh. She keeps getting banned but somehow every time she appeals it the ban is lifted (Kamui suspects dark magic). Also downloads Instagram in G era after Kamui does (how does she know he got it if he didn’t tell her??? She has her ways).

Kourin: has an official ultrarare Instagram and Twitter where she promotes her idol work, and also a private Instagram and Twitter where she posts pictures of her friends and nerds out about vanguard and thoroughly logically dismantles stupid people. Once she posted a stupid meme making fun of Kai on her official ultrarare Twitter instead of her personal one by accident and fully freaked out trying to take it down before the fans screenshotted it (she wasn’t successful bc idol fans are crazy and ended up saying she was hacked) (Kai will never admit it but he thought it was funny). She probably has Morikawa blocked on every platform.

Rekka: an instagram girlie FOR SURE. She posts often and sticks to a cutesy aesthetic, and is wildly popular. She’s also very into Snapchat, both in terms of doing streaks with people and live-blogging funny bits of her day on her story. Probably also spends a lot of time on Pinterest & has a lot of Pinterest boards for every situation.

Suiko: I’ll be real I have no idea. I feel like she either has no social media at all and just like guest appears on Kourin and Rekka’s, or has like official instagram/twitter accounts with tons of followers that she semi-maintains and weird shitposty anonymous accounts where she just posts whatever comes to her brain. Tbh I can see her stirring the pot so she can observe Kamui into getting into more twitter beef just to see what happens. Redditor??? She is a mystery to me.

Kenji: has Tumblr & like 60% of it is dedicated to Ancient Rome, 30% of it is about vanguard, and the last 10% is just him reblogging like feminist stuff and positive messages. A wife guy without actually having a wife or realizing he’s a wife guy (posts a lot about “his friend” - Yuri - bc he just thinks she’s neat, but his followers seem to think he’s in love with her for some reason???). Cries when people on tumblr celebrate the ides of March. Probably has been cancelled for unironically stanning Caesar. Also has an official Instagram but doesn’t post on there much, when he’s there he’s usually just there to like his friends’ posts and log back off. People are surprised by his lack of social media and have not connected his tumblr (where he stays completely anonymous thank you very much, he is Not a fan of the attention) to him, and are always begging him to post more on his Instagram/get more social media, but when Yuri and Gai bring this up hes like no <3 I will not <3

Yuri: she’s a YouTuber for sure & she has helpful videos on deck building, strategy, how to stay calm under pressure, etc. Occasionally she includes her teammates or people from other teams in her videos (Aichi featured in one once and now her fans regularly ask for him to come back lol). She also has an official Instagram and Twitter, and runs most of the official Team Caesar accounts on various platforms. Yuri and Misaki are tumblr mutuals, and she is aware of Koutei’s tumblr (bc they’re both in the vanguard tag a lot and who else would be THAT obsessed with Julius Caesar. She’s no fool, she recognized it was him instantly) but she thinks it’s funny to not tell him it’s her (+ she’s kind of embarrassed in a fond way/thinks he might be embarrassed about the posts abt her if he knew) so she just scrolls through his nice posts abt her when she’s having a bad day.

Gai: tiktok famous for generally being a chill dude who’s willing to answer your vanguard questions but mostly for posting Team Caesar behind the scenes videos, which range from Yuri being mad at one or both of them to them doing challenges/playing games together, to some of their movie star stuff in G, to one particularly memorable video where he just stared at the camera while Yuri and Koutei were being in love with each other and (at least in Koutei’s part) oblivious to it in the background.

Ren: pre-season 1 he had no social media except an Instagram account and a Snapchat, both of which he used to post an ongoing stream of whatever was in his brain so that Tetsu and Kai would see it. After The Breakup™️ he went private and posted a lot of stuff about revenge, and being stronger, etc (which was no use since Kai had him blocked and he was not popular pre-Asteroid era, so pretty much only tetsu saw his posts). Also he’s DEFINITELY a Reddit user lmao. Post-season 1 Asaka got him into tiktok which he immediately became famous on, he joined Twitter which had a preconception of him due to the way he acted during season 1 and so he gets cancelled every other week for a while (eventually they mostly get used to his new personality and the way he says the weirdest shit), and he rebooted his Instagram to be public and deleted most of the old revenge posts (he probably leaves one up just to cause controversy lmao). Often leaves Kyou on read on Snapchat, but whether that’s on purpose or an accident is anybody’s guess. Actually he probably would have tumblr too & be kinda infamous bc his personality would definitely make him popular here tbh. He runs a “official ren suzugamori” blog but he never acknowledges he’s on tumblr anywhere else and everyone thinks it’s just a fake parody blog.

Asaka: tiktok famous for being hot, on team asteroid, and if she’s feeling generous for answering people’s vanguard questions (with a special focus on the Pale Moon of course). Probably also has a sizable following on Instagram. Lords her amount of followers over Misaki who pretends she doesn’t care but early seasons Misaki was actually a little annoyed by this.

Kyou: had a Twitter. Keeps getting banned from Twitter and making new accounts and the cycle repeats. Doesn’t have a tiktok but is tiktok famous anyways for always appearing in team asteroid videos in the weirdest ways (disguised as a potted plant. Scaled the building and can be seen inaudibly yelling in the background through the window on the third floor of team asteroid headquarters. Parachuting down from an airplane. Etc). When people comment about him on Ren’s videos he’s always like “who?” “I don’t see him?” or “huh, that guy looks vaguely familiar…” and when people comment about him on Asaka’s videos she refuses to name him but always says something about how much she hates that guy. Has Snapchat but about half the cast either leaves him on opened/read or straight up has him blocked (he Does take really interesting pictures though, and it’s cool to see all the places he goes! How does he have the money for all this??? Nobody knows).

Tetsu: runs “official team asteroid” accounts, including a YouTube on which Ren is IMMENSELY popular despite not being the account owner. Known for being intimidating on Twitter, and also for (one-sided tbh) twitter beef with Kamui (who would @ him like HEY ASSHOLE ACKNOWLEDGE ME >:/ & Tetsu would just ignore him) in earlier canon. He doesn’t actually use any of his accounts that much besides the YouTube and to publish official updates about team asteroid, but - though he’ll never admit it - he’s a fan of terrible memes. He asked what Asaka was laughing at once and she showed him a vanguard meme (“I don’t know if you’ll get it though”) and he excused himself and went to another room to laugh (Asaka was like ???).

[gggoldfinch]

Wanna talk a little abt ur self inser copia art. I love it so freakin much. The lil double chin and stretch marks fucking healed me because every art that wants to depict afab people always do it so that the "undesirable" traits don't taint it. And it's alienating you know? It has become better in fandom spaces i admit that, but its still shocking and delightful to see one like yours. Like, that's me!! I have those!!! They're beautiful!!!

Also your Copia looks so freakin soft im so abnormal abt it

AAAAGHGG Im so glad you're able to see yourself and relate!!!!! That genuinely makes me so happy, seriously.

I grew up on the internet seeing art of small and skinny, perfect women, with chiseled jawlines and cheekbones and not an ounce of oddly located fat, and it always made me feel kinda bad. I'm big and tall and sturdy and was honestly built like medieval germanic farm mother by the age of 14 LMFAO so needless to say I've always drawn myself "differently" than the art I've always been exposed to. I too have thankfully seen a shift in the dichotomy, especially over the last few years, but still...

Whenever I draw self insert stuff I try to draw myself with all the things I don't necessarily love about myself because, if I do, and make them look nice, then that can make me appreciate them more irl. They're part of what makes me me, so why get rid of them just because I may not think my double chin or soft jawline or big ears are the most attractive 🤷🏻‍♀️

Drawing myself in more of a raw, real manner over the years has ABSOLUTELY helped me in appreciating my body more. I wear crop tops and low-rise bottoms a lot more often now, and don't pay too much attention in avoiding making "unflattering" faces that draw attention to my chin. My thin lips don't bother me as much as they used to, and I don't shave for the sake of the public eye anymore. Although what my preteen-era bullies said about my appearance does still stick with me every day, I'm less inclined to believe the cruel things they said, because I know I grew into a beautiful person in my own right on the outside as well as the inside.

Anyway, if my fictional s/o's can love me for how I look then I can too 😁👍🏻 and so can you 🫵🏻😁 !!!

[yallcantread]

Craziest thing about this whole thing is that people were excited for a possible Taylor x 1975 collab until The Sun broke the news, people need to understand that they can't police celebrities how to act in their personal lives out of work.

I'm not going to tell anyone how to feel (not my job), but you get what I mean ?

Yeah, it’s interesting how some people view themselves as an extension of the artist they admire. It’s like they perceive the artist’s personal choices as a reflection on themselves, and they become invested in the artist’s relationships. It’s odd that some individuals wish for the artist to experience heartbreak or to lose interest in their partner.

Among Taylor Swift’s fans, there seems to be a pretentious attitude when it comes to her dating life. It’s peculiar because some individuals who express strong opinions and criticisms about Taylor Swift’s partner may not necessarily feel personally attracted to them. Despite this, they still feel inclined to comment on their looks. However, there could be a variety of opinions within the fan base. Those who consistently criticize his looks may be forcing themselves to do so, as it’s unlikely for someone to continually post unflattering photos of a person they are not attracted to.

He isn’t “ugly” to me because I don’t believe in the concept of ugliness. I believe that attraction is subjective, and just because I’m not personally attracted to someone doesn’t make them ugly. We all have unique faces, and that’s simply how it is. Life is too short to be concerned with trivial judgments and categorizations of fellow human beings. Let’s focus on more meaningful aspects of life and treat others with the acknowledgment of them being human.

From my perspective as an artist, I appreciate both Taylor Swift and Matty. I’m not particularly concerned with their personal lives, but based on what they’ve publicly shown us, their relationship seems to make sense.

They have familiarity with each other, and Taylor seems to be attracted to British accents and men who are outspoken. Both of them appear to have a dislike for media intrusion and prioritize their artistic endeavors. They also seem to share a mutual appreciation for each other’s music. I’d understand the dislike if Matty were a known abuser or something, but he isn’t. He simply doesn’t conform to the performative expectations some people have. It’s important to note that these assumptions are solely based on their music, and I don’t know their personal opinions or preferences.

They both seem to value stability, which is understandable considering their similar ages.Both of them deeply care about their craft. When two creatives come together, it often results in something extraordinary.

As an artist myself, I find their relationship inspiring. The art that will emerge from their collaboration, their shared experiences, or any other creative endeavors will be remarkable. Something beautiful often arises from every situation.

Of course, I could be mistaken, and that’s perfectly fine. In this instance, I’m not concerned with being ‘right.’ Apart from that, their relationship makes sense to me. I genuinely hope they find what they need in each other and that they remain happy. It’s difficult to understand why anyone would wish for anything other than their happiness.

[tornadoyoungiron]

What's the deal with Green Arrow?

Young Iron AU - Green Arrow a little history 😘

His class got kinda ignored and belittled by the bigger Gresley’s and he’s always been underestimated or pushed to the side. Green Arrow’s the first and last of the Gresley LNER V2’s and the most famous. A lot of them didn’t really understand why Arrow was preserved but otherwise just ignored him. He got to shine a few times and he has a significant fanbase of his own. One of his favourite moments was pulling the train with Thomas and befriending him.

Arrow became Director Richard Dover’s favourite engine and he was pushed into the limelight and became the leading icons of the NRM for a while. That was until the Flying Scotsman entered the Museum’s collection and took his place and the restoration that was promised to him. Because of this, Arrow grew hateful and nasty as he was locked in a shed. He became ever more bitter as the Scotsman took over the role of Museum ✨ IDOL ✨ and had all the money throw his way while Arrow became in desperate need of repairs. He began to spread rumours and tell lies about the other engines, trying to make other engines look bad and try them against each other while trying to set himself up to return to one as of the museums star attractions.

Eventually the other engines caught on to his deceptive nature and shunned him. It didn’t stop him from trying to get one up on others though as he was very good at talking his way out of things and charming other engines with his sweet word play. People often underestimate his intelligence and his ability to trick people into revealing unflattering things about themselves.

When Tornado came on the scene, the other big engines practically shunned her, calling her a ‘fake’ engine or not a true engine. She befriended and hung out with the smaller engines as a result however Arrow approached her with a genuine desire to befriend her. Tornado and Green Arrow became close friends to which Arrow would cherish her and become unhealthily protective of her, to the point of trying to keep the bigger engines for befriending her.

After Arrow lied to her and was pressured into insulting her, Tornado was deeply hurt and cut all ties with him, leaving his friendless and now having all the smaller engines against him as they all adored Tornado. Tornado was brought into the Museum’s inner circle with the Scotsman and Truro, thus separating them even further.

Green Arrow then went on to try and scrap Flying Scotsman which lead to him being locked in a shed indefinitely before Richard Dover tried to steal him to save him from being scrapped by Cain. He was stored at Crewe where someone removed his voice box, causing him to become mute before being sent to Sodor as a loan to assist the growing workload on the Island.

To say the Sudrian engines did not approve of him was an understatement as they constantly bullied him with the exception of Thomas, Edward, BoCo and Salty.

Fun facts:

~ He’s probably one of the most intelligent and clever of the mainland engines. The dude is smart and knows it too.

~ He’s also one of the hardest workers. His work ethic is literally insane. He gives Duck a run for his money, so much so that Duck is secretly impressed with him, though he’d never tell him that.

- He might be smaller than Engines like Henry or Gordon but he can be just as strong as they are.

~ His class’s wheels are sensitive to poor tracks which often lead to him being derailed or accidents. Because of this he’s only allowed on the newer tracks which lead to him kind of acting like a Karen at times complaining about poorly kept railways.

[maxellminidisc]

I was up at like 4am and bored looking up "designer" plus sizes and genuinely that shit is laughable. Outside the very often confusing and more than often STILL limited sizing in extended sizes, so much of the actual design is so thoughtless. Like very few of these designers think about how these designs will translate to a fuller figure or different body shapes within the plus size demographic. Not every fat person is built with a perfect hour glass or even pear shaped body. This is especially evident in anything that isn't supposed to be ultra feminine, body hugging, or curve/waist accentuating. Like not all women want to be feminine or accentuate the features society genders us with against our own wishes.

It's a pain in the ass being somebody who's consistently loved menswear and tailoring both because straight lines and geometric 80's silhouettes are my preference, but also because of my constant use of fashion in expressing my more idk genderBLENDED identity. I dont want to constantly be cornered into the only shit fitting me being what is socially perceived as "feminine". I want to be able to be gnc or androgynous in my own way the same way skinny people are fucking always given leeway and praise for.

Like not only is it a battle finding a good formal pant that fits in the first place but to find one who's tailoring is both flattering to my fuller lower body, but also doesn't settle for accentuating the same "curvy" silhouette is near impossible. Plus, much of the waist pleating and even pocket design of plus size formal pants is so fucking unflattering and even rendered useless because of how the design fails to translate. Like the amount of times I've had to pass up a pant with a good fit because the pockets end up flaring open cause my hips are wide and thus prone to having shit fall out is genuinely stupid. I keep seeing designers try to make wide leg dress pants for plus sizes as well since "oversized" 🙄🙄🙄 is a the trend rn but most of them look frumpy because of stupid design choices like making the flare/wideness of the pant begin at the actual waist and not below it, creating a ballooning or even extra wrinkled effect.

And don't get me started with how almost every fucking women's blazer either has to have roll up sleeves, tailoring to exaggerate the waist, or some kind of belting/bow to, again accentuate the waist. And if they're NOT curve hugging they alwayshave the worst, again, frumpy fucking fit usually in the arms so you look like you're wearing your dads old blazer or something. Why can't women's clothes be afforded the same clean crisp lines and fit as men's suits?! I often have to get men's blazers and suit jackets and have my mom do some tweaking to get the sleeves a lil shorter. Like people should not be going the extra mile to get the fit AND silhouettes they want, including women who don't mind their feminity despite all my bitching lol

And of course theres like a BAJILLION complaints I could have about jeans but don't get me fucking started on THAT shit or I wont shut the fuck up lol

[mhathotfic]

I’m feeling very in a mood rn but I just wanted to ask this;

I always wanted to be an actress but I rarely see people on shows that look like me but when I do there’s just something off and I think it’s because I have big boobs? Like even actresses that look like me (Paulina Chavez and Xochitl Gomez) have flat chests. Like I feel like all the young actress have smaller to no boobs. Like I have big boobs and thick thighs and a lil belly pouch. I think I’m pretty but I’ve never been confessed to, all my past romantic relationships were initiated by me. Like no one has ever hit on me it a flattering way or even in an unflattering way. The best compliment I got in my life was that I would make a good nude art model because I’m built like one of those Greek sculptures. And that was platonic! I’m still a virgin, and while I’m not upset about that I just wish someone would hit on me. I think that’s why I like flirty dumbasses so much. I’ve been told I look intimidating because I always look either deep in thought, seething, or tired. I want to know where I fit into the male gaze so I can succeed in my life. I just want your opinion on this… here’s some pictures of me at my best for reference:

That last one was from a few years ago, the first one was from this thanksgiving

First off you are pretty! Like really pretty, dare I even say hot.

So the next part is gonna sound like a conspiracy theory but it’s a genuine observable thing that neurotypical people often do to neurodiverse people.

Essentially because we have different general styles of communication they tend to view us unapproachable and hard to get to know at best and rude and standoffish at worst. Even when they don’t mean to or know they’re doing so they tend to view us as not doing the human being thing correctly.

This of course is not to say all nt people do that but it’s enough to be recognized behaviors

[hologramcowboy]

Hi! I hope you have a great weekend!

I have a few questions for you, if you’re willing to weigh in.

Do you think Beau will actually end up with Jenny on Big Sky? Or is the show only going to hint at a romance enough to try get people interested? Also, have you noticed Jensen leaning into his character having feelings for her before, potentially, the most recent episode?

Also, this is not related to BS but, I see Elta as the embodiment of a “Mean Girl,” do you think that is the type of woman Jensen actually likes, and is he just a “Mean Boy” behind the scenes? It doesn’t totally sound like it from what coworkers say, but he does throw shade people at times. Did he get duped by D and now he’s just stuck, or did he never care about her personality because it was always just an arrangement for him?

He seems like he’s changed a whole lot from his early days in interviews and such. He used to talk about his family often and seemed more truly humble. Now, he only seems to see her family, seems to feel the need to brag and be constantly craving a drink. People crow about his confidence now (like when he’s on stage singing) vs his shyness before. But I think I liked his earlier persona more.

Thank you for the beautiful wish, hope your weekend is lovely and full of magic.

Thank you for the beautiful ask as well. 💕

Big Sky confuses me on a lot of levels because the writing is extremely weak, I will be honest and say that I have no clue if Jenny and Beau will get together or if the writers are stringing us along and that's because they failed to earn their connection, no momentum was built so I genuinely wonder whether they are baiting us or not. Last episode Beau suddenly showed signs of having feelings for her. Like Boom. 🤣 No credibility whatsoever precisely because that connection was not earned. I think they wanted Jenny and Beau to be the it couple people rooted for but failed to deliver due to the writing.

I see Elta as the embodiment of the Mean Girl, I do mean girl because she clearly never evolved past high school mentally. Her image is my biggest issue with Jensen, everything about him made sense up until he chose her and then alarm bells went off. Why would someone down to earth, honest and deep choose someone like Elta for a spouse? It doesn't really gel with his image. He does throw shade but I think he models her, in the past he never displayed behavior like that. Then again, he was very private previously, too private and then you hear him say things like "Jessica Alba is a bitch" and it kinda makes you realize he's not the angel you thought he was. He seems to have taken a lot of pages out of Elta's book, especially with the self aggrandizing, arrogant comments, unflattering, almost bully like comparisons, it's all very her and he clearly is influenced by her heavily. I would say they are quite similar now.

Jensen is extremely hard to read because he is very cryptic and also carefully crafts and projects a persona. Could he be a "Mean Boy" behind it all? He has displayed some narcissism traits as of late so it's a possibility. Birds of a feather flock together. Clichè but very true.

I always thought Danneel duped him and that's why he's so unhappy now, she pretended to be his ideal and then reality crashed all around him when he discovered she was not what he thought she was. But I have to answer your question honestly and add that, at this point, I'm leaning more towards the possibility that he's always been like her but I've just been blind. Because there are too many inconsistencies in his stories, his behavior, choices, body language all clash and his image is all over the place. He is being inauthentic and impossible to read, while Elta is clear as day. If that's the person he chooses as a partner then he couldn't possibly be the humble, kindhearted person I thought he was.

This is just my impression, of course, so please discard anything that doesn't resonate. ♥️ Maybe time will prove me wrong, I hope it will, I always do but right now I tend to think he is extremely similar to her or, at least, emulating her heavily.

I too deeply appreciated and admired his previous persona and though it was clearly still just a crafted persona, I resonated with it deeply.

Despite everything I've written above, I feel a pull towards all the endlessly beautiful emotions I've felt thanks to Jensen and I must believe that something about them is real, that something there is authentic or he wouldn't be able to inspire such emotions. So I hope that he will bring out those incredible qualities that made him unique and drop the toxic patterns he's acquired. He is blessed is so many ways and he can connect deeply with people so I often wish to see him fully step into that leadership role, I also think that's going to create the inner shift required for casting to view him differently because Hollywood runs on energy. It's very important to embody the ideal energy (for the roles you want to have) and I think Jensen has so much potential, I would love to see him fully embody that rather than get caught up in Elta's low vibration patterns.

[braveryhearted]

More obscure muses ( Introduction ) series.

Fandom: Gintama.

Muse #3- Okita Sougo

Age 18-21 ( manga and anime )

Okita Sougo is the 1st Division Captain of the Shinsengumi and was a trainee at Kondou Isao's dojo in his youth. He is the younger brother of Okita Mitsuba who raised him after their parents passed away. He is recognized as the best swordsman in the Shinsengumi and takes pride in his job to lead the vanguard as to open a path for the squad.

He is shown to have evil intentions underneath any good thing he does, and is very blunt, not hesitating to express his observations, disdain towards others, or unflattering perceptions, be it to Hijikata or Kondo (but especially to Hijikata). Despite this, Sougo is usually protective of the people he genuinely cares for, such as Okita Mitsuba, his older sister, and his commander, Kondou Isao (even though Sougo repeatedly calls him Gorilla). When an official insults Kondou, Sougo draws his sword to kill him before being stopped by Hijikata. Additionally, he is unexpectedly sensitive to others' feelings when it truly counts, often saving his comrades' lives in battles and even taking on burdens for other people.

In spite of everything, Sougo has respect for Hijikata and even considers him to be one of his 'three rotten friends' (the other two being Kondo and Sakata Gintoki). He also has a similar rivalry with Kagura of the Yorozuya, and the two often get in meaningless competitions over the smallest of situations. In general, Sougo acts aloof and disinterested most of the time and is most often seen with a blank, deadpan expression on his face. Though he often acts lazy and slacks off on his jobs, he is very attentive when needed and does not hesitate to kill or cut down his enemies.