#remember the origins. remember the dog park. remember.

[braisedhoney]

if cecil gershwin palmer wins the tumblr sexyman polls of 2023 i'll draw him and my tsp narry swapping outfits. i don't have a cecil design and i haven't listened to wtnv in actual years and it will not stop me. i'll make it work. lil chibi doodle or smth. this is a blood pact.

[sucrate]

GOAT ! [Audience Cheers And Claps]

[darkdemeter]

HABITS OF MOTHER NATURE’S WILL

The DARK DEMETER WRITING CATALOGUE, WANDA MAXIMOFF COLUMN #1 —

—- not my gifs, credit to original posters! -—

Wanda Maximoff x Werewolf! GN/Female/Male Reader, (Platonic) Avengers x Werewolf! GN/Female/Male Reader

A/N — Finished it nice and quickly, I was a bit unsure about this piece and was probably gonna scrap it before I posted the teaser. I was surprised to see how many people liked the teaser alone, and the taglist life chose me! Didn’t think that would happen so soon sooo that’s pretty cool, so if you wanna join that then let me know! I’m looking at potentially doing some more werewolf reader soon, with a piece (or multiple pieces, idk yet) called ‘The Convict Wolf’. Again I’m not the best at fluff so there is quite a bit of angst in there too as well as some humour. I think this turned more into a slight! Wanda x reader than an actual Wanda x reader. So… sorry bout that. Usage of Y/N as well.

WORD COUNT — 3.4k

— NEXT COLUMN

READER DISCRETION — angst (reader has insecurities/self esteem issues) — Tony being a bit of a dick — some minor language — some weird fluffy humour? — mentions of a “passed relative” in said humour — minor name calling and usage (“mutt and stray/pup”) — and I think that’s it?

Mother Nature decrees that her law is absolute. Her will is to be respected, and all are intended to follow in her great design.

You do not change it. You embrace it.

And this applies to you as well, thanks to your common ancestor, that you shared the habit that left you tracking the red ball Tony kept bouncing against the polished floors like it’s the only thing in existence that mattered to you. And maybe because it did.

How could this happen? No high risk missions or deadly villains to stop from achieving world domination. No, today was one of those special days where you and your fellow Avengers could relax. And with the full moon so close, what better combination?

What you wouldn’t give to suddenly be on a quinjet flying into enemy territory. Nothing like a good fight to get the blood pumping.

For everyone’s sake, you tried to keep to yourself for the past week but you’d exhausted your options. Walks in the park weren’t cutting it - not to mention the other dogs started it first - and you’d already destroyed five punching bags in the gym just prior. The treadmill be damned, you weren’t burning any energy on that.

Your last resort was to sit in the common area with your favoured beverage, a cool rag and some TV to calm the intense wave of anxiety. However, by her divine intervention, your beloved crew had come to flock in.

Mother Nature knew you were a pack animal at heart, as both human and wolf. It was how she made you.

The ensuing anxiety of being in a crowded space enough to put you near over the edge. It’s not like your heart rate only picked up a few hundred beats more when Wanda walked in.

When a few of the new arrivals waved and greeted you, you shared a hesitant yet trying smile and equally reluctant nod in return.

The battlefield was the only place you felt comfortable around your new comrades. But without missions or villains you were still getting accustomed to life at the compound; adjusting to life around people.

You were still considered fresh. A new recruit to the team. As Tony liked to call you… a pup.

Fuck, how you’d bite back your snarls from that term.

Fury assigned you to the Avengers some months ago. And though you had no intention of staying long, the missions kept coming in and a lot more required your specific skill set.

You remember as though it was yesterday that Tony said, “Alright Fury, we’ll adopt the stray pup. Just don’t go ripping up the furniture now.”

Suffice to say, you broke your own record at doing just that in under 3 hours.

“I think they’ll settle in just fine,” Fury had chuckled with a clap to the billionaire’s shoulder.

You shake your head at the memory. Still, if felt wrong to feel certain things for one of your teammates already. It wasn’t like you felt you really had a chance with her anyway.

The thought made your eyes falter from the now still ball for a moment, clutched in Tony’s hand as if it were your heart.

‘Who am I kidding?’ You chuffed silently to yourself, ‘She wouldn’t take a chance on me, I’m a damn mutt!’

Your self esteem issues had to wait though.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

‘Ball.’

‘Ball.’

‘Ball.’

Your entire head at this point tracked the ball’s movement, but your mind was still distracted by Wanda. The idea of her wanting to play ball with you, to spend those moments of intimacy with you. Tony’s words zeroed in from a muffled backdrop to the forefront of your mind.

“And that is why red indeed travels at a superior speed to any other. Ergo, why my suit is red, brilliant, eye catching and can beat anyone.”

You could hear the collective groans and disguised snarks beneath coughs without the noise being present. It was in everyone’s eyes and their scents.

Your eyes froze on Wanda, her striking eyes bore into yours with no hesitation. No fear.

‘How long has she been doing that?’

She offered one of her smiles that made your heart swell and stop at the same time, that made your searing skin cool and rise with goosebumps.

‘She’s so beautiful when she smiles like that.’

If she had one of those smiles then… you knew that grin that spread across her lips and showed a thin line of her teeth.

Your eyes gave away the betraying thought that you knew. Her smile turned grin riddled with mischief spoke volumes.

‘She read my damn mind!’

“I don’t think that is actually possible, Tony,” Sharon said with a click of her tongue and a disbelieving squint to her eyes.

“Oh no, it is,” Tony replied with a nod, “I’ll show you how the colour of this ball determines the speed in which it returns to my hand.”

He held up the ball in his hand, a proud display of its immaculate accomplishment, just a throw away.

Shit.

You bite down on your lip hard to suppress the whine coiled deep in your throat. A deep heat settled all along your neck and your ears.

Wanda still stared at you even in your peripheral.

Tony flicked his hand forward and the ball flew forward, bouncing once against the floor and bound into the wall with a determined thump before Tony caught it again, mouth agape to huff in his triumphant display in tandem with a curt yelp.

A good throw. Bad timing.

Everyone’s eyes had diverted to you. Their attention captured by the sound you made. Even Bucky, the stoic and reserved man who hardly acknowledged anyone with anything other than a grunt, appeared surprised if not the slightest bit intrigued by this new discovery.

You didn’t dare risk a second glimpse at Wanda, the flush in your neck seeped higher up into your face. Not that the shock and interest on everyone else’s faces were easier to process.

But you couldn’t face Wanda’s eyes now.

She had read the racing thoughts you couldn’t keep in line. Who knows how much she read about how alluring you think her scent is, how you whine and whimper whenever you hear her softly cry when in the privacy of her room because you wish to be there with her, her hand running through your fur to comfort herself; to let her know you’re there for her. How much it hurts you that she would never see you as nothing more than the mutt of the team. A beast that maims and runs rampart whenever you lose yourself to anger.

A lovesick pup.

You feared that the hot sting of tears was sure to follow any moment now.

Your fingers tightened against your legs, nails not longer the tamed length you maintained them as. In their stead were claws.

“Something wrong, pup?” Tony teased and you didn’t refrain from the rasped snarl that rose in your chest. Your teeth - and fangs - bared.

Fuck. Why did Mother Nature have to make you the way you are?

“Tony,” Sam warned, eyes cast between the two of you.

“What?” Tony only shrugged as if he wasn’t intentionally pissing you off and embarrassing you at the same time. “I just wanna make sure our new recruit here is alright, I mean, they have been temperamental over the past week. Chewing on expensive furniture and specially crafted improvements to my suit—“

The ball flew from Tony’s hand just as he was about to make a show of the ball again, the unmistakable red, misty tendrils swiftly brought it to Wanda’s hand.

Everyone was silent as they glanced between the red ball in Wanda’s hand and you. Their combining scents overwhelmed you to a new height. The fear that pinned you in place made the skin along your arms radiate with heat, either from the desire to run with your tail between your legs or to get defensive; to ‘wolf out’ as the others had called it. It didn’t help when Thor made an attempt to say something but otherwise thought better not to say what was on his mind.

Wanda eyed the object that held your attention. And you in turn couldn’t help but study her. Something in the way her eyes twinkled with curiosity, her lips pulled to one side as if to contemplate heavily on the fact that this ball held you in a vice grip.

Your short temper as of late, how you’d skulk around, much to the dismay of everyone fearing you had turned into another Bucky. The guy wasn’t that bad, you’d give him credit for that, the guy had a lot on his plate.

But what Wanda was perhaps most interested by that whenever she was present in the same room as you, all that would vanish. At least for the most part.

But to her, you would ask her how she was doing or even compliment her. Little did she possibly know that it was because you had felt a little courageous to take that small leap of faith to tell her she looked good.

But she might as well have that knowledge now.

You weren’t sure if it bothered you or not that she read your mind. Invaded your thoughts. In some weird way, you wanted her to. But you also feared her rejection.

But in the end, it all made sense. No one else pieced it together but her. And this time, she didn’t have to read your mind to do it.

She could read you. She knew you.

“It’s the full moon tomorrow night. They’re anxious.”

You were often lucky to avoid this topic with the others. They’d just chalked it up to catching you at the wrong time, that the mission was a hard one that day and you had some pent up anger to burn. The other half, you’d be out of the compound. Taking a much needed break at your apartment, visiting your sick grandma who they suspiciously noted you saying had passed away years ago three times now. But who was counting.

Never did they realise it all happened around the same time every month.

But Wanda did. She noticed it.

You brave to stare into those eyes you were content to drown in but find something else. It’s mysterious. Not what you’d expect to see in her eyes when she looked at you of all people.

“Y/N, Fetch!” Wanda cooed as she tossed the ball away from her. It’s a primal instinct that ignited within you at that very moment. A natural, engrained sense and desire.

How Mother Nature intended for you to react to survive or to have fun, your skin tingled with the sensation all too familiar.

The shift is over within the blink of an eye, seamless as you launch yourself over Wanda’s sitting body after the ball, large paw-like hands scrapped across the floors as you skid to a halt and the ball captured within the grasp of your maw.

Your tail wags involuntarily and your ears pinned against your head as you bashfully ducked your head at the sound of the others who chuckled and praised your reflexes.

It felt nice. Wanda turned in her spot on the couch to peer over at where you’d jumped over her, chin tucked into her folded arms.

“Nice catch,” she giggled and you swore she could see your blush in this form, “bring it here.”

Hesitant, you take a step forward and then another, your eyes cautious as they wandered over the others in case they deemed your advancements were dangerous to be left unchecked.

Rarely did you allow this form to take around them without the proper surveillance equipment and safety precautions. They already had Bruce to worry about losing control as the Hulk. They couldn’t risk you as well.

But no. They marvelled in their stares, smiles of contentment encouraged you to approach Wanda. You let the ball fall into her grasp with a small whine, ears still pressed back.

“Don’t be shy, Wolfie,” she whispered, the sound soft for only your ears to hear. You liked that nickname. You could only hope she would continue to use it.

Wanda raised the ball again only for Tony to interject. “No! No, you are not playing fetch in this compound, Miss Maximoff.”

Wanda smirked at the look in your eyes. The same one you had right before you tore up all the good, expensive furniture within that 3 hour window.

A few more throws turned into furniture shoved aside to make room. Tony remained in the kitchen, arms folded and a scowl etched hard into his face, it would take a miracle for Pepper to wipe it from his face.

Everyone else was too engrossed in the game of indoor fetch, all having had a couple of turns by now with throwing the ball. Bucky humoured you once and threw it, an approving nod when you caught it. Clint, Thor, Peter and Scott fought hard to get the ball numerous times, Natasha and Wanda were promoted to ‘ball-directors’ so everyone had a fair go.

But Wanda maybe got an extra throw in once or twice - by order of Natasha.

Steve now held the eye catching sphere in his hand, high above his head. Though with your stature in this form, it was rather tricky to keep it away from your snapping jaws.

You yipped and howled in anticipation before Steve tossed the ball and you leapt after it. You caught it before it could bounce off the wall. An eruption of claps and cheers followed immediately, your ears flopped back as you whine softly with that feeling that buzzed in your ribcage.

“Bring it here, Wolfie.” Your ears perked up high and alert at the soft tune of Wanda’s accented voice. A few of the others couldn’t refrain from laughing a little at the sight.

Whenever they had permitted you to shift on mission skirmishes, it was all done through protocol and extensive preparation to ensure you were stable.

And they only saw one emotion when you changed. Aggression.

To finally get the chance to play and be comfortable in your own fur felt good. Shit, well beyond good.

“I was promised the next throw! Come on, give the ball here, Y/N,” Sam called with an outstretched hand.

Even if Sam had a point, you couldn’t stop yourself in your approach towards Wanda, who now was crouched down with her hand out to receive the ball.

Her eyes were soft in their gaze as they pierced through the veil of your own. It was like she could see the humanity deep within you.

Her magic touched you differently, prickled against the shell of your mind, you welcomed her in.

‘I see you as more than you realise.’

A whimper crept up your throat in response, ears tucked back and eyes often shrouded with the thirst for carnage grew to relax. Become tender in the embrace of her eyes - her soul - touching yours.

Your fur bristled suddenly and you shook your head with a huff. You dropped the ball into her hand and she threw it down the long hallway.

You bound after it, your claws clinked against the tile floor, your breath hot in ragged pants as you gave chase. Each bounce of the ball echoed faintly in the back of your mind, too occupied by the words Wanda spoke through your mind.

It was the first time you’d heard her voice in your head. And you enjoyed it. It settled you into a sense of calm.

You didn’t register the elevator doors open ahead of you, Nick Fury stood with files tucked under his arm.

Your eyes shot open and you swore you saw his unpatched eye mimic yours. Your weight was too much to control with the momentum you had backed up behind your pursuit in a cramped hallway. You skid to a halt but slipped forward, the force of your body knocked Fury and yourself back into the elevator.

A series of cringed groans and gasps reminded you of your teammates as the elevator doors closed behind you.

You’d knocked Fury into the buttons and now, your destination was another floor.

Sheepishly, he could tell, you whine a pathetic sound in your apologies. You shuffle in the elevator that was almost too tight for the two of you to fit with you like this.

“So,” Fury said after a few moments of silence, eye intently watchful of the floors you both now visited. Some had agents give pause and a receptionist even dropped her cup of steaming coffee at the sight of you.

“What brought the wolf out?”

He turned his head slightly when you grunted, ball held up in your mouth to show him what had ensued before his arrival.

It felt like hours that the rest of the team stood in their places, eyes stuck on the elevator door you and Fury both disappeared into.

“Do you think he’ll be mad?” Wanda asked, voice coated in a toxic amount of unease.

She was scared what would happen to you. As a matter of fact; everyone was scared.

The government knew just enough and that was a hard - yet private - case that was not disclosed with the public.

Your existence and your species as a whole had to remain top secret. One slip up that was determined out of hand would grant you a one way ticket to who knows what for punishment.

“It’s okay, Wanda,” Clint assured, “I doubt Fury would do anything like that. I mean, he brought them to us.”

“He’s right. No way would Fury do something like that,” Steve added, firm in his judgement or perhaps what he hoped for.

“We will… figure it out if it comes to that,” Tony sighed from his place. Not often did Tony jump to your defence in cases such as this.

But in the end, you’d proven yourself mostly to be trustworthy.

He had some inkling of reason to believe you wouldn’t cause intentional harm to the team.

The elevator pinged and everyone held their breath as the doors slid open.

Fury and you stood side by side, gazes directed down the hallway towards your team. Your eyes immediately sought out Wanda who gave you a smile but her brows were furrowed.

Fury held up the ball as he strutted forward, like an obedient pup, you followed close to his heel.

“Next time, take the game of fetch outside,” he advised and threw the ball forward and Tony caught it swiftly.

Another good throw. Really bad timing.

You were still hyped up and because of that, you charged forward and closed the distance within a matter of milliseconds.

“Wait no—!” Tony grunted as he was pinned to the floor beneath your weight. “Get. Off!” He growled and you slinked away from him with your tail tucked.

The others did little to hide their laughs at Tony’s unfortunate expense.

“Good job,” you caught Bucky mutter to you as you joined Wanda’s side. You chuffed rather proudly and your head held high.

Steve aided Tony from the floor. “Alright, Fury. We’ll note that down.” Steve flashed a toothy smile and wink your way.

“I have a mission briefing. Ya’ll better buckle up and dress for the cold. You’re going on an undercover operation located in Alaska.”

“Alaska?” Wanda asked in sync with your curious head tilt, ears flopped to the side.

“Alaska. And you also have a guide present right now who is familiar with the territory.”

It didn’t take a second long for your team and yourself to gather what Fury meant, his single eye on you knowingly.

Fury left some time later after he handed the files over that provided more information on your new task in Alaska.

Wanda turned and knelt down in front of you, a hand ran through the thicket of your fur. The act itself made your eyes droop and your chest rumble. Wanda couldn’t keep the full, toothy smile to spread on her lips.

“I think this gives us all the perfect opportunity to play more fetch with our beloved wolf.” Wanda’s words didn’t go unnoticed by the numerous hums of agreement. Truly you felt seen by them all. For the first time perhaps ever, you felt accepted.

You even looked to Tony who shrugged with an eye roll. “I suppose I could indulge in a couple throws myself. So long as I can test my new theory of what travels faster: the wolf or the red ball?”

“Wolfie,” your team chimed in claim of their theory right there.

Your pack that Mother Nature intended for you.

Thank you for Reading!

(◕ ᴥ x)

TREEHOUSE TAGLIST —

@alexawynters

[a-dinosaur-a-day]

The Birdcage

Jurassic Park: It's Ironic, by Meig of A-Dinosaur-A-Day

What follows is a retelling of the Jurassic Park story, mainly based on the 1993 film, with portions of the original novel used to supplement the story. The main point of divergence occurs when the park is unable to find workable nonavian dinosaur genetic material for cloning, since - as in the real world - dna degrades much too rapidly. Instead, the park consists only of extinct dinosaurs that can be brought back - birds from the last 2.5 million years. What happens after that is, as Ian Malcolm would say, an emerging pattern.

Thanks to beta readers @plokool, @killdeercheer, and @otussketching! Thanks to logo artist @i-draws-dinosaurs for the killer logo! Happy 30th anniversary of the Jurassic Park film!

Fic Chapter Masterpost

Prologue: The Peck of the Raptor

Robert Muldoon had seen much in his forty-odd years on planet earth. A pride of lions tearing into the carcass of a giraffe. An elephant kicking an African leopard into the air. A swarm of hyenas attempting to hunt the wildebeest, only to flee in panic from their hooves. Nile Crocodiles and Hippos fighting over river space, with no obvious winners. Wild dogs hunting him, with coordination and planning he wouldn’t have believed if he hadn’t seen it for himself. Indeed, if someone were to have asked Robert Muldoon if he had seen everything nature had to offer, he would be tempted to say yes.

At least, until today.  

It was a simple transfer operation. Take the new asset from the hatchery complex to their permanent enclosure. Introduce them to their new flock members. Try to not drown in the torrential rain, to hear each other over the violent wind. Remember that humans are warm-blooded and no matter how much the rain soaked to the bone, warmth would return. Go home in time for dinner.

The thought now, of course, made Muldoon snort out loud, though of course no one could hear him. Flock was the moniker the higher-ups had chosen, ages ago, but he knew flocks. This was no flock. Better, really, to call this grouping a pack. Not that it mattered. After this, Muldoon was certain of his course of action.

He had to recommend termination.

Everything had happened so fast. The loud calls of the other assets, anxious for their flock member far away. The container, raised to the pen entrance. Locked in, safety verified. The animal was silent, but they usually were during transfer. Muldoon had chalked it up to fear or hesitancy, though it was odd that it wasn’t calling back to the others. All workers were in their proper positions, so he called for the gate to be raised. And then, before he could register any of it, the asset had rocked against the container, shaking it loose. It managed to reach out, grab onto Jophery’s hand – the scream chilled Muldoon down to the marrow – and suddenly there was no more Jophery, apart from his second hand, grabbing for dear life to the side of the container. On instinct, Muldoon grabbed his hand, and pulled as hard as he could. Jophrey was still screaming, the other workers were shouting and scampering, alarms were blaring from the cage, a gun or two going off pointlessly. The asset, still, remained silent. It didn’t even bite, or claw, or crunch, or tear.

All it had to do was peck – at the temporal artery

Peck again – at the leg – near the femoral –

Peck again – on the neck – blood was everywhere –

A final peck, Muldoon couldn’t even see where, there were feathers and limbs and blood and screams and –

Jophery went still.

Only a few more seconds, and the asset was also down, multiple tranq darts sticking out of various places. Muldoon hadn’t even had a chance to insist on lethal ammunition, but there was no point now. The asset was neutralized. No one was in immediate danger. The alarms were still blaring, and Muldoon was starting to lose his hearing from it, as loud as it was in his ears. But he couldn’t undo Jophery’s grip – it had been so strong; it didn’t even need rigor mortis to lock in – and he found that the slippery blood oozing from Jophery’s neck and face down the arm weren’t helping matters. But Muldoon had been hired for this position for a reason – a few, actually – and he managed to take a deep breath, grit his teeth, and remove the hand from his.

Now he was walking, slowly, to his employer’s office, tracking mud and rain and blood down the hall with him. People were running, talking in hushed whispers, angrily arguing. He didn’t much care for these lab rats who never entered the tropical sun, never mind interacted with the very things they were working on. Even now, when their concerns should be one and the same, he heard mentions of rehabilitation, modification, and genetic integrity – worries from individuals who did not have blood on their hands refusing to dry in the humid air. So antiseptic they had removed their own humanity.

Muldoon couldn’t wait any longer. The image of Jophrey’s clouded eyes hung in his mind as he shouted into the hallway.

“HAMMOND.”

Ray Arnold stuck his head out from the control room, eyebrows raised over the rims of his glasses. “Hammond isn’t here. Shouldn’t you be getting cleaned up?”

“We have to shut it down.”

Arnold sighed, “You know he won’t do that, Robert.”

“This is the third worker.”

“Yes, but –“

“Third. If you think officials across the water will ignore it at this point, you’re out of your god-damned mind.”

“People die on construction projects, Rob. All the time, in fact.”

“Their corpses don’t usually come back littered with peck marks.”

“We’ve managed all crises up to this point. Hammond insists on moving forward with this asset.”

“All because his impossible pet project didn’t work out, we have to insist on these uncooperative, murder-minded –“

“They’re no more murder minded than a lion or a wolf.”

“Says someone who has never interacted with any of them.”

Arnold sighed, fidgeting with his tie. Muldoon had moved to face him directly, but Arnold continued to look at his computer screen, the lines of code reflected in his glasses.

“I’ll talk to Hammond. If we can’t even get them in the enclosure, maybe it is time to pull the plug.”

“Finally,” Muldoon spat out, “Thank you.”

“Uh-huh.” But Arnold was already back at his computer, not even facing his torso towards Muldoon. So Robert turned and walked back, through the hallway, muddy bloody footprints showing his short journey down the hall and back.

It was time to call up another family.

[peachesofteal]

Alone / Chapter 2

Part eight of the Sassy series.

Simon Riley/female reader 4.4k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI, panic attacks, angst, PTSD, trauma, blood and torture, hospitals, emotional hurt/comfort, medical stuff, coparenting, relationship issues, reader is going through it, soft dad Simon Riley. You’re living in a nightmare.

Blood has a distinct smell. To many, it’s the pungent minerality that turns their senses but to you, it’s the tang of the metal that makes your lip quiver. It’s the saltlick iron that makes you press your tongue to the roof of your mouth and breathe through your nose slowly, an effort to try to prevent the tossing of your stomach. 

Here, the scent is everywhere. On the walls. On your face. On your clothes. There was a puddle of it, beneath your knees. It’s a combination of yours and nameless others, their blood one of the only things left of them in the world, seeping into the fabric of your jeans, staining the concrete blocks of-

“Mrs. Riley?” Your doctor, your therapist, looks at you expectantly over the rim of her glasses, and you huff. “Where were you just now?” You try not to scowl. Be honest. You’re supposed to be honest. 

“The room.”

“Where you were being held?” You nod. You force your fingers flat against your thighs, beating back the urge to scratch your nails against your skin. “And what were you thinking, about the room?”

“I was remembering what all the blood smelled like. What it tasted like.” To her credit, your shrink doesn’t flinch. She holds your gaze steady, until you are the one looking away, glancing over her shoulder at the clock that always seems to move too slow.

You’ve tried this once, already. Tried to get her to crack, to push you off. Tried to get her to cower, or recommend you speak to someone else. She’s stronger than you originally thought, you’ll her give her that, but you supposed it didn’t hurt that she’s been having twice weekly sessions with Simon when he’s not away on an op for over two years now, and you’re well aware your dog and pony show are nothing compared to whatever he’s been telling her.

Simon Riley, the closed off ghost who wouldn’t even show you his face when he got you pregnant, turned father of the year who bent over backwards for his wife, now goes to therapy, and meditates when he’s out on ops.

“Do you remember how you felt, when you were in that room?” Oh, for fucks sake. You nod, lips pressed into a line. “Can you tell me?”

“Worried.”

“Worried about what?”

“Theo. And Simon.”

“Not for yourself?” You shrug. Your lungs hurt, like they’re being constricted, and you look down to your shoes.

“Can we talk about something else?” You say it to your laces, not to her, but you know she hears it when her pen clicks and the scratch of the tip scrawls across her pad.

“How is co-parenting going?” Your head snaps up, and you smother the glare that pulls at the edges of your face.

“It’s fine.”

“You and Simon are communicating alright?” Jesus christ. 

“Mostly.” You shrug and don’t elaborate. She nods at your silence, an indication she wants you to keep going. You grit your teeth. “Sometimes, he calls, or texts and I don’t answer him. Or I don’t answer him in a timely manner.” Your fingers make air quotes around the timely manner bit.

“Why is that?”

“It’s… hard to explain.”

“Are you uncomfortable with the communication?”

“No!” you rush out. “No, no of course not… I want him to see Theo as much as possible. I just feel, mixed up. So, when I see him, or hear from him, it makes those mixed-up feelings feel… more intense. More mixed up.”

“Can you name a few of those feelings?” You close your eyes and picture Simon’s face. You see him holding Theo’s hand in the supermarket or pushing him on the swing set in the park. You see him in bed beside you, before, eyes soft and full of love, his smile beautiful and easy on his lips. Unburdened. 

“Sadness.” You pause to take a deep breath. “Sadness and anger, confusion. Guilt.” The pen scribbles on paper when you pause, and you glance up at the clock. Bingo. “Looks like we’re out of time.” You supply, smiling at her cheerily when she narrows her eyes, and then writes something down before giving you a nod.

The man says your name.

Not Sassy. Not Sass.

Your real name, before he tuts in your face, like you’ve let him down.

“Yer da ‘d be real disappointed in ye.” Saliva builds in the back of your throat.

“Don’t talk about my father.” You hiss and he outright laughs.

“Still fightin’ even when broken.” His fingers fold over the wound in your arm, pressing into the open, infected flesh, digging against it with his fingernails and the pain burns, it scrapes across your skin like a million little knives. “Maybe ye’re not so worthless after all, eh?” You launch the spit into his eye, grim satisfaction creeping over you when he staggers back in surprise, rage brewing across his face before he’s gripping you by the collarbone and thrusting you backwards, tipping the metal chair until you’re slamming into the ground, your head bouncing on blood slick concrete like a child’s ball.

“Stupid bitch.” His leg draws backwards until he’s firing the toe of his boot into your stomach, kicking you once, twice before you’re gasping for air, pain blooming across your abdomen as he batters you.

You close your eyes, and think of Theo. You think of Simon, of the two of them together. At home, safe. You pull the string of a memory until it comes to the forefront of your mind, Theo’s first words, his first steps. His second birthday party, when Johnny bought him that obnoxious drum set, and Simon bent you over the couch after Theo went to bed. The day you got married, your first wedding anniversary, the hotel room in Florence. You slip into these memories like they’re real and try to block out the smell of the blood and the pain in your body, try to drown in the shadows of your old self, your past, while you lose everything to the present, over and over again.

The little house is quiet when you get home in the afternoon.

At first it doesn’t bother you. Theo is with his dad for the night, already been picked up from school and probably taken to the park, his favorite Friday activity. Si will probably get him pizza, because he spoils him endlessly, and he’ll let him fall asleep while they cuddle on the couch and watch some awful kid’s show. You can see it, in your mind, the image of Theo in the crook of Simon’s elbow where he still fits, his little arm stretched across his dad’s ribs, Simon with his feet on the coffee table.

It rips your heart apart. The swell of emotion is strong enough that tears pool in your eyes, dripping down over your cheeks while you curl up into a ball on your own couch, blanket tucked up under your chin. You did this. You are a nightmare. You did this to yourself. You press your palm to your lips and scream into it, smothering the sound as best you can, your throat turning raw with each breath. Your body shakes with sobs until you’re exhausted and your eyes slip shut, tears still webbed in your lashes, while the sun shines through your living room window. 

Your phone jolts you awake a few hours later, your hands scrambling to find where you’ve lost it in the couch, the realization that it’s going to be Theo breaking through the heavy weight of your misery. Must be close to bedtime. When you slide open the facetime call, he’s grinning at you, little dab of red sauce on his chin.

“Mum!” he shouts, glee coloring the word and you smile back at him easily, hastily rubbing your face to erase the evidence of your state. “Dad got ‘izza!”

“I see that.” A big thumb drifts in front of the camera to wipe the glob of red away and Theo giggles.

“Say goodnight.” Simon says in the background and Theo pauses, little eyebrows creased in confusion before he recovers and looks back to the phone.

“Goodnight mum. Luh you.”

“Love you too bug. Have fun with dad.” The phone shifts, darkness covering the camera for a second before it’s righted, and Simon’s face fills the frame. Your stomach clenches.

“His mates from school are all gonna be at the fields tomorrow morning. I told him I’d take him, if it's alright with you.”

“Okay, that’s fine. Thanks.” You can see him studying you through the screen.

“Everything alright?” his tone shifts, takes on something softer, something sweeter, something that feels like a memory, and your chest tightens.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m good.”

“If you need-“

“I’m fine.” You snap. He sighs.

“Alright then. Goodnight, Sass.”

“Night.”

“There she is, see?” Simon points, and Theo frowns when he sees you, lower lip tugging downward, his face confused before he looks back to his dad, burying his face in his chest with a cry.

“Hey bug. Come here.” You hold your arms out to him, but he just cries into Simon, the scared wailing splitting you open and pouring concrete into your lungs, so it feels like you’ve got an entire building sitting on your chest. “It’s okay baby.” You call, hands still waiting, voice edging on desperate. You want your baby. You want to hold him, to feel him in your arms and know he’s okay, that he’s here, that Simon’s here, and you’re here and there is no danger, nothing to fear. Simon steps closer to you, his emotions raw across his face, and Theo screams in his arms, legs kicking ferociously.

“It’s mum, Theo. Stop. Look.” Simon tries but it’s no use. You know Theo is terrified of you, your battered and bruised face, the wires and tubes that are connected to your chest and the IV that’s stuck in the back of your hand. Your brain buzzes, a low droning noise between your ears making your head spin and you call Theos’ name with a croak.

“NO!” Theo shrieks, he screams it at the top of his lungs and Simon looks lost as you stare wordlessly, hands reaching out into the void, begging to hold your son that doesn’t even recognize you.

You don’t even realize you’re crying until you feel the tears drop down onto the arm that’s folded across your abdomen.

The door slides open, and Johnny appears, pulling Theo from Simon’s arms, patting his back softly and giving you a sympathetic look.

“C’mon lad, let’s go get a lolly, yeah? Give mum and dad some time.” Theo hugs his uncle around his neck, and heaves little sobs into his skin while Johnny shushes him and carries him back out the door.

“I-“ you choke on whatever it was you were going to say, the buzzing in your head so, so loud that it drowns out your thoughts, covers up your feelings until you’re pressing the heels of your palms to your eyes.

Knuckles tap against the glass, Johnny’s face appearing in the window.

“I’ll be right back.” Simon assures you, leaving his foot in the door while he talks to Johnny, their voices fuzzy, and suddenly, the world is tilting and all you can smell is blood.

The buzzing in your head is ferocious, a searing sharpness that feels like a lobotomy, your mind screaming inside your head. The stitches in your skin burn, and you swear you can feel each cell trying to pull closed, the sticky edges of your wounds slowly seaming back together, sealing shut everything inside of you, trapping the buzzing away within your own body so you’ll never be able to pull it out.

You need to go home. You have to get out of here. You can’t stay here. You have to get home. Where everything is safe. Where there is no danger.

You fidget with your central line, trying to unclick, unscrew it until you’re just tugging on it as hard as you can without making a sound, pain throbbing into the hole that’s been created for the port as you start to pull the sticky pads off your lower rib cage. The noises in the room are going berserk, bells and whistles chiming and beeping while the buzzing in your head gets louder and louder, and your fingers dig into your IV, trying to rip it from your skin before Simon is grabbing your hand.

“I have to get out of here.” You tell him. He’ll understand. You know he will.

“Bloody hell Sass, stop.” Your fingers are still scratching away, trying to crawl towards the IV, the last thing tethering you to this place, keeping you from your family, and you push against the pressure holding you still. The buzzing in your head is screaming now, louder than Simon’s voice, louder than the frantic beeping of the machines that have lost their leads.

“Let me go! I ha- have to go. I have to get out.” Simon tries to grab your other hand but you’re too quick, nimble and lithe like you always have been, and you latch onto the needle in your skin, ripping it free, blood trickling down your arm and dripping across your thin hospital gown. Heavy hands grab your shoulders and press you back against the bed.

“Hey, hey. Look at me.”  His elbow pins your collarbone down while his hand comes up to cradle your face. “Everything’s alright.” What? No, it isn’t. It’s not alright. This is certainly not alright. Can’t he hear that noise? You shake your head vehemently and he tries to hold you steady. 

“No. N-no, no, Simon. I have to go. Please, we have to go.” The door swings open and a man in blue scrubs with a badge walks through, a nurse at his side, capped syringe in her hand. Your stomach roils. “Simon.” You plead as you eye them, their slow steps bringing them closer and closer to you, and you shift on the bed, up against your husband, trying to bury yourself in his body, hide from whatever the people in scrubs are going to do. “Simon, we have to go home. Please, we need to get home.” 

“Shhh, it’s okay. You’re okay.” He strokes the hair away from your face, and you realize he’s got tears in his eyes, his gaze heavy and sad, and your own eyes widen in fear when you feel a new set of hands on your body.

“Get off me!” you scream, thrashing in the bed, Simon trying to talk to you, trying to calm you while the man in scrubs pins your arms down.

“Don’t hold her like that.” He snarls, and the foreign hands on your body adjust, letting your forearms go loose while the pinch of a needle punctures your skin. “It’s alright, I promise.” Simon’s voice breaks. “I’m here, Sass. I’m right here. You’re safe, you’re safe, I swear.” The needle pulls free of your arm and the world shifts, bright light blowing out the edges of your vision until your eyes are slipping closed, Simon’s face the last thing you see before everything goes dark.

It's three in the morning. The dark and stormy nightmares that keep you under in your sleep have finally slipped away, and you’re staring at your bedroom ceiling while your brain turns a mile a minute until you’re reaching for your phone.

Your thumb hovers over Simon’s contact for too long, way too long while you think about what it might be like to hear his voice before you’re scrolling to the next name and clicking the digits.

The phone rings and you try not the count it, try not to think about what you’re doing and the line clicks open to a bleary, sleepy Scotsman saying hello.

When you don’t say anything back, you can hear him sitting up.

“Sassafras?” Johnny tries, and you blow out a breath.

“It’s me.”

“Ya okay?” No. 

“Yeah.” He sighs, and then starts to tell you about his day, his family, what he’s been doing in his off time. It’s not the first time you’ve called him in the middle of the night, and probably won’t be the last, and he knows it. He fills your head with mindless details, funny stories about his latest op and the 141, other things he thinks you’ll want to hear. You never talk, just listen, and he does a good job of distracting you from whatever it is that’s going on in your head until you’re chuckling on the other end of the line, spirit just a hair lighter than it was when you called.

“Thanks, Johnny.” You murmur into the phone.

“Anytime. One more thing-“

“Yeah?”

“Call your husband next time, yeah?” Prick.

“Bye, Soap.”

“Bye Sassy. Love ya. Kiss the wee lad for me.”

“I will.”

At ten in the morning, the doorbell rings. Even though he has a key, he won’t use it, just waits patiently for you to open the door, not wanting to encroach on your boundaries.

Theo runs straight at your legs when you open it, and you scoop him up in a big hug until he’s complaining, insisting you put him down and let him show you the picture that’s clutched in his hand, something he drew last night.

“That’s you!” he points to a sloppy stick figure that’s holding hands with a little stick figure, a bigger stick figure on its other side. “an’ that’s me and that’s dad!” His eyebrows raise and you rub his head affectionately.

“Good job, you’re a real artist!”

“Put it on fridge?” As soon as you nod your approval he takes off, running towards the kitchen, leaving you and Simon in the living room, the straps of his backpack fisted in his dad’s hand.

“Johnny called me this morning.” You draw a quick breath before letting it out slowly. Traitorous bastard. “If you want me to take him for the rest of the day so you can get some rest-“

“I’m fine. Thanks, though.” Simon sets the backpack down, and you hear the click and clack of the alphabet magnets against the stainless steel.

“You can… call me, too. If you want. If you need… someone to talk to.” You expect to rebuff him immediately, to snap at him, to tell him you don’t need to talk to anyone, let alone him. You want to. You want to keep taking it out on him, keep dumping it on him, over and over until there’s so much of it between the two of you that he’ll never find his way back. Why would he want to? After everything you’ve put him through? You’re broken. Useless. 

“Why?” you blurt, and it surprises you. Looks like it surprises him too.

“You’re my wife, Sass. I love you.” Your skin feels hot and your heart thumps loudly in your ears. “Your trauma, the torture, what happened after… nothin’ is ever gonna change that.” You scoff, anger flickering in your veins, the heat of your irritation warming you from the inside out. 

“You can’t mean that. Not after… everything that’s happened.” He studies you for a long moment, eyes pinning you where you shift your weight uneasily, until he’s raising the back of his hand, holding it upright to display the ring. The ring, that he refuses to take off. The ring, that he still wears, even after you tossed your own at his head. The ring, that has your call sign and his last name initialed on the inside. 

“I will love and honor you all the days of my life.” He whispers it, and you swallow the lump in the back of your throat.

“Mum!” Theo yells, and you turn away, shoulders tight under your ears, fingers clenched together. “Mum, can we ‘ave popcorn?” Theo shouts again and you give him a tight-lipped smile when you reach the kitchen, your enthusiastic four-year-old trying to push a chair in front of the pantry.

“Popcorn?”

“Daddy said you might wanna watch a movie.” Theo pauses, eyes flicking between you, and his father, who you can just feel at your back, before he nods decisively, like he’s already determined that will be his next activity. “Moana?” He shrugs a little, face hopeful and you ruffle his hair.

“Sure, baby. We can watch Moana.” Your heart pangs when you realize that Simon probably told Theo you’d want a movie because he was thinking about how you didn’t sleep, how you might be too tired to go to the park or do something more involved. He’s still taking care of you, after everything. Still wears the ring, still calls you his wife, still tells you he loves you, he- 

“Can daddy stay?” The room suddenly feels devoid of oxygen. 

“I’m sure dad has things he’s got to do tod-“

“I don’t.” He cuts you off and you smother the glare that threatens to pull across your face. You look down at Theo, who’s so excited, so blissfully pleased at the idea, head shifting as he looks back and forth between the two of you and you crumble a little bit, unable to take his happiness away from him. You destroyed his family, why can’t you let him have this? Guilt sears across your skin, the pressure of it so intense that you’re nodding your agreement before you even realize it.

“Okay then.” Theo shouts with excitement and sprints to the couch.

“I can go, if you’re not comfortable.” Simon offers when he’s out of earshot and you shake your head.

“No, it’s fine. Makes him happy.”

“Mum! Make popcorn!” Theo calls to where the two of you still stand, an awkward distance apart in the kitchen.

“What did you forget?”

“Pwease?”

“Thank you, much better.” Your crinkle the thin plastic of the popcorn bag into the trash, the noise similar to the static that’s now playing in your head, before you clear your throat. “Want to uh, go get him settled? And then I’ll be in. In a minute.” Simon doesn’t respond, just disappears from the kitchen, and you focus on the minute countdown on the microwave while you take deep, long breaths, a desperate attempt to fill your lungs with as much oxygen as possible, until it beeps and you’re pulling the door open to dump the popped kernels doused in butter into a bowl.

You’re tracing the wood grain pattern in the living room floor between your feet when you distantly hear a voice, calling you over and over. It feels far away, impossibly far away, like you’re at the bottom of the ocean or you’re on another planet. 

“Hey, mum.” Simon’s voice draws you out of the depths sharply, and he strokes a gentle fingertip down your arm, over the pockmarked scar beneath your shoulder. The touch startles you, your head snapping up to see Theo standing in front of the coffee table in a red cape, construction paper mask, and Simon sitting delicately on the couch next to you. “Someone’s trying to show you something.” He inclines his head to the excited little boy, and you blink before shaking your head, trying to clear the fog that’s settled in your brain.

When it doesn’t, you shake your head again, and then look to Simon hopelessly. He reads you instantly, ushering Theo upstairs, enticing him with blocks and promises of story time later.

Blood. The scent of blood fills your nostrils, so strong that you think it might be dripping from your face, washing over your tongue, filling your mouth, filling the whole house.

Not real. It’s not real. You’re not there, you’re here. There is no danger.

Large palms cover yours, and then you’re looking up at Simon, his eyes soft, sympathetic, and you know he knows. You know he can see, what you’re feeling, what you’re thinking. 

He can see it all, because he’s been here before, too. He’s survived, he’s fought, he’s lived.

But he’s never been… this. He’s never been a nightmare. Never been useless. Never been this broken like this, dirty and pathetic like this, weak like this. 

Simon was strong. He fought. You failed. You couldn’t even get back to him. Couldn’t get back to your baby, your family. 

You feel his touch again and you choke on a gasp.

You can’t let him touch you, he’ll know. He’ll see it. He’ll feel it.

“D-don’t.” you hiss, forcing a hand forward to hold him at bay.

“Shhh. It’s just me, Sass. I’ve got you.”

“No, n-no.” He can’t know. “No, I… I need” You stand, stumbling forward, catching yourself on the coffee table before straightening, Simon’s confused gaze tracking your every step while you put as much distance between the two of you as possible. “I need to lay down.”

When you cross into the living room, Simon’s sitting on the couch, Theo already snuggled up into his side, both watching the television intently. Theo looks so happy, his eyes light and joy filled, body weightless with love and the knowledge that he’s with his family.

His family, that you broke. That you destroyed. That you took from him.

Simon’s thighs are spread wide, their width in his jeans momentarily distracting you before you’re cataloguing his face, his lips, his eyes, the line of his nose, all things you used to know better than yourself, things you used to be able to trace in the dark. Your stomach flips, and the walls of your house look like they’re shaking, the buzzing noise in the back of your head roaring to life, drowning out the sound of Moana singing to sea.

“Mum?” Theo calls, hand out for the popcorn, and you deposit the bowl on the table before you’re backing away.

“I have to go fix something, in the kitchen really quick.” You explain to him, and he shrugs, eyes fixing back on the movie, fingers mindlessly bringing pieces of popcorn to his mouth.

Theo doesn’t notice when you take the stairs instead of turning into the kitchen, but you know Simon does, and you’re not surprised when he’s rapping his knuckles against your locked bedroom door, where you’re sitting with you back against the wood, hands pressed to your head, trying to control your breathing. He knocks again, but there’s only silence to answer him, and it stretches on for miles. 

“Sass?” you hear him shift, feel his weight press against the door and at first you think he’s trying to come through but then you realize, he’s sitting against the other side, just like you.

His fingers slide underneath where there’s a gap between the floor and the door, just wide enough for a few fingers, just enough for you to see the glint of his ring.

Without thinking, your own fingers cover his.

Neither of you speak.

[whositmcwhatsit]

Enjoyable Slide to Oblivion

Chapter 13: Promises and Jealousies

AN: I can't stay away from my original baby. Please enjoy a fluffy, smutty, angsty.... thing from me with all my usual ingredients: temper tantrums, allusions to drugs, both baby and 70s Elvis, Elvis smirking, Elvis... elvising.

You might want a refresh, but it's not really necessary Chapter 12

Thanks for @thatbanditqueen for providing vital feedback as always.

Early 1956

Chancy held her breath as she pulled the car up alongside the Cadillac Fleetwood parked on the gravel driveway. She had only been driving a few weeks and her parking was still a work in progress. Navigating near Elvis’ pride and joy just added to the pressure.

“Oh my goodness, we made it!” Alicia gasped, opening the rear door and staggering out dramatically. 

“I wish you’d stop doing that every time we go anywhere!” Chancy snapped, leaning out of the car to change her shoes. 

“I’m just saying what we’re all thinking!”

“Yeah, well, we’re all thinking that you’re a brat!”

“Chancy!” Grandma reproached softly over the top of the car, both her tone and her face suggesting she was disappointed rather than angry, which was always worse. 

“Sorry, Grandma.” 

Alicia skipped across the yard, swinging her arms in that loose-limbed unself-conscious way of a child and Chancy envied her a little. She couldn’t remember ever being that unconcerned and content herself, but then again, she and her sister had had very different lives though they came from the same family. 

Chancy walked with studied casualness alongside Grandma to make sure that she didn’t slip on the wet grass or leaves, trying not to let her know that was what she was doing. 

By the time they had reached the steps up to the porch, the front door was open and Mrs Presley was standing silhouetted in the light with a big warm smile on her face. She commented on how tall Alicia had grown, which was the perfect thing to say since Alicia was the shortest in her class and conscious of it. Over the top of Alicia’s head she gave Chancy a knowing smile and ushered them in. 

In the living room, Mr Presley was dissecting the newspaper on his lap and gave them a brusque nod as they all piled in, shedding their coats. 

“Make yourselves comfortable. Chancy, come help me fetch the drinks?” 

Chancy smiled and shot up from the sofa, following Mrs Presley into the kitchen. 

“Where’s Elvis?”

“Oh, he only woke up not ten minutes ago. You know, I don’t think that boy rests at all when he’s away from home, and it takes a full day just flat out sleeping to catch up. He needs to start taking better care of himself. Here, why don’t you take this lemonade in to him.”

Chancy glanced into the living room where Grandma was sat in silence waiting for Mrs Presley’s return and the only noise that Mr Presley produced was a rustling of the newspaper. Alicia was on the floor playing with Elvis’ dog, Boy, giggling as he excitedly licked at her face. 

Chancy tapped on Elvis’ bedroom door and pushed it open. 

“I’m up! I’m up. I’m… almost up,” came a muffled mumble from within the darkened haze of the bedroom. 

“You liar!” Chancy said playfully, treading cautiously over carelessly discarded shoes, clothes, cases and instruments.

There was a pause and then Elvis sat up slightly, pulling his blanket to his chest like a maiden protecting his virtue.

“Cha-Cha?!” His voice went high and she couldn’t help giggling, enjoying getting the upper hand and surprising him for once.

“Get a lot of girls coming into your bedroom, do you?” she returned, perching on the side of the bed. His hair was sticking out in all directions and he seemed to think of it just as she was noticing, his hand reaching up to cover/smooth it. 

“What are you doing here, what time’s it?” His voice was adorably hoarse and matched his sleep-puffy face and squinting eyes. 

“A little after six.” 

“At night?!” 

Chancy couldn’t help but giggle again at the way his voice cracked and he dropped back onto his pillows in stunned realization that he had slept the whole day away. She slid the glass of lemonade onto his nightstand and watched him grab it and gulp it down thirstily. 

After a few seconds, his legs moved around beneath the blankets and he complained, “Ugh, I have got one hell of a crick in my neck.” She shot him a disapproving look at his language, but it got lost in the murky darkness. “Rub my neck for me, baby.” He rolled onto his front and grabbed her hand, pulling it and dropping it on his shoulder like she wasn’t moving fast enough for his liking. 

Sighing affectionately, Chancy started kneading her thumb into the muscles and tendons that passed down the back of his neck and into his shoulder, trying not to respond to the soft little moans he was making, she knew deliberately, to get her riled up. 

“Ain’t no one can do that the way you can,” he murmured, one hand hanging off the bed and gripping her ankle. 

Chancy had no doubt that he had discovered this through rigorous testing too. They had broken up just after Christmas and the grapevine had been sure to let her know that Elvis was getting over her with just about every girl that crossed his path, on the road, up in New York when he was performing on TV, even at home in Memphis. 

When he showed up at her house after New York, he had claimed that it was all overblown and that every time he had to speak to a girl, the newspapers and magazines turned her into his date, but it wasn’t the papers that had told her friends to tell her that he was ‘plowing through every girl like it was his job.’ His cousin Gene didn’t write for the papers, or much at all as far as Chancy knew.

Ironically, the reason they had broken up was that she had got a Christmas present from a boy in her class; just a little skating figurine that the boy said reminded him of her after they had gone, as a big group from school, roller skating one weekend. When Elvis found out, because Alicia couldn’t keep her big mouth shut, he acted like the ornament was an engagement ring and the big argument had ended with both the figurine and their relationship in pieces. 

It had been their longest break-up yet. They had had little tiffs before, usually something to do with him being away so often, it made both of them suspicious and jealous over the other, but nothing quite like the one at Christmas. It had been the first time that Chancy had not been certain that they would get back together. She had suffered through an unprecedented month of not seeing him, in person at least, since he was just about everywhere she looked on television, magazines, newspapers and almost constantly being played on the radio. 

Then, the night he got back into town, he was at her door as if nothing had ever happened, telling her all about New York and what it was like recording for a big record label like RCA Victor and how he had hardly had any sleep and the food hadn’t tasted right. She had been so glad to see him, so relieved, that she had risked Grandma’s wrath by climbing onto the back of his motorcycle and letting him take her for a ride all the way down to Riverside. 

Without warning, Elvis flipped over onto his back, his neck apparently miraculously healed, and tried to yank her down by pulling hard on her arms. 

“Ow!” she cried, fruitlessly fighting his grip, “too rough! Elvis, stop it!” He abruptly let her go and pulled himself up in a seated position, his pouty, sheepish face clear in the half-light.

With a mournful sigh, he let his head drop forward against her upper arm and she shivered, smiling, as she felt the little kisses he was pushing against her bicep. 

“Sorry,” he murmured in a baby voice, “Just missed my widdle baby so much.”

Before too long, the kisses had moved upwards, over her shoulder and to her neck as his warm hands drew her forward, pulling her down incrementally with patient but determined slowness. 

As was becoming more and more common these days, even with their parents and guardians just outside, Chancy wondered how far she would let this go, if today was the day when she would relent just that slight bit more and they would go all the way. It was the last boundary, the last little piece of herself that she had not given to him, and she was aware that, as the world became more and more enamored with him, threw everything at him, that she would have to keep giving, too, in order to keep hold of him. 

It was taken out of her hands when the bedroom door flew open and the overhead light flickered into stark brightness.

“Elvis, your mama says that you need to get your behind out of bed or you’ll be sorry!” Alicia announced. “Say, why are you two sitting in the dark?”

“Anyone else in your family wanting to march into my bedroom tonight?” Elvis commented, dropping back onto the pillows with an air of exasperation. “Grammy ain’t waiting in the hall, is she?”

“No, but she is in the living room, so keep your voice down!” Chancy whispered. “Alicia, get out!”

“Hey!” Elvis grabbed hold of the back of her skirt as she stood to steer her sister out of the room. “Don’t run off!”

“You need to get dressed!”

“I think I need help!” he returned, pouting cutely. 

“Okay, I’ll send in Grandma,” she replied, giggling when she was hit on the back by a pillow as she walked out the door. 

Not much later, Elvis was sat between Chancy and his mother on the couch, drinking his third glass of lemonade and telling Grandma about life on the road. Chancy had to give him credit, he was note perfect, playing down the mischief that he got up to, and instead talking about the interesting and/or famous people he had met on the Hayride, and the pretty country he had driven through. 

“Can’t tell you how glad I am to get home though,” he pronounced, his jiggling left leg nudging into Chancy even as he was patting her and his mother’s knees. “Don’t think I had anything worth eating in nearly two weeks!”

“You know, Chancy’s been so busy these last couple of weeks too. Haven’t hardly seen her!” Grandma said, airily shaking her head. Elvis’ eyes sharpened and he leant forward in his seat. 

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh my yes, one of the families at church, the Barkers, their home burned down just last month and they lost everything, Lord help them. The church have been fundraising to give them a little something, help them get back on their feet. Chancy here helped put on a dance. She organized everything, and in just two weeks too.”

Chancy felt uncomfortable as everyone looked at her with a variety of expressions on their faces. It was sweet of Grandma to give her all the credit, but the truth was that she had just called up all her pals on the usual committees and all the girls pitched in. Margie and Barb were just the tops at talking reluctant, cantankerous adults into submitting to their will with the sheer force of their enthusiasm and, once they managed to get a number of local businesses to sponsor the event in exchange for advertising and the chance to put up sidings, it had all come together. 

Chancy had come up with the idea, but after that she preferred to be the cheerleader, the secretary, making sure everyone was where they were supposed to be and at the right time, ensuring the budgets were balanced and everyone knew when to show up to decorate the school gym. She could create a color-coded notebook like nobody else.

“I was just saying to Vernon the other day, wasn’t I, Vernon- Vernon! Wasn’t I? I said Chancy hasn’t been coming around here so much these past couple of weeks. I thought you were busy with school, but you were doing all that work, honey, and for that poor family? What a sweet little girl you are!”

Warmth spread through Chancy at Mrs Presley’s pronouncement. She had a way of talking and smiling at you that made you feel like you were being hugged, much like her son, except he wasn’t looking like he wanted to hug her very much right then. 

“Wasn’t that clever and sweet of Chancy, Elvis, to do that?” Mrs Presley prompted, after Mr Presley had glanced up and given a vaguely disinterested, lopsided smile and nod. 

“Yeah, yeah, she’s real clever and sweet, Mama,” Elvis murmured, not looking at Chancy. 

When Chancy volunteered to help Mrs Presley dish up dinner, Elvis followed, leaning the kitchen doorway while he watched them perform what was by now a familiar dance routine. 

Chancy could feel him behind her even when he didn’t say anything, could feel the weight of his thoughts and emotions almost as if they began in her. She could even feel him working up to say something, but before he did, Mrs Presley scolded him for hovering and sent him off to the table with a basket of rolls. 

“I just can’t stop thinking about that poor family,” she confided to Chancy as she plated up the chicken. “No one was hurt, were they?”

“No, Ma’am, they all got out okay,” Chancy reassured her. “They’re moving into a new apartment at the end of the month, and I heard Mrs Barker telling Grandma that the Lord sure does work in mysterious ways, because they would’ve never been in the position to live in a place so fine before.”

“And that’s down to you,” Mrs Presley said, patting her arm. 

“Oh no…” Chancy demurred, feeling awkward but not wanting to lose that look of pride in Mrs Presley’s eyes when she looked at her.

She whirled around to bring the corn to the table and almost smacked into Elvis’ chest. He silently grabbed her arm and drew her into an alcove by the bedroom doors.

“You didn’t say nothing about no dance when I called you,” he whispered fiercely.

“Didn’t I? Maybe you didn’t call when it was happening. It was so last minute.” She saw by the way he ground his back teeth that he got the underlying jab. 

“I called plenty enough for you to say something. I-It just gets me to thinking that there’s maybe other things you ain’t telling me.” 

Chancy took a surreptitious peek into the kitchen to see that she hadn’t been missed and then pressed up onto her tiptoes and kissed him to try and defuse the situation. He didn’t pull away but he didn’t respond either. 

“Who took you?”

“Huh?”

“To the dance, who was your date?”

“Nobody, I was helping out.” He shook his head and went to walk away and she grabbed his arm, still trying to balance the dish of corn. “We went as a group, a big group of us.” He let himself be pulled back into the alcove and she shoved the dish onto a side table so she could press up on him. 

“Who took you home?” 

“Margie and her date. I was a lonesome wallflower the whole night, don’t worry.” 

“Baby, you know that ain’t what I want,” he murmured, gripping her waist with his fingers. “I just- I gotta make the most of this while I can. Ain’t no telling how long it’s gonna last, you know that.” He stroked her side with his thumb as he spoke. “Just… be patient, honey, and remember what you promised me.” He was leaning back against the wall, his head slightly tilted back as he looked down at her, all heavy-lidded eyes and full lips. She couldn’t remember anything right then. 

“There’s my corn!” Mrs Presley snatched the dish off the table and gave them both a leveling look. “Let’s go sit at the table, huh, and remember why we’re all here?” She cuffed Elvis’ shoulder as he jerked upright and followed Chancy. 

Awkward and sheepish, they shuffled into the dining room where everyone else was already seated and looking at them expectantly.

Why they were all here finally came up as they were eating. It felt like most of the evening had been tiptoeing around the shape of it, no one quite willing to touch on it, but leave it to Alicia to bulldoze her way right through it like someone who had never had anything fragile to look after. 

“You know, Aunt Rose said that I might be allowed to get a kitten when we go to visit, but only if I take care of it,” she informed the table after getting caught trying to hide food to give to Boy. 

“Well, she said ‘might’,” Grandma reminded her quietly, taking a dainty bite of greens. 

“Chancy said she wouldn’t go even if she was allowed to get an elephant.”

Chancy winced as she closed her eyes and felt her body heat up several hundred degrees. She just kept chewing the same piece of chicken, feeling as though she would never be able to swallow it down. 

“That also remains to be seen,” Grandma commented primly. She had a way of seeming small and delicate and also as rigid and resilient as iron. 

“Well, if it helps, Grammy, I promise I wouldn’t let her get an elephant,” Elvis put in, giving her that winsome, impossible not to love boyish look. 

“I sure appreciate that, son,” Grandma replied, smiling in spite of herself, “but I’m more concerned with making sure she’s still attending school and giving her attention to her studies.”

“I told you I would,” Chancy said softly. She looked to Mrs Presley since they had talked about this, about how they would handle this so many times. 

“Mrs White, you know that schooling is just as important to us. We made sure that Elvis graduated before anything else and we’d do the same with Chancy, I can promise you that. We all know she’s a smart girl.” 

Chancy nodded slightly like a director pleased with how the lead had recited the script. She turned back to her grandmother.

“I understand that, Gladys,” Grandma nodded. “And I’ve always appreciated how much you and your family care for Chancy. It’s just that… I promised her mother that I would raise her, that I would take care of both girls the best I could. And leaving her behind, even if it is for a little while, it just doesn’t sit right, not at all.”

Chancy forced the overly chewed chicken down and she could almost feel it drop into her tense stomach. She looked at Elvis and, though he had been following the exchange between the two women closely, it seemed he felt the prod of her gaze as his eyes dropped to her face and his expression softened.

“Grammy, I can promise you that I love Chancy and-and I would never do nothing- anything- to spoil her or ruin all the hard work you’ve done raising her up so well. It’s- It’s because you done such a good job that I love her so much!” 

Chancy had been scrutinizing and scoring the exchange like she was a judge, deducting points for the bad grammar, which she knew made Grandma curl up like a snail on salt, and adding points for earnestness. It took a beat for her to actually hear the meaning of the words and she coloured a little, her eyes welling slightly. 

“And if I stay here while you’re taking care of Uncle Stan then I can keep going to school every day instead of getting and sending all my assignments in the mail. I’m so close to graduation, after all.” 

As soon as she said the words, Chancy wanted to swallow them back up, because that left the door open to Grandma laying down the law about what happened after graduation, when she no longer had the tie of school, when she should have been thinking about her future. Luckily, faced with their three pleading expressions, Grandma wasn’t exactly thinking her clearest. 

After dinner, Mrs Presley shooed them out of the house with conspiratorial excitement. Elvis obeyed without hesitation, but Chancy wavered, leading Mrs Presley to give her a firm peck on the cheek and push her off out of the door. 

“Go on, babies, let the grown ups talk now!” She spoke with such a sense of control and determination that Chancy’s stomach finally eased a little. Mrs Presley would take care of it, iron out those final little wrinkles that Grandma kept rucking into their plans, and Chancy would be able to stay instead of being dragged off deep into the backwoods of Mississippi with Grandma to help take care of Uncle Stan after his big operation. 

They had to bribe Alicia to stay behind, Elvis asking her, all furrowed brow and bottom lip, if she wouldn’t mind taking Boy for a walk and looking after him until they got back. The Presleys outmaneuvered the Crawfords so completely that evening that Chancy should have had more of a sense of foreboding and outrage about it, but it wasn’t until much later that she realized that she had already switched teams, that she had been the first victim. 

“You think your mama can do it?” Chancy asked, as Elvis slid his arm along the seat behind her and turned to reverse out of the drive. “Grandma can be real stubborn.” 

“I think if anyone can, Mama can,” he nodded, winking at her. “Grammy ain’t coldhearted, she knows how much we love each other.” His breath hitched as he laughed softly. “And how you can’t live without me.” 

“If that was true I’d be dead a hundred times over!” she retorted. It took a minute for Elvis to respond, a tiny battle where she watched him decide whether to snap back or let it go. He finally chose the latter and hit her with a peck to the temple. 

“Prettiest ghost I ever saw.” 

As was happening more and more often, they were not alone for long, and pretty soon they had gathered up some of Elvis’ friends and were cruising the streets, sniping and poking at each other playfully. Red had a girl with him too, so when they stopped for drinks and snacks, Arthur was sent in to fetch them. 

“Soooo rich and famous and we’re sitting here getting Krystals,” remarked Red’s date, emerging from beneath him with her lipstick smeared across her cheek in the back seat. “How much money do you even make anyway?” 

Even with his face buried in the crook of her neck, Chancy could imagine Elvis’ expression as he tensed against her. He hated bad manners, especially in girls, and while he wanted everyone to know how well he was doing, talking specifics really made him uncomfortable. The girl had already made cracks about the car, wanting to know how much he paid for it, and had also remarked that Elvis was wearing flashier jewelry than his own girlfriend, implying he was cheap. 

“Hey, cool it, would ya?” Red muttered, grabbing the girl and pushing her back against the seat so he could mess up her lipstick and clothes some more.    

It was too late, that little switch inside Elvis that turned him from the sweet, polite, silly boy to the crazy, reckless, and wild one had already been flicked. Chancy could feel it, her senses keenly attuned, and she was now just waiting to see how it announced itself. He glanced up from nibbling her shoulder and saw Arthur heading towards them with the sack of food. 

With what might have outwardly looked like a playful grin, Elvis started the engine and pulled off just as Arthur reached out to grab the door handle. Arthur being Arthur, none the wiser, hurried after them. Elvis made the car squeak to a stop, let Arthur grab the handle and then jerked forward. He did it a couple more times until, finally, breathless, bewildered and slightly annoyed, the boy dropped into the car, still diligently hoisting the sack. 

“Gimme that,” Elvis snapped, snatching it out of his hands just as Red and as his date reached for it too. 

With his jaw clenched so tightly that you could hear his teeth cracking, Elvis emptied the sack out of his car window, then yanked the car into reverse and shot back, before driving over all the contents, letting his tires spin, and then flying out of the parking lot like a flash. 

“Now no sonovabitch is eatin’!” he raged. 

Seconds later, he was pulling up alongside the sidewalk, the poor Cadillac bouncing to a premature stop, and Chancy having to throw out her hands to brace herself against the dashboard. Red was already telling his date to get her things together like a man trying to help his wife prepare for an oncoming hurricane. So, when Elvis yelled for either the girl or both of them to ‘get fuck out’, he was ready to bundle her out instantly. Red barely pushed the door shut behind them before Elvis took off again. 

Chancy turned her head, watching through the rear window as the girl stumbled over the sidewalk trying to gather her purse and her jacket, looking shell shocked. Chancy caught Arthur’s eye and he gestured in confusion for an explanation, but she shook her head very slightly.  

After a tense few minutes, Elvis pulled over near an abandoned lot and jumped out of the car, pacing back and forth, his outstretched fingers clenching and unclenching. Chancy slid out after him and Arthur had the good sense to stay where he was. 

“Why’d she have to ruin everything like that?!” he cried, gesturing so wildly that Chancy took a step back just in case. “We were having a good time, weren’t no call for her to start in with her bullshit!” He wrinkled his nose and gave an impression that sounded like a cross between Mickey Mouse and Droopy:

“How much money do you make, Elvis? Why you gotta wear so much jewelry, Elvis? Why you eating burgers, Elvis? Shoulda shoved those burgers right up her-” Chancy finally took the chance and grabbed his arm as he passed her, almost getting yanked along for the ride. 

As he turned to storm back the other way, he wrapped his arms around her in a bear hug and marched her right up against the wall of a darkened store, pressing in tight. She was rubbing his back as he pressed into her front, soothing him like a colicky baby, feeling his tense muscles beginning to unlock. He rested his forehead against her shoulder and she heard him take some deep breaths, trying to calm himself. They were on the home straight now, she just had to keep on rubbing and murmuring, pressing her lips against his fluttering pulse. 

He shuffled forward, his hips tilting against her stomach where she could feel that he was riled up all over. His thighs squeezed her leg between them and he finally just slumped, the dark, demonic rage flushed out of him. Now, he scooped her jaw between his hands and was kissing her as if trying to wash out the taste of his temper with the taste of her. 

“Baby’s all better now,” she said softly, submitting to the baby talk in a way she only ever did to soothe him after an episode like this. He exhaled into the kiss and nodded, pushing his forehead against hers. 

“Sorry,” he murmured in a breath. “He’s sorry.” 

“I know.” She felt him gripping her fingers and, when he stepped back, she glimpsed his diamond pinky ring on her finger. Her stomach lurched at the sight of it on her left ring finger, but she knew he hadn’t really been thinking about that. “Honey, you don’t have to-” 

“And that’s why I did it.” He shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably, finding it hard to carry what he had done in the past twenty minutes. It was always the same, after. “C’mon Cha Cha, we gotta go.” 

��Where are we going?” she asked, though she already knew.

“Well, we can’t just leave ‘em on the street.” 

The switch flipped back, the other Elvis held the door open for Chancy to slide in and then joined her, pulling her hand onto his thigh as he started the car. 

“Hey, you doing alright back there, Arturo?” he commented with exaggerated good humor, sounding the all-clear. Arthur nodded and sat up, his face bright again. 

“Yeah, sure thing!” 

And they were back on the road. 

Red was by himself, traipsing along the sidewalk by the time they caught up to him. Elvis leaned on the horn and when Red turned and squinted into the headlights, he didn't look surprised to see who it was. 

“There you are, man!” Elvis called out of the window. “Knew I’d find ya, could make out that hair from five miles down the road!”

Back on Getwell, Elvis pulled up next to Grandma’s old Ford and fixed a faraway stare at the house with its glowing windows. Chancy sat beside him, arranging her hands on her lap so that she looked like a genteel Southern lady, mainly to stop herself from stroking the creases that ran from his nose and the corner of his mouth, tickling a smile out of him. 

“You know, if your mama hasn’t convinced Grandma, I’m gonna walk all the way back from Mississippi,” she said finally. “When my shoes wear out, I’ll just carry on walking barefoot.”

“You ain’t leaving,” he said in a low voice. In spite of how quietly he had spoken, the ferocity was deafening. He looked down at her hands folded so primly and picked up her left, frowning over it pensively. 

“You can have it back, I-” He gave a fierce shake of the head and she stopped. 

“What if it was real?” he said, his words flowing slowly like a lazy river. “W-what if we just drove on down there tonight and… I mean, you’re nearly eighteen, ain’t nobody that could stop us!”

“They’d kill us!” Chancy breathed, even as her chest was swelling with excitement. “We’d be married and dead in a day. They would take turns: Grandma, then your mama, your daddy, Grandma Minnie… Uncle Stan when he’s feeling better…” 

For a moment, they tilted on a knife point, the desire to do it, to lie about her age and get themselves a marriage license, tie themselves together so that they didn’t have to bend and scrape and beg for anyone’s permission to be together again versus the fear of the no doubt terrible consequences. 

Chancy wouldn’t have to worry whether the photos she saw were really fans or the easy girls that threw themselves at Elvis when he was on the road. She could go with him, get away from rules and babysitting and dusty textbooks about dusty subjects. 

The fire dampened in Elvis’ eyes before she felt it gutter and extinguish within her. She knew what he was about to say before the words pierced their excited bubble. 

“Colonel says that if I get married right now, it’ll be over.” He swallowed, hitting his long thumbs against the top of the steering wheel. “All of this-” He flapped his hand at nothing in particular, but she took it to mean the comfortable one-family house he was renting, the car, the bills paid on time. “All of it, just gone.”

Chancy nodded, feeling her throat tighten and her eyes prickle over losing an idea that hadn’t been hers to begin with, that she had not even considered until he put it out there. 

“I’ll wait,” she croaked, clutching her fingers together until they turned white. “You know I’ll wait.” She started to slide the ring from her finger, but he grabbed her hand, his own fingers damp and shaking. 

“Whenever you get to worrying or thinking that I don’t love you, Cha Cha, I want you to look at it and remember that you are my perfect little baby, ain’t nobody more perfect for me than you. And one day you’re going to be my wife.” He kissed her hard, like he could will the words into truth with the force of his lips smashing against hers. He sighed and shook his head. “And if Mama hasn’t changed Grammy’s mind, then we’re just gonna forget all of that and find a damn courthouse. Colonel or no Colonel.” 

Chancy laughed, unspent tears spilling from the corners of her eyes, and felt the weight of the ring as she lifted her hand to wipe them away. 

That night, she had to make a thousand promises to her Grandma, promises to go to school daily, even if she was sick, even if she was run over by a bus on the way; promises to be a good girl and not do anything that could sully her reputation or diminish herself in anyone’s eyes; promises to always heed the Presleys just as she did her grandmother; promises to call whenever she could…

“You’re only going for a few weeks!” Chancy said with a laugh. “We’ll all be back home before we know it!” Grandma just looked at her for a long time, her eyes uncharacteristically hazy, until Chancy had to start touching her face and shifting in her seat. She had known what was really happening, even if Chancy had been too young and stupid to see it. 

“I promise.”

Mid 1973

The white Stutz shot across the intersection, which was thankfully clear, forcing the cavalcade of cars behind to do the same to keep up. Chancy winced at the distant sounds of horns as someone in the back encountered traffic. 

“A microphone, godfuckingdammit? Who steals a motherfucking microphone?!” Elvis seethed, gripping the wheel with white knuckles, glaring out from beneath his wide brimmed hat. “And fucking how’d they do it? Twenty sonsofbitches on payroll and not one of ‘em sees a goddamn thing!” 

The silence from Charlie and David in the back seat was a wall built for their own protection, and his, knowing that whatever was said would just make things worse. 

“I knew I made a fucking mistake agreeing to record in that shithole. Only reason the place is still standing is ‘cause the rats and the roaches are working together to hold up the damn walls. Fucking broken down, dirty-” He was thumping the hard rim of the steering wheel with his knuckles to emphasise each word. 

“Good to stay in Memphis though,” Charlie remarked blithely from the backseat. “Better than hauling our asses out to Nashville.” 

It was far too soon, Elvis was not ready for the bright side yet and Charlie was about three drinks too far in to gauge it right. 

“Fuck Memphis!” Elvis bellowed. “And fuck recording too! If RCA wanna sue me for breach of contract, they can go right ahead! Ungrateful motherfuckers, how many records have I sold for them over the years?!”

It had been a trying night. Chancy was very quickly discovering that working all day and being with Elvis at night was not a feasible plan. Really it had been sheer wishful thinking from the beginning. 

The day before, she had wished so many clients a good evening before eleven thirty in the morning that her assistant Lynette had started to worry she was having a medical episode. And when she yawned one too many times in the studio, Elvis had cut the session short without recording a thing and stormed back home, though not to let her sleep. No, he decided that what she was lacking was excitement, so he, Red, Sonny and Dave had put on a karate demonstration for everyone that featured disarming an assailant using a gun with live ammunition. He noted triumphantly that she didn’t yawn once through that. 

And then on to tonight, where he had taken almost three hours to dress, calling up various people to discuss different matters with them in his dressing room like he was an executive taking meetings. 

Chancy had waited in the bedroom at first, trying not to doze off in all her finery, but eventually wandered downstairs and visited with Grandma Minnie, who regaled her with all the old stories about Elvis as a sweet, thoughtful little boy as if she had not heard them before. Some of them had changed over the years since Chancy had first heard them, turning almost into parables: ‘Elvis helps the old man across the road’, ‘Elvis gives all his toys to the poor’, ‘Elvis heals the sick by bringing them a glass of water’. 

The absurdity, of the stories but never Grandma Minnie’s devotion to her grandson, was even more apparent when Elvis tapped on the door and appeared swathed in a Superfly outfit that made him look like he was taking a break from making a cocaine deal that would get him out of the ghetto and set him up for life in order to record some records. 

“Now that is an outfit!” Chancy pronounced, reaching over and rubbing the velvet fedora as Elvis leant down to greet his grandmother. She had to bite down hard to stop herself questioning the fur coat in a Memphis summer, because she knew he would either get upset or go and find a matching cape to let her know what he thought of her advice. 

“Well, I figure if I can’t wear it now…” 

Chancy nodded and smiled, hoping that the guys at Stax would take the clumsy homage as earnestly as it was intended. She doubted Elvis would notice either way, his voice was soft and slow and his movements slightly out of time or sync; he was using more than the thick fur coat to insulate him from what had increasingly become more of a chore over the years. 

“Okay, Dodger, I gotta go to work,” he announced, giving the fragile-looking lady an uncharacteristically gentle kiss on the cheek and rubbing her arms. 

As he drew back up, his eyes fell on Chancy and narrowed. She had a moment of dread that he might ask her to go put on the white fur he had bought while they were on tour and quickly decided she would just fake a faint. Drop right there on the carpet.  

“What’s wrong with your neck?” he asked sharply, peering down his nose, his eyes looking almost black. 

“My neck?” Chancy put her hand to her throat, quickly trying to catch up. Grandma Minnie rolled her eyes indulgently and gave Elvis’ hand on her shoulder a little tap. 

“Yeah, c’m’ere a second.”  She approached tentatively, knowing it was just as likely that he would pretend to throttle her than fix whatever problem he had spotted. When she felt a cold weight unravel and slide down her chest, she slumped a little with relief before she examined what it was. She lifted the pendant and tried to make sense of the lettering picked out in diamonds. It wasn’t difficult. 

“Elvis,” she read slowly. 

“Yes, sweetheart?” he replied dryly. She fixed him with a look of affectionate irritation. 

“Thank you, I’d been trying to work up the courage to ask you to remind me of your name, but it seemed a little awkward after so long.” 

He glanced at his grandmother, her presence muting whatever reply he had originally intended. 

“You can give it back if you’re gonna-”

“No, no, it’s beautiful, honey, thank you!” She gave him a hasty kiss and made a big show of letting Grandma have a closer look. She pronounced it ‘very fine’ and then made a comment about them being a good looking couple that had them both shuffling their feet and fighting embarrassed smiles like they were in Junior High. 

“Yeah, she ain’t bad to look at,” Elvis mumbled, clearing his throat. “C’mon Ugly, we gotta get going.” He snorted as she swatted his back, waving goodbye to Grandma Minnie as she followed him out of the room. 

When they got to the studio, the long jamming and joking session started as everyone warmed up. Chancy recognised a few of the session musicians from a previous life, but she was a little distracted by the way that Kathy was giving her furtive looks even as she seemed engrossed in working out her parts with Mary Greene and the Holladay sisters. 

When Chancy had got back from work earlier that day, everyone had been down by the pool as Elvis was working on his tan for Las Vegas. Chancy had wandered out there after changing out of her office wear and found Elvis and Kathy on adjacent sun loungers, heads close together as everyone splashed and laughed and joked around them. Apparently they were discussing weighty spiritual matters, but Chancy had the distinct feeling of intruding on something personal, serious. It made her return to the house soon after, ostensibly because she was hot and in need of a refreshing shower, but also to rinse away the bitter feeling in her gut. 

Why ask her to come and stay, encourage her to burn herself out working all day and playing all night when he already had someone else much more available and in tune with him right there?! It was just… rude. Yeah, that was it. It was poor manners, that’s all. And greedy. 

The faint prickle of offended sensibilities and definitely not jealousy still plagued her as she watched the band and singers preparing for their first take. There was nothing better for making you feel left out and superfluous than being the only non-performer during a performance. Even Hamburger James got to carry a towel. 

Too soon, she regretted that reflection as Elvis wandered over to where she was sitting and plopped his hat on her coiffed head, wiping his damp, sweaty hair off his forehead. Great, now she was useful. 

A little while later, Elvis was back, still teasing one of the musicians as he swigged water from the bottle and wiped his face with the towel he had taken from James. He dropped his discarded big gold, bejeweled bracelet in her lap before his hand cupped her chin and he deposited a quick kiss on her mouth, then he returned to the microphone. 

This happened several more times, until she was laden with a jacket, hat, towel, various pieces of jewelry and was diligently copying out some lyrics from the sheet music. It was only when she approached with her sheet of handwritten lyrics just in time to see Elvis giving Charlie a sharp shake of the head as he proffered him a printed version that she finally realized what was going on. 

“Here you go, Boss,” she said, smiling softly. Elvis squinted at the words slightly, before nodding with satisfaction. 

“Thank you, baby. Don’t understand why all this poetry keeps slipping outta my mind.” He shook his head. “Next song we’re doing is ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ to a bossa nova beat. Gonna storm the fuckin’ charts with that sumbitch.” 

Laughter choked Chancy as she tried to fight it down and when he saw her, eyes watering and face red, and biting hard on her lip, he laughed a little too and some of the sharpness of his frustration was dulled. Audience appreciation always soothed what ailed him. 

“We ready?” Felton’s voice buzzed in from the booth. 

“Uh, yeah,” said Elvis, waving the sheet that Chancy had passed him. “Forget my damn name half the time, man… Oh no, there it is.” He tapped the pendant on Chancy’s chest, lips twisted into an ironic smirk.  

They broke for a coffee break around one am, which Chancy assumed gave some of the musicians the chance to try and sober up a little. She felt a little drunk too trying to walk on the sloping floors. 

Marty was explaining, as if they couldn’t tell from the front facade, that it was because the place used to be a movie theater and they had just torn out the seats and moved in the equipment.

“Wish it was still a damn movie theater,” Elvis intoned, returning from posing for photos with the session musicians. He wandered off again to talk to the Stamps and Lamar remarked under his breath:

“He keeps on the way he’s going, in a couple of hours we could tell him he’s at the movies and he’ll believe us.” 

Chancy frowned, hating the bite in Lamar’s tone, but also recognising the concern and truth in there too.

Loud laughter rolled in from over by Elvis and the quartet. Towering JD could always be counted on to give Elvis the validating big grin and rumbling laughter he was reaching for, but even he was looking a little bemused. 

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” Chancy murmured under her breath. She felt responsible, though logically she knew it was not her responsibility and certainly not her job to run interference and defend a grown man from himself. Didn’t stop the feeling though. 

“Well, you can lead a horse to water…” Lamar remarked with a sigh. “But try it with Elvis Presley and he’s gonna tell you to go fuck yourself.”

It was when everyone reconvened after the break that everyone realized Elvis’ personal mic was missing and suddenly they were pulling towards the gates of Graceland without slowing down. 

Luckily, someone had called ahead and the gates were already open, though a couple of the fans had to scurry out of the way as the Stutz bounced slightly against the curve of the slope and raced towards the back of the house. 

After they jolted to a stop, Chancy reached down to grab the purse at her feet, but when she sat back up, the driver’s door was open and the seat empty. 

“Where’d he go?” she asked Charlie and David in the back, and they gestured towards the house. She trailed after him in the path of devastation, walking through the returning guys, who were standing around, wondering what Elvis had in mind for them next (Please, not another karate demonstration!)

In the kitchen, the staff were hurriedly preparing iced water and discussing whether Elvis needed anything to eat. 

Chancy climbed the stairs, almost tripping over the purple velvet hat sitting on a step about halfway up. On the landing was the fur coat, which she snatched up and tucked over her arm. 

She idly wondered if he would be naked at the end of this trail and whether she should have let the maid go up first for fun. 

“Elvis? Wh-” She tripped over a boot and almost toppled head first through the door into the bedroom. “Dammit!”

Elvis’s explosive laugh was both infuriating and a relief. She glared at him laying on the bed, sadly still wearing most of his clothes, and threw the hat and then the coat at him. She was gearing up to pitch the boot when he hastily rolled away and scrambled down the other side of the bed, leaving a (no doubt loaded) handgun behind on the mattress.

“Cease fire!” he yelled, waving a hand above the mattress. 

“No way, this is-” Chancy stopped when the maid brought in Elvis’ water as if it was a perfectly normal situation to walk into. She even paused to ask Chancy if she wanted something to drink and to tell Elvis that Pauline the cook wanted to know whether he wanted something to eat, all while Chancy stood there holding a boot above her head.  

After she left, closing the door behind her, Chancy and Elvis looked at one another and started laughing. Hers was more out of relief than anything else. She had been preparing herself during the car journey for a sleepless night of cooing and placating and soothing to the best of her abilities. This abrupt switch was not unprecedented, but the frequency with which he could swing from one extreme to the other had definitely increased lately. 

With his hands raised, and a naughty smirk on his lips, he cautiously climbed back on the bed and she gestured wordlessly to the gun. 

“I’ll move it if you ditch your weapon,” he countered, twitching an eyebrow, showing that he had definitely learnt his skills of negotiation from the Colonel Parker school of nonsense and befuddlement.  

With a pout that telegraphed her misgivings, Chancy dropped the boot and Elvis grabbed the gun and shoved it onto his nightstand like it was a discarded book. 

“There we go,” he said in a sing-song voice, reaching out and tugging her closer by the waist. “You know, baby, that I’m a lover not a fighter.” He folded her backwards onto the bed, cradling her as her legs tucked up beneath her. 

His kiss was like a warm blanket, easing her tension and warming her from the inside out. Whatever he wanted to invoke in her, he knew exactly what to do to achieve it. Chancy didn’t even know if he understood the amount of power he had and the way that she had fought to make sure no man ever came close to attaining it over her again.   

“That’s not what I saw with Red and all those guys last night.. Yesterday?” She ran her palms over his shoulders and down his chest, marveling at the way touching him had almost the same effect on her as kissing him. 

“Well, honey, a man’s gotta be both sometimes, you know.” He moved the pendant aside and trailed his fingers across her chest, his nails sending a wave of goosebumps across her skin. “Gotta take care of my baby, keep her safe… and keep her happy.” 

“I’m sure you do,” she murmured, gripping a handful of hair at the nape of his neck as he leant down to press his hot, breathy mouth against her tingling skin, but he abruptly pulled short as he registered her words. 

“And what in the hell’s that s’posed to mean?” 

Struck slightly dumb by having him pressed against her, Chancy blinked and scrambled to regain control of the strings that controlled her mind and body. 

“You make me happy?” The moment the words were out of her mouth, he looked disgusted, his lip curling in disdain.  

“Naw, that ain’t what you meant with that sneaky-ass, snide little comment. If you got something you wanna say, just fucking say it. Just say it..” He braced his arm by the side of her head, but didn’t pull away, pressing in on her, forcing her to yield both mentally and physically. 

“I didn’t mean anything, Elvis, I’m tired and it came out wrong.” She made a half-hearted attempt to pull away from him. 

“I’m tired, I’m tired,” he intoned in his high-pitched impersonation of her. “This ain’t about you being tired, honey. You keep trying to play it off like you’re some kind of modern woman who’s just in it for the kicks, that you don’t care, but I know you. I know you, Cha-Cha, all the way deep down.” He tapped at her breastbone. “You know what’s happening just as much as I do.” 

“Oh really, and what is that?” She resisted the urge to reach up and rub the sting on her chest, panting slightly under the weight of him. His stormy expression broke into a slow smile at her defensive tone, her discomfort, her utter confirmation of everything he was saying. 

Instead of words alone, which had never been his favorite way to communicate, he let his slow, careful hands give an answer as he reached over and drew the straps of her dress down from her shoulders. 

Not even Elvis Presley could make clambering back onto his knees look cool and graceful, but she still let him take her hands and pull her up too so that he could draw down the zipper of her dress with infuriating slowness. She watched him blink, eyelashes fluttering as he focused intensely on getting the silk to slide down into a pool at her bent knees. She hadn’t been wearing a bra and her skin pebbled in the open air, nipples peaking and tingling. She reached up to touch… something, and opted for him, fingers grappling for purchase on the tiny buttons of his shirt, fingertips slipping inside and brushing against coarse hair. 

He let her work, his face unreadable as he flicked his tongue against his pillowy lower lip, until finally she reached the bottom of the shirt and she tugged it off over his shoulders, nowhere close to as gently and sensually as he had removed her dress. His cheekbones brimmed as his mouth twisted into a wry smile. 

“Can I keep my arms, honey, I need ‘em.” 

Chancy responded with her mouth, gasping a moan as she pressed her lips into his, slipping and sliding her tongue against his; she was his. Her hands flexed against the warm skin of his chest, tickled by the hair as she followed it down over the soft curve of his stomach to the waistband of his pants tucked underneath. 

Just as she managed to unhook them, he surged forward, sucking at her neck, and she half-laughed and half-squawked as she toppled backwards. She reached for him, but he just withdrew with a mischievous smile, grabbing her foot and yanking her leg straight as she tried to shake him off. 

“Hey, quit,” he intoned sharply, like she was one of his horses getting restless. His stern look faded as he studied her foot, running his thumb along the arch meditatively and repetitively until she felt a strange warmth starting to pool in her lower belly, tendrils of excitement creeping down the inside of her thighs. 

Slow enough that it was almost cruel, he lifted her foot and kissed the top and then the inside of her ankle, his kisses leaving warm, wet patches that felt icy cold in the conditioned air. It took all of her self-control to stay still as his lips and tongue took a long, scenic route up her calf and behind her knee. Every twitch that gave her away felt like a point lost in this battle of theirs, this parrying of wills, the dance around the truth.  

When he gave out a sigh that almost sounded like a moan and pressed his hot cheek against the inside of her cool thigh, it felt like a victory, even though the depths of her ached and flooded with fierce, heated anticipation.  

“What a way to go,” he murmured to himself in answer to whatever thoughts were swirling around behind that vulnerable and hungry expression he was wearing. She started as she felt him nip at the soft, thin skin at the top of her inner thigh and she curled upwards, her hands scooping around his face, to pull him away, to push him down, to claw and slap at him, or everything all at once. 

Elvis’ face as he awkwardly obeyed and climbed up so that he was poised over her, was so needy that it almost looked pained. His mouth slightly open and his brow knitted, he gave her a wet, sloppy kiss even as he was shoving down his pants. Their mingled breaths were rasping and fast and she snatched the opportunity to wriggle down, kissing a path along his side, making him twitch and then still as she reached the crease at his hip. It was all she could not to rut against the mattress as she salivated and moved fast, ready for his firm hand to push her back. It never came, and the musky, salty sweetness of his cock filled her mouth and made her hum a moan of recognition and delight. 

Who was winning this battle now? She wasn’t sure, she only knew that she was delirious to be playing. Elvis was arched above her, his face wreathed in shadow as he watched her mouth work, his breathing light and panting, interspersed by little whines from the back of his throat. As her lips tingled and grew numb and she struggled to get enough air through her nose, he began to twitch and jerk forward, just a little.  

“My turn,” he muttered breathily, not even sounding like himself as he drew back and grappled with her arms, pulling her up towards him. He didn't even manage a kiss before he was ripping down her underwear and burying himself inside her. She couldn’t tell if he was trembling or it was her, or the both of them, as he paused, trying to adjust to the way she gripped him in her warm, wet embrace. 

Showing, as ever, that rhythm came naturally to him, he thrust deeper and knocked the air from her as she clung to his shoulders, keeping a steady, unrelenting pace.

Chancy rested her forehead on his shoulder and squeezed her eyes closed. She could hear herself breathing, then moaning, the sounds refining into words:

“Please, please, Elvis, please.” She was signaling defeat, a joyful, emphatic and ecstatic defeat in this fight of theirs. She wasn’t indifferent, or cool, or realistic. No, stripped back like this, she was still that desperate, hungry, besotted seventeen year old, ready to offer herself up to any pain, any suffering, for the chance to feel this way. 

With a guttural groan, he stuttered and spilled into her. She felt him pulsing within her and her nerve-endings exploded with a surge of pleasure that was almost painful. He relaxed down on her, burying his sweaty face in the crook of her neck and she felt herself sinking into the mattress, breathing in the heady scent of them together. Tonight, at least, she had what she had always wanted. 

Chancy waited for him to say something, to make one of his silly little comments or tease her for her neediness, but he was still and quiet. She knew what he was waiting for her to say, the final act of submission. 

“I know what’s happening,” she whispered, before clearing her throat and repeating herself. 

With a grimace, he peeled himself away from her shoulder and lifted his head so that he could see her face. There was not even a hint of a smirk on his face, it made it easier. 

“I’m in love with you.” It sounded so stupid, redundant and repetitive. The teenager in her rolled her eyes like it was obvious, like it was easy to say. The adult Chancy felt like she was tearing out parts of herself to admit it. Like she was handing him that gun and helping him aim. 

“Aw, honey,” he said finally, when she had started to feel cold spidery legs of embarrassment in her stomach, “we’re in love with each other. Don’t you know little us is just crazy for each other? Ain’t no stopping it now.” 

She nodded, watching a happy smile spread slowly across his face, transforming it into radiance the way it always did. 

“I love you,” she said, wondering if it would feel less like the words were ripping out from her chest the more she said it. “I love you, uh…” She lifted the pendant she was still wearing and pretended to read the diamonds. “Oh yeah, Elvis, that’s it.”

Jutting his jaw and clenching his teeth in a playful show of rage, he placed his whole hand over her face and pushed her back down onto the pillows. His hot breath played against her ear as he murmured:

“I love you too, baby.”

Just hours later, bleary-eyed and barely awake, Chancy stumbled in the direction of her car, having left Elvis submerged deep within a sea of medicated slumber. She watched Mr Presley get out of his car, about to head into the kitchen for his usual pre-work cup of coffee, when he went round to the trunk and pulled out a small bundle of wires and a small, silver microphone. 

“Elvis, you sneaky bastard,” she murmured to herself, chuckling a little against her will.  

Taglist:

@richardslady121 , @dkayfixates , @fallinlovewithurlove , @notstefaniepresley , @heartbrake-hotel , @freudianslumber , @bbrtt777, @18lkpeters , @prompted-wordsmith , @literally-just-elvis-fics , @eliseinmemphis @lookingforrainbows , @stylespresleyhearted , @amydarcimarie , @returntopresley , @savedrebelcreation , @lettersfromvenus , @littlehoneyposts , @joshuntildawn13 , @i-r-i-n-a-a , @from-memphis-with-love , @ellie-24 , @be-my-ally , @vintageshanny

[lilmashae]

NO PROMISES - S.JY

a/n: okay, so first chapter ! unfortunately, no smut today... however, depending on how well this does i plan to continue it with future smut chapters 😋 feedback is much needed, as i do believe this is kinda shitty but i couldn't stall anymore.

original thought!

You’ve always held Autumn close to your heart. It had slipped away from you after leaving for college, but being home reminded you why you’d loved it so much to begin with. Though you haven’t been home in years — despite whatever promises you made before leaving; you didn’t want to come back (home).

Parking in your best friend’s childhood driveway, you could hear her squealing as you stepped out. “Y/N! I haven’t seen you in forever!” She throws her arms around you — she’s always been dramatic.

“You saw me last month, Jiyeon.” The girl scoffs as she stands up straight in front of you. “It’s been too long! You’re so far away now.” Her playful whining makes you laugh, “I missed you too.” Jiyeon’s been your friend for as long as you can remember. “Come inside. There’s a party later. When you’re ready, we should go.” You nod in agreement, dragging your luggage behind you. “Hey, can I use your bathroom first?” Jiyeon deadpans, “You know you don’t have to ask. Here, leave your bags — I’ll take them up.” 

“Thanks.” You begin walking up the stairs, leaving her behind.

Arriving in the bathroom, you only looked in the mirror before washing your hands. 

You were lost in thought with citrus invading your senses — washing your hands, watching the soap’s thin layer of white bubbles rinse off your skin under the sink’s hot water. Finally, you were home. “Jiyeon,” A soft knock interrupted your thoughts — you shot your attention towards the bathroom door. Instead of replying, you looked yourself in the mirror one last time, bringing your hand to the doorknob to twist it open. Opening the door, a tall young man stood before you, his hands shoved into his pockets — he’s handsome with dark, messy hair. The boy before you wears glasses and pearls, a domestic sweater drapes his broad shoulders. “Oh, I’m sorry,” you step out of the bathroom, closing the door behind you, and looking up at the handsome stranger. “I’m —” And just as you’re about to introduce yourself, he does it for you. “Y/n.” He simply looks down at you, arms crossed and amused. Your mouth is agape as you’re in awe — shocked by his knowledge. “You don’t remember me?” The O-shape of your mouth shuts, and you shake your head. “I’m not sure I do.” Jiyeon had (ironically) perfect timing — she yelled from downstairs, “Jaeyun! Do you know what time it is? Go feed the dog, and don’t forget, you promised to walk her after!” 

Jaeyun? Little Jaeyun — Jake, who used to beg to let him watch scary movies with you and Jiyeon. “Go away, Jaeyun. You aren’t old enough.” Jake’d turn and look at you with big eyes and pouting lips. “Y/n said I could!” You couldn’t help laughing — he was an adorable little boy. “Yeah?” Jiyeon was getting ready to crush his dreams, “Well, Jake, Y/n lied! She doesn’t want you here. No babies allowed!” You watched as she stuck her tongue out at him. “That’s not true!” Jake ran into your arms, hugging you tightly. “Tell her, Y/N. You do want me here…” He was so cute you wanted to hold him forever, even if he wasn’t exactly a baby — even if he was only three years younger than you. “Maybe next time. Alright, Jake? But no promises.” Little Jaeyun, who was only fifteen when you left for college, he promised he wouldn’t cry. “You’ll come home, right? T-to see me?” You hugged him tightly. You could feel the hot, salty tears running down his cheeks and onto your neck. “Of course, Jaeyun. I’ll come and see you all of the time. I Promise.”

You hated yourself for lying to him. If you were being honest, you had no intentions of coming back. It didn’t help that after you graduated, you went straight to work, buying an apartment in the city — not coming home for holidays and other events. When you did, you were unable to face him. “Jake..?” 

“Hey, Y/N,” a small smile painted his lips. He wasn’t at all how you remembered. He wasn’t at all “little,” now taller than you. “It’s really, really good to see you, Jake.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. “Yeah,” he stood leaning against a wall, “You look good, Y/N.” He nodded, abruptly standing straight and heading down the stairs. “I’ve got to feed Layla. See you around.” 

“See… you…” You must’ve been (standing) there for a while, wide-eyed, chewing on your lip. “Hey, Y/N. Y/N, Wake up! Are you alright?” It was Jiyeon — waving one of her hands in front of your face while the other sat comfortably on her hip. “What..? Sorry, I’m fine,” You paused, looking around — you weren’t fine. Your heart ached with guilt. “ ‘You ready to go?” The girl in front of you nods, and you walk downstairs and out the door. 

Jiyeon had left you behind to dance with some guy. You sat on the couch, drink in hand — once in a while, someone would sit beside you, making small talk. Eventually, you couldn’t take it anymore. “So, I told her that—”

“Sorry, ‘cups empty. I’m going to get another, okay?”

“Oh, but—”

“Great.” You got up and began to walk to the kitchen. Drinks. Everywhere. Clear, dark, hard seltzers, beers, whatever — you name it. Jiyeon had poured your first drink of the night, and you had no idea what she’d mixed. So, you stood there, eyes going between the little bit of liquid in your cup and whatever lay on the kitchen island before you. “Do you… need some help?” You let out a laugh, turning around. “Yeah, actually. I was…” And there he is again. The aching guilt you’d planned to drink away suddenly resurfaced. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Oh, yeah!” Jake was quick to respond. “Didn’t expect to see me? I know it’s past my bedtime.” You would have laughed at the joke if your heart weren’t pounding in your chest, and you weren’t so nervous. “Hah,” a sigh escaped your lips. “Uhm, yeah. I guess you could say that.” “Here,” He took the cup from your hand before returning it. You stared up at him blankly. “What? Go ahead, drink it.” At first, you were hesitant, peering into the cup and sloshing the liquid around. Jake nodded, encouraging you to indulge — your lips wrapped around the cup as you took a swig. “Good?”

“Good. Thanks.” Admittedly, you still felt awkward. The aching nervousness of being around Jake made your stomach twist. You couldn’t help feeling shitty — worried he’d say something and bring up the past. Just as you were about to walk off, he spoke, “Hey,” you froze, internally cursing. Please shut up, please shut up, please shut up.  “Jake.” Interrupting him was your only way out — you might as well give in, apologize, or make up some stupid lie. “I’m sorry, I know I should’ve—”

“What?” He chuckles, “Are you drunk already?” He looks down at you, holding his cup and giggling. “Here, come with me.” Jake grabs your hand, pulling you through the crowd of people. “Hey! Jaeyun, wait!” Somehow (the) oceans of people shrunk as you two ended up outside — running down the block and onto some field. “What’re you doing? Jiyeon’s at the party, I told her I wouldn’t leave.” Jake shrugged. “She’ll be fine. I wanted to show you something.” A tree. He wanted to show you a tree. 

“It’s a tree…” 

“Yeah, I know — a special tree.”

You rolled your eyes and clicked your tongue, “Oh, yeah? What makes it so special?”

Another sly smile danced along his lips. “I used to come here…” Your heart sunk — you’re an asshole. Not only couldn’t you remember your best friend's brother, you couldn’t remember the ‘oh, so special’ tree you’d spend your afternoons under. Every day after school you’d sit, doing homework, or just get lost in thought. It’s the same tree where you stole Jake’s first kiss — holding his hands and softly laughing, staring up into its branches. “We,” you start, “we used to come here.” It’s barely above a whisper, and you feel so ashamed — that aching nervousness is following you, just as you remember how soft Jaeyun’s hands really were. 

“Y/N! Hey, Y/N!” 

“Jake!” You waved from under the tree with a book layed on your lap. He had ridden up on his bike — if you had to guess, he’d just gotten out of school. After all, he was still adorned in his uniform with his hair (somewhat) neatly thrown on his head.

“What’s up?” You patted the ground next to you, “Nothing… I just wanted to come to see you. You haven’t been over in days — are you and Jiyeon still fighting?” A small giggle left your throat as you nudged his side. You two were fighting, but you were sure she’d long gotten over it. “No, Jake… I’ve been busy. You know I leave soon — for college?” And with that, his smile quickly faded. Anyone would notice the frown plastered on his face. “Hey, don’t be like that…” If you were being honest, you had no idea how to comfort him. Seeing him pout and whine made your stomach twist and tie itself into a tight knot.

“Please don’t go.” His tone was serious, almost cold — far from playful, cute Jaeyun. “Jaeyun, I have to.” You could see tears welling up in his eyes, “Jake, you know—”

He knew you knew that he liked you — loved you. Even if you didn’t, the speed at which his smile dropped entailed something was wrong. “Just do this for me. Stay, Y/N.” Salty tears began streaming down his cheeks. “Stop it, it’s fine… You know I’ll be back.” You hate watching people cry, it’s the worst. “Hey,” grabbing his hands, you looked into his eyes. “I’ll never really leave, so don’t cry. Seriously, quit it, or else I’ll—” You’re interrupted by Jake’s lips colliding into your own — they’re pillowy but slightly chapped from his constant nipping (at his lips). It’s a bad habit — a nervous one that only got worse as you got closer to leaving. 

After the initial shock, you close your eyes — leaning into his soft lips. Slightly smiling, placing your free hand against his cheek you wiped his tears.  “Jake…”  He squeezed your hands tighter than ever, “Please stay.” 

It broke your heart to watch him cry. 

Either the alcohol was getting to you, or the warm, fuzzing feeling spreading all over your body was an aching desire.

[luveline]

yess would love to see some roan content

yk roans imaginary (i mean totally real) dalmation, maybe one day reader, eddie and roan are walking around at the park or something and she see a dalmation and just wants to run up and pet the dog. i just think it’d be a cute little moment

thank you for your request! a summer afternoon for the munson family <3 eddie and roan ♥︎ fem!reader 1.3k

You have Eddie's hand in one hand, Roan's in the other. It's a rare occasion that you get to be the one in the middle. Roan usually insists on it so that she can be swung over the sidewalk curbs. You aren't sure how you've gotten to be the lucky one, but you won't look a gift horse in the face. 

"I'm gon-da climb to the top of the climbing tower–" 

"'Gon-da'," Eddie whispers in your ear, "what is she, five?" 

She is very much five. 

"How dare you," you say. 

He laughs evilly and then remembers he has to be a dad as well as an idiot. "Roan, if you get stuck at the top again I can't come and get you, I'm a scaredy-cat." 

"I'll save you, princess," you say. 

Roan pulls away from your hand. "Thank you!" she calls, sprinting across a stretch of brilliant green grass. The field surrounding the playground is thick and lush and expansive. A group of teenagers throw a Frisbee at one end, while a great golden labrador chases a tennis ball at the other. You walk past babies and the elderly, all manner of Hawkins residents out in swing to enjoy the amazing summer weather. 

"Roan! Stay close!" Eddie shouts. 

She slows to a run. You and Eddie fast walk to keep pace, interlocked fingers swinging with every step.

"It's so nice out today, sure you aren't gonna melt into a leather puddle?" you tease. 

"I reject summer," Eddie says, in all black. 

You laugh. It's the kind of laugh you can only make when it's warm and you're content, the sound rumbly and indulgent. Since meeting Eddie, pretty much ever one of your laughs sound this way when the weather's nice. He smiles at you and bumps his shoulder into yours, his eyebrows, hidden by his bangs, making a rare appearance as he squints against the sun. 

Roan thankfully stops before she gets to the playground, a mass of hot plastic on wood chips that you can smell half a mile away. She rocks back and forth on her heels, feet covered by small white sneakers. Eddie had originally dressed her in a sweet pink dress with flowers on the chest, but you'd peeped up to say she should probably wear pants if she's gonna be climbing things. He'd nodded, said, "Right! Right, what would I do without you, baby?" 

It felt nice to get to amend what she wears, and his easy acceptance of your suggestion. 

"Go on, babe!" he calls. "We're gonna stay right here on the grass and watch you!" 

Roan beams and races to the climbing tower, a plastic and rope contraption that scares the fuck out of you. It's designed to catch a child if they fall, ropes intermingling between layers and reaching a narrow point at the top. You worry she'll fall backwards, but what can you do to stop her? She wants to tackle it, you want her to be brave and have fun, and you're a little unsure if you'd even be allowed to say No, you can't go on there. 

You and Eddie lay out a blanket and sit under the summer heat. He admits defeat and peels out of his thick jacket, exposing the amazing lengths of his arms. They're almost enough to drag your gaze from his climbing daughter. 

"She's gonna be fine," he says. 

"I know." You put your hand on his thigh. "What if she isn't, though?" 

"She will be. They wouldn't build that thing if kids weren't meant to climb it. I've climbed it." 

"You've climbed it?" 

He leans back, lips taking to an open-mouthed smile. "You don't believe me?" 

"How old were you?" 

"Probably not as young as Ro, but– seven? Eight?" 

"Eddie, that's fifteen years ago. You're telling me she's climbing ten feet on a climbing frame that's fifteen years old?" You groan and close your eyes. "You better watch her. I'm gonna have a heart attack."

Eddie covers your hand with his, chuckling. "Alright, sweetheart. I'll watch her." 

You squeeze your eyes closed but take little glances when you can manage it. The higher she gets the worse you feel, anxiety churning your guts. You know she won't fall but your body doesn't. A cold sweat pricks your neck despite the sunshine beating down. 

Eddie plays with your fingers absentmindedly. 

"I think your ring finger is my favourite. And not because of what you're thinking," he says nonchalantly, "but it's cute. You have a little tiny mark, what is that?" 

"Maybe a papercut scar?" you ask. "Wait! Aren't you watching Roan?"

"I am, but I can do both. Plus, even if she falls, what'm I gonna do? The net will catch her, sweetheart, I promise." 

He places his thumb on either side of your finger and presses down to the tip. It's a strange gesture, thoughtless, and your anxiety numbs. You watch Roan climb to another layer. She looks about as nervous as you feel, taking careful steps, pulling herself up with heaving motions. 

Eddie pulls the back of your hand to his mouth and kisses it quickly. "Hey, she's almost at the top."

Roan climbs to the summit. You tilt your head toward Eddie's and wait for her to get down, only she doesn't, climbing to the other side with tense movements. Her front comes into view, and when she spots you and Eddie looking there's a huge smile on her face.

"Look, I'm at the top!" she shouts proudly. 

"You are! You're so fast, and so tall!" Eddie waves at her. 

She waves back. 

"Oh, holy shit, I'm gonna throw up," you say. "I'm gonna go get her down." 

You stand up and almost fall to your knees when Roan shouts, "Oh my god! Oh my god!" 

You don't care who's watching or listening to you, you shout, "What, baby?" 

"A damnation!" 

You get to the bottom of the tower in record time. "Are you stuck?" 

She wags her head. Her every movement makes the tower ropes shake. "Y/N, it's a damnation, look!" she says, pointing behind you. 

You reluctantly turn, heart in your throat, and are greeted by the sight of a full grown dalmatian, white with black spots. You're head rushes. 

Eddie comes to meet you with the blanket and tote bag hastily thrown over his arm. Roan flies down the tower in record time, stops to hug your leg, and then looks up at Eddie and says, "Can I hug it? Please? Please, can I go pet the dog?" 

Eddie takes her hand. "Let's go ask, baby." 

They fast walk to the dalmation before the owner can walk too far away and ask to pet the dog. The dalmation's name is Sammy, and he loves kisses and hugs. He links stripes up Roan's face until she's roaring with giggles, her arms around his skinny neck. 

"Good puppy!" she says, squealing when Sammy licks her nose.

"How's your heart?" Eddie asks. 

"Definitely feeling better." You put his hand against your chest so he can feel the slowed pulse. 

He slides it to your shoulder, throwing the other behind so he can hug you and tug you in for a forehead kiss at the same time. 

"You're pretty when you worry," he says. 

Roan giggles some more, cotton candy sweet. "Daddy, we need a Sammy, please please please!" 

A little bit of his pleased, carefree attitude dissipates. 

"Baby, where would we put him?" 

"He could sleep in my bed!" She rubs Sammy behind the ears. "Do you have a brother, mister Sammy?" 

You tip your head to his ear. "She wants a puppy? What is she, five?" 

Roan beams at you both. Mister Sammy licks a gross line of spit from her chin to her temple.

[rogueddie]

Fool / Go For It

Eddie is playful, teasing, with all of his friends. It's how he shows affection- with light nudges, light ribbing... it's all done in good faith.

A lot of the teasing he aims at Steve, however, have a sting to them. He cracks a lot of jokes about 'King Steve', about his old friends and his families wealth- all sore spots for Steve.

They don't feel like jokes, even though Steve knows that's all they are.

"I can't just tell him," Steve insists as he, once again, complains about Eddies teasing.

"Yes, you can," Robin says. Her voice is monotone, having repeated her arguments so many times that it's exhausting. "He's your boyfriend. He likes you. If he's upsetting you, he'll want to know."

"But you tease me like he does! All the time!"

"That's different. We're, like, soulmates."

"Rob," Steve groans, flopping his head down so his face is pressed into her bed sheets. His voice is muffled when he continues; "I don't want him to feel like he's second best."

"Steve, for Christs sake, he won't think that! And if he does, he's an idiot."

Lifting his head, he gives her his best puppy-dog eyes. "I can't risk that. I think I might be in love with him."

"That's just more reason to tell him."

He groans, dropping his head again. He always forgets how immune she is to his pleading looks.

"We're seeing him soon," she continues, ignoring his muffled complaints. "You'll tell him then, or I will. And I won't be nice about it, either."

Steve only groans in complaint.

"Come on, dingus," she teases, lightly slapping his shoulder. "You can help me pick out an outfit."

"You never take my advice," he reminds her, getting up to follow her to the closet anyway.

It's almost a routine for them, at this point; she'll pick an outfit, Steve will point out the things wrong with it and, when he makes his own suggestion, she'll point out how horrible his idea would look on her.

Both understand what the other is actually saying- Robin does end up trading the vest that she originally picked out for her black denim jacket, like Steve suggested.

"See?" Steve teases, bumping his shoulder into hers as they head out.

"It's ok, I guess," she ribs back. "You've had worse ideas."

"Ha," he deadpans.

Robin is practically giddy as she climbs in the car. She glances at him, pointedly, when he turns the music up as soon as she says Eddies name. She doesn't fight him on it though.

She knows him well enough, instinctively, to know that he needs the time to himself.

When they pull up, he flings the door open as soon as he can, so she's interrupted when-

"Steve!" Eddie yells in greeting. He jumps up, speedwalking to meet them half way. "You made it!"

"I said we would," Steve grins. The amount of affection they can show, in the schools parking lot, is limited- but Steve can't help but pull Eddie in for a hug. "I always keep my word."

"Unless it's about the pool," Eddie teases, patting his side before turning to his friends.

"Right," Steve forces a laugh.

He hadn't realized that Eddie would remember that- it was so long ago and probably the longest conversation they'd had, pre-Upside Down.

Steve hadn't thought it'd been that bad. He'd actually been trying to look out for Eddie, with how late in the night it was- he'd assumed that he'd been drinking, like everyone else, and going in the pool-

"Steve?" Robin asks, gently shaking him.

"Hm?"

"The pool?"

"Oh, long story. It's... it's an old story, too. It's nothing, really."

"Steve, if he-" Robin starts, hands jumping to her hips.

"Hey," Eddie calls. "Guys, come on, we're gonna set up!"

Steve takes the opportunity, jogging over. "How long does it take to set up?"

Eddie eagerly jumps into a long winded explination, which quickly devolves into explaining rules of the game- things Eddie has already told him, multiple times, but Steve loves how excited he gets.

They finish setting everything up by the time the kids start filtering in- and the door opening knocks Eddie out of his ramble about a certain NPC he's still figuring out.

"You understand any of that?" Grant raises an eyebrow at him.

It's softened with how gentle Eddie is when reaches out to hold his hand, just for a moment.

Mike snorts, loudly.

"Yeah, I did," Steve says.

"Of course you did," Eddie teases, ruffling his hair. "Such a clever big boy. Now!" Eddie claps his hands together, turning to the table.

"Say something," Robin hisses, leaning close.

"I'm trying to listen," Steve whispers back.

She grumbles, but sits back.

It's more fun that he thought it would be, watching the group of them play D&D. It's not as headache inducing as reading, but somehow more fascinating than simply watching a movie.

He groans, almost as loud as the kids, when Eddie announces that they're at a good point to stop for the day.

"That was great," Steve says, siddling up to the table, leaning against the throne Eddies sat on while they all pack up. "I'm starting to get you nerds are so obsessed with this shit."

"What, you wanna sit in on our next game?"

Eddie says it like it's absurd, like it's a joke, but Steve is serious when he replies; "if that's alright with you lot, I'd love to."

"Really?" Eddie leans back, fully turning to him.

Mike scoffs. "He just wants to impress you."

"It was interesting!" Steve defends.

"You probably didn't understand half of what was going on."

"I understand the story. That's, like, the most important part!"

"Of course it it," Eddie gently pats his shoulder. "And I'm sure it'd be fine with everyone here to have an audience, right?"

"Right," Jeff answers. He offers Steve a genuine, friendly, smile.

"On one condition," Robin pipes up. "No more jabs at Steve."

"We're just teasing," Dustin points out. "Steve knows that- don't you, Steve."

"Uh, yeah, I mean-"

"Steve-" Robin tries.

"You do know that we're just joking, right?" Eddie asks, worried. He steps close, hand resting on Steves hip so he can rub circles in his skin. "We don't think any less of you for not knowing D&D. It is just a game."

"Yeah, I know," Steve agrees easily. It's easy to forget why it's a problem when Eddie is being so careful, worried, and affectionate.

And he smiles so wide, almost blindingly. He kisses Steve on the cheek, despite the others complaints, and starts asking about what time is best for their next meeting.

Robin steps up beside him, arms crossed, eyebrow raised.

"What?"

"You're a fool."

[ilovepotatoesandtomatoes]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ʙʟᴜᴇ ʟᴏᴄᴋ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

ᴅᴇꜱᴄʀɪᴘᴛɪᴏɴ: Guessing what pets the Blue Lock characters would have

Note: Just my opinion, might be a little ooc bc I haven't watched the anime in awhile lol

⋆ ★ Anri Teieri

✎ Anri seems like a cat person. Imagine her doing paperwork for the Blue Lock project with a cat sitting next to her desk for company. It would be really sweet and having a cute cat would help her deal with the stress of working for Ego.

✎ I imagine her cat to look and act like Marie from Aristocats. An elegant and cute white cat with a pink bow.

⋆ ★ Isagi Yoichi

✎ I can not explain why but this man has a goldfish. It's a basic pet, but it's low maintenance and Isagi finds them interesting. Probably has the fishbowl on a small desk in his room so he can look at it when he needs a break from studying.

✎ He got it in elementary school so he named it Bubbles and Bubbles is still with him to this very day

⋆ ★ Chigiri Hyoma

✎ I'm imagining Lady from the movie Lady and The Tramp. Originally it was Chigiri's sister who wanted a dog. Chigiri was kind of like meh the dog is okay. Eventually, he and the dog developed an unshakable bond. Chigiri would be doing his hair care and then his dog walks over and sits patiently beside him waiting for Chigiri to finish so that he can brush the dog's coat.

✎ Lady is an English cocker spaniel and that breed specifically requires their fur to be brushed a lot so Chigiri and his dog basically do hair care nights together. They go running together at the park every morning or afternoon.

⋆ ★ Barou Shoei

✎ Does not like animals. His neatfreak-ness does not allow him to tolerate creatures in his house.

✎ If he had to have a pet it would be a naked mole rat. Y'all ever watch Kim Possible? You remember Ron Stoppable? You remember his pet naked mole rat Rufus? Yep. That's Barou's pet.

⋆ ★ Jingo Raichi

✎ Has a German Shepherd. Together they are a menace to society. When Raichi arrives with his German Shepherd at the park everyone immediately leaves. Raichi races his dog all the time and together they chase away all of the birds and squirrels in the surrounding area.

✎ Raichi's German Shepherd is very protective of his owner but will not attack anyone unless Raichi says it's okay. The dog is as chaotic as its owner but is well trained so everything is okay. Kind of...

[sonic-oc-showdown]

ROUND 2

Dog belongs to @couch-house

Crux belongs to @snowpearart

Find out more about them below!

Dog the Capybara:

Dog is just a chill kid living in Metropolis Zone (Fleetway) with his nan. He hangs out with his childhood friend Bebe and Groovy Train Super Sonic, where he's the calm go-with-the-flow member of the group. They all meet at the skate park and do fun tricks and goof off and have fun and be themselves :) Also they're all in a little club together where they try to learn magic from Ebony (they aren't succeeding). She's got a huge nosering her nan doesn't care about and secret knuckle tats that say CAPY BARA that made her flip her lid. Underneath the skull hoodie is a skull t-shirt. And he's just niceys and supportive and friendly and I like her :)

Crux the Hawk:

Crux doesn't remember who they were, and that's kinda okay by them.

Originally a hypnosis test subject, Crux was deemed far more valuable to the Badnik Empire by Doctor Starline and Comet after exhibiting a nack for 'outside the box' problem solving and strategic thinking (years of speedrunning and breaking video games finally paid off). They know that they could return to their old life if they wanted - but the fear of facing what they lost keeps them looking forward to the opportunities that lay ahead.

Crux values honesty above all and tends to find the brighter side of life, which they credit as being the reason they can tolerate living with Starline and Comet. They still deepdive into any video game they can get their hands on, listen to pop music almost exclusively, and love fidget puzzles. They're also relearning their lost ability to manipulate wind and air using Chaos energy, able to jump to great heights, slow or stop their falls, and create air bubbles underwater for themself and others.

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Parks and Rec quotes x Six of Crows characters probably part one but this is longer than originally intended bc I didn't want to cut any of them

Jesper: When they say 2% milk, I don’t know what the other 98% is

Matthias: Any dog under 50 pounds is a cat, and cats are pointless

Nina: Guys love it when you can show them that you’re better than them at something they love

Kaz: Cats and dogs should be rewarded for not being people. I hate people

Inej: Oh, I have a medical condition alright. It’s called CARING TOO MUCH! And it’s INCURABLE!

Wylan: I’m fine. It’s just that life is pointless and nothing matters and I’m always tired

Nina: We need to remember what’s important in life: friends, waffles, and work. Or waffles, friends, work. Doesn’t matter, but work is third

Kaz: I once worked with a guy for three years and never learned his name. Best friend I ever had. We still never speak sometimes

Jesper: I’m allergic to sushi. Every time I eat more than 80 sushi, I barf

Kaz: I just slept seven hours, which is twice as long as I usually sleep, so I’m a little disoriented

Wylan: One time my refrigerator stopped working; I didn’t know what to do. I just moved

Jesper, holding up a dishevelled stop motion figurine: Could a depressed person make this!?

Inej: *concerned blinking*

Nina: There’s never been a sadness that can’t be cured by breakfast food

Jesper: Time is money; Money is power; Power is pizza; Pizza is knowledge - let’s go!

Jesper: If I keep my body moving, and my mind occupied at all times, I will avoid falling into a bottomless pit of despair

Nina: I have several men in rotation. One’s waiting for me in the car. Don’t worry I rolled the window down for him

Kaz: I like saying no. It lowers their enthusiasm

[nataliawrites]

Plus-One // Lewis Hamilton

You stared at the envelope laying mockingly on the counter in front of you. You couldn’t believe it! Your cheating ex-boyfriend actually had the gall to invite you to his wedding … to the woman he cheated on you with.

Having moved on with your life, you could safely say that you did not miss him at all. That didn’t stop you from still being pissed at the way he disrespected you and the way that the so-called friends you shared blindly sided with him in the aftermath.

He made you feel worthless, placing the blame on you for being too plain and too frigid. And you actually believed him for a while. Until you met the man who spent every day since he first laid eyes on you proving just how priceless you really are.

Technically, it’s more accurate to say that your Cocker Spaniel met Roscoe while both dogs were being taken for a walk and it was love at first sight for them. Laughing at how your dogs hit it off, Roscoe’s owner introduced himself and invited you to join them for lunch at a local dog-friendly vegan cafe.

That’s how, two years later, you found yourself traveling the world with two dogs and one Sir Lewis Hamilton. The F1 season meant that you spent a good portion of the year away from home and so it was only during summer shutdown that you finally had time to go back to the Monaco condo that you shared with your boyfriend and look through the giant pile of accumulated mail. Hidden in the middle of the mess of letters was an unassuming envelope postmarked from your parents a few months ago. Opening it revealed the envelope you were currently staring at.

The wedding invitation was originally sent to your parents’ house three months ago (which made sense as your ex-boyfriend had no way of knowing where you currently lived). You were willing to bet that he had no idea just how far you’d come since you found him in bed with another woman and unless he was a frequent subscriber to F1 WAG update pages, he likely had no idea who you were dating. Evidently, he invited you to his wedding just to rub it in your face.

Lewis walked into the kitchen to find you sitting at the island trying to burn the invitation with your mind, “What’s wrong, love?”

“Remember when I told you about my douche of an ex?”

“The idiot who cheated on you?”

“Yes,” you raged at his audacity. “Apparently he invited me to his wedding to the same woman he was cheating with.”

“Okay,” Lewis took the invitation from you and read it over, ever the rational one when off the grid. “Here’s what you’re going to do: you’re going to RSVP and check off that you’re bringing a plus-one with you.”

“But-“

“No buts. It will be after the end of the season. We’re going to pull up and show him just how much better off you are without him. We’re going to make him regret ever hurting you like that.”

You stood up and kissed him in thanks, “I couldn’t have asked for a better boyfriend.”

His eyes raked over your form, even exhausted after a long plane ride back to Monaco, he still made you feel like the most beautiful woman on earth, “You’ve already upstaged the bride and you’re not even trying.”

Fast-forward to a week before Christmas, one month after Lewis won his eighth world championship title, and you were making the finishing touches to your makeup in a hotel suite near the wedding venue.

“Lew,” you called over your shoulder, “can you please come help me zip up my dress?”

He came up behind you and ran his hands over your back, pulling up your zipper and sending chills throughout your body.

“Gorgeous,” he kissed behind your ear. “Exquisite,” he turned you around and kiss along your jawline.

You met his lips, “I love you. Thank you for everything.”

“And I love you. Every man at the wedding is going to be jealous that I get to have you on my arm tonight.”

The wedding was an experience from the moment you pulled up to the valet and the teenager who ran up to collect your car caught sight of Lewis. He drove to park your Mercedes with shaking hands and a fresh Lewis Hamilton autograph across his company branded cap.

It was a little bizarre when most of the guests were more focused on your boyfriend than the groom at the altar or the bride making her way down the aisle, but the two of you resolved to gracefully sit together, the picture of quiet elegance. Luckily, you sat far enough back at the ceremony to escape your ex-boyfriend’s notice which will make the moment he finally sees you all that much sweeter.

You zoned out while the officiant droned on and on, focusing on Lewis tracing little shapes along your thigh, only snapping back to attention at “you may now kiss the bride.”

The two of you joined the rest of the guests as they filed out of the ceremony space and into the ballroom for the reception, once again the subject of stares as they tried to figure out whether your boyfriend was who they thought he was, and made your way to your assigned table.

You sighed as you realized that you were going to be surrounded by the “friends” who blamed you for the break up and made excuses for why your ex cheated. You whispered as much in Lewis’ ear.

He pulled you closer, “it’ll be fine, love. I’m here with you.”

As the table filled up, it seemed like the rest of the occupants were too preoccupied with your boyfriend to actually realize that he was seated next to you. But you were feeling particularly petty.

“Hello,” you inclined your head with a slight smirk. “It’s nice to you see again.”

They did a double take.

Amy, who you once thought was your best friend, stuttered out a broken, “Y/N?”

“Hi, Amy! How’s it going since you told me that it was understandable that he cheated because I ‘never put out!’”

She didn’t reply, eyes jumping between you and Lewis.

“Oh, this is my boyfriend, Lewis.”

He gave a curt “hello” and raised your entwined hands to his lips.

James, another one of the friends who once betrayed you called out from the other end of the table, “You and LEWIS HAMILTON?”

“Yes, that is my boyfriend’s name last time I checked.”

James continued to run his mouth, “never took you for a gold-digger but I can’t say I’m surprised.”

Lewis interjected before you could even say anything, “Y/N is the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. If anyone’s punching above their weight, it’s me. She’s the one who’s out of my league. It’s not her fault the lot of you were too stupid to appreciate her.”

Amy’s boyfriend, who must be new because they weren’t together when you last saw her, tried to ask for an autograph as the table fell into tense silence but Lewis wasn’t having it.

You really loved your boyfriend.

Later that night after the first dance, Lewis went up to the bar to get you some drinks, first making sure that you would be fine alone for a few minutes.

Someone must have it out for you because that’s also when the newlyweds decided to start making their rounds and when your ex finally noticed you.

“Y/N! You actually showed up. Didn’t think you had it in you to watch us get married,” he sneered. “But it looks like your plus-one bailed on you.”

A glass of champagne was placed by your plate before familiar arms wrapped around you from your back, the smell of Lewis’ cologne instantly comforting you. “Her plus one’s right here.”

You could’ve sworn your ex looked less shocked when you walked in on him that faithful day. “But-but you’re Lewis Hamilton?”

You decided to join in on the fun, “really? I had noooo idea.” You turned to face your boyfriend, “why didn’t you tell me that you’re Lewis Hamilton?”

You turned back towards your ex, “and by the way, the next time you have to send me something, you can mail it to our penthouse in New York or our villa in London or our condo in Monaco or our apartment in Nyon.”

You reached for Lewis’ hand as an upbeat song came on, not letting your ex get in a word edgewise, “come on Lew, let’s dance.”

As Lewis led you to the dance floor, you couldn’t help but be thankful for your ex because if he wasn’t such a moron you probably would have never met the love of your life.

[jesssssssssica]

a hundred and one bulldogs lh44

roscoe hamilton hates the word ‘later’. especially today. especially when he really wants a walk. he’s sick and tired of the word later due to the constant push back of the walk he was promised FOUR HOURS AGO. just the thought of the word later makes feel pain.

lewis sits at his desk, busily typing away at the computer that rested on the table, roscoe laying lazily on his bed, head resting on his paws bored out of his mind, watching the dogs that walk past him, wishing he was on a walk like them. 

he studies the different girl dogs that walk past, trying to find a pretty thing to look at. he sees a fluffy pomeranian whose head is held high as she trots around. roscoe shakes his head ‘too cocky’ he thinks before turning back out to face the window spotting a tall saluki bouncing around with her owner whom also seems to bounce from foot to foot, headphones on her head ‘too loud’. 

he continues looking at the people and pets that pass his sulking self, feeling even worse as the minutes pass, that is until he sees her. a bulldog who looks practically perfect and who is not too cocky of themselves yet manages to hold themselves highly.

never has roscoe manage to feel this many butterflies float around his belly and the fact that he has to suffer through this without meeting the dog that stole his heart makes him feel as if he has reached rock bottom. but then he sees her owner, just as beautiful as it’s pet and just as perfect for lewis as her pup is for him. double win. roscoe wasn’t an idiot, he knew that the hamilton house would never be complete without someone that lewis could kiss and love (that was actually human as well!) and it didn’t help that lewis was getting older, meaning that his hopes for settling down was getting sooner and sooner. this woman was the one, roscoe could feel it in his heart.

he looks at the clock ‘4:45′ it reads, ‘gosh darn it’.

15 minutes till what was originally meant to just be a walk that he had been dreaming about since he woke up but would now be possibly the start of a new beginning. never has he been so grateful for the word ‘later’...

having enough of constantly watching the ticking of the clock, roscoe rises from his bed and towards the clock that had been left to be put up and gently paws at the hands, moving it slowly so it reads ‘5:30′ instead.

he trots back a bit, to admire his paws work and then begins to bark, trying to grab the attention of lewis. lewis turns around, looking at his pup, who’s frowning and whining, head down and body facing the clock.

“5:30 already? well c’mon boy, i did promise you a walk after all.” he gets up, stretching his legs and going towards the coat rack that held his coat and roscoe’s harness and leash, which lewis slides on him quickly, causing him to barely have time to put on his own coat due to roscoe dashing outside, happy to finally be able to walk and meet the dog that has made him so infatuated.

they cross the street entering the park, a flock of pigeons blocking the pathway ahead causing roscoe to run forward slightly, causing them to fly away. they then walk across the bridge past the pomeranian roscoe saw earlier and its owner, who’s too busy taking pictures of the scenery then focusing on her dog.

roscoe looks everywhere, scared that he missed them or maybe missed them and yet there they are, there she is. it’s as if fate had finally aligned with the stars, he had somehow managed to pull this off perfectly, well at least the timing, the rest of his plan had yet to happen.

‘she looks so beautiful’ roscoe thinks, unable to get her beauty out of his head, when he’s suddenly remembers the key part of his plan; lewis. without lewis, they’ll be stuck with just the two of them and whilst that’s nice, it’ll get boring one day. roscoe looks up at his owner, whom is seemingly in his own world, occasionally looking down at roscoe and then looking back up at the world. they sit down at the bench, lewis taking off his cap and placing it on the bench, causing roscoe to jump up and grab it.

“roscoe you silly pup, give it back.” lewis laughs, grabbing the attention of y/n and y/d/n’s attention, watching lewis and roscoe fool around, causing the latter to silently cheer at the fact that his plan was working!

that is until they get up to leave of course.

“c’mon roscoe let’s go now.”

no way. he wasn’t giving up so easily, especially not when destiny was so close, so he starts sprinting, rushing to catch up with them and it works. lewis bumps into y/n, causing them to grab onto each other to help stop themselves from falling over.

“oh!” “oh!” they both say, gasping in shock of the event, making them unaware of roscoe circling their legs with his leash.

y/d/n spots what distress he’s putting their owners in and tugs on y/n’s coat to try and help the situation and yet manages to make the situation worse, tugging so hard that it sends them going into the pond, y/n on top of lewis.

“oh” lewis groans out.

“oh, my pants and oh my blazer! good heavens!”

y/n stands up, beyond angry at the predicament she’s managed to find herself in and goes to grab y/d/n wanting to just get where she wanted to go originally, home. 

lewis stands up quickly after she does and pleads “i’m so sorry, i really am. i promise i will help you, i swear this is really out of character for him.” 

roscoe turns to look at y/d/n, wanting to apologise for what he’s done and yet y/d/n turns away from him in disgust.

y/n scoffs and replies “haven’t you done enough? just go away!”, she then walks back and adds on a “please?” 

lewis stands there shocked and then does the first thing he can think of, pulling out a handkerchief he had lying around in his pocket and handing it to y/n “take mine!”

y/n looks at the wet handkerchief in his hand and can’t help but laugh, a sound that would forever remember, laughing until her knees become weak and tears build up in her eyes. lewis at first looks confused until he does a double-take of his handkerchief, also lightening up and joining y/n in her fits of giggles, both of them forgetting about how cold and wet they had gotten after the unfortunate incident at the park and only being able to see the tears in their eyes from their laughter and the stranger that sat across from them.

they pause after a long moment of laughter before looking into each other’s eyes, faces wearing a look of adoration and love.

what a peculiar day at the park.

who knew that two dogs, one just trying to enjoy a nice walk in the park and the other one desperate for a walk, would be the cause of a new beginning.  a beginning to a love that would last centuries and would be sought out by the people that walked past them in the street and watched their love-stricken souls hold each other, two pups trailing behind them also looking at each other as if they were the only people dogs in the world.

a love admired by all.

[betterbemeta]

I feel like some things in the Jurassic World movies are actually a step backward in the science-fiction zone from Jurassic Park III. I think that was the one where it was revealed that the raptors had a 'language' and complex communication that implied not just 'intelligence' but 'sapience'-- and I understand that some people felt this jumped the shark a little.

(yes I know its a dream sequence, SHUT UP, they went there,)

But I remember seeing it when I was little and it made perfect sense to follow the original beats of how the raptors were scary in previous movies because they could interact with human environments like doors. They could use deception, 'tactics' and could not easily be contained.

If you're implying that these are beings that can reason, and further acting as if this reasoning ability is more threatening than the reasoning ability of a chimpanzee or something, then you're not afraid of 'what' is hunting you, but 'who.'

And that they could have reasons beyond being hungry bloodthirsty animals to be aggressive toward you.

That you have imprisoned 'people' and not 'animals' or even 'beneath animals' (creatures that have no natural existence, creations, toys, etc.)

But there's something disappointing to me about the stuff with Blue and Chris Pratt and all of that. It feels more like the fantasy of an animal tamer at a circus who has mastery of dangerous creatures (something that most modern circuses have cut) than it feels like a relationship with an intelligent creature capable of complex communication.

(Tell me how this is different from the image of a 'lion tamer' with a chair between him and his 'beasts?')

It doesn't even feel like the level of communication that you should be having with your dog, or cat. But the raptors of course obey Chris Pratt's fantasy expertise and fantasy rules surrounding their social behaviors because the point is to depict Chris's character as skillful. 'The right way to approach raptors' is whatever the writers want it to be, unlike real dogs, cats, horses, bears, big cats, etc.

In reality, there are a lot of failed 'animal whisperers' out there, hucksters that fake being an animal behaviorist to impose fantasy-like rules on animals while abusing them, and dominance-based trainers who get sued for animal abuse if they aren't attacked by the animals first.

The Jurassic World movies seem to mitigate this idea with that the raptors are not natural creatures (but living 'in the wild' seems to be a conclusion for at least one of them?) and that they vary in intelligence level, with Blue being the most intelligent. My issue with this is that complex communication required for coordination also requires multiple parties that understand it. Why aren't the raptors basically having constant misunderstandings between their differing mentalities, or misunderstanding their handler who doesn't seem to vary his approach between them?

Basically my point is. The place Jurassic Park was going, it was fine. You made Frankenstein's Monsters, classic sci-fi dilemma. It kind of sucks that they downgraded Dinosaur Frankensteins into... the emotional replacement for circus animals in the modern day when we know dancing bears and elephants aren't ethical. However 'cool' they are on their own, that type of creature in a narrative is there to demonstrate the bravery of their 'tamer' and any 'trust' the animal has with that tamer is just the same. It's not about any creature actually making its own decisions, let alone a highly intelligent one.

It doesn't really matter that Jurassic World movies try to have it both ways, with some lip service to 'respecting' the raptors, and sometimes other dinosaurs, showing the antagonists being 'disrespectful' by contrast. If we continued the themes from JPIII, the type of 'respect' that is supposedly the 'good' position, is not the kind of respect you'd want to give to a person.

[thepaintedsable]

Uh oh, who let me into a fandom again? Who left the niche within a niche door open??? Y’all should know better.

@sm-baby’s Carnival AU for The Amazing Digital Circus grabbed me by the bootstraps with??? Inspiration??? Not only have I dodged most fandoms and the motivation to draw fanart (not that I don’t want to show support; just no ideas in the noggin), but I genuinely don’t think I’ve sat down and put a non-ironic, genuine OC for a media I like on paper since my Warrior Cats/Creepypasta era. This AU didn’t just get me to sit down and make an OC that fits with the original media, but one that fits with their derivative. I saw other people doing it and it looked like so much fuunnn.

First, have standard TADC version! Either that or a player.

This is Tuus! They’re mainly based on the beanie baby dragon to fit that sweet sweet 90s theme, but generally a mixture of beloved childhood toys I have sitting on my shelf. She’s scruffy, worn, and kinda dirty looking and that’s on purpose. She’s bottom heavy, and I wanted her wings to give off the texture of that basically-plastic shiny fabric you used to see on a lot of toys.

No mouth, but a randomly appearing lizard tongue. For fun.

Tuus deals with the circus by sleeping. A lot. Too much. If you don’t need to sleep, then you don’t need to be awake. If she’s doing to be trapped in a digital hell, she might as well be catching up on her naps. And she will sleep in the worst places. Time for a digital feast? She’s on the table. Caine wants to have an adventure in the lake? Girl is at the bottom. Sleeping with the fishes fr fr. And you need to find her one day? Nowhere to be seen, probably on the roof.

It’s playing on the whole big, lazy, sleeping dragon thing that used to be in a lot of children stories I remember. But also how well loved childhood toys seem to pop up and disappear, there when you aren’t looking but gone when you are. Her name also means “Your” or “Thy.” Your dragon.

BUT AT THE CARNIVAL?

What amusement park is complete without a gift shop? What game doesn’t have a place to buy goofy digital goods? Tuus is the big lady in charge of the gift place of the Carnival! Her room is what should have been a shop of sorts, to buy whatever products that darned company would have tried to push. Cosmetics, virtual toys, digital snacks, whatever. But, uh, I don’t think anyone told them dragons don’t like to…. share. Becoming sentient did wonders for the attitude. You should be just fine if you don’t make too much noise, though! She’s a lazy lizard, and often sleeps sprawled around the place. I imagine the level would be set up like a maze, or a labyrinth. Isles and isles of things, with peaks of a tail or smoke every now and again. Toys, clothing, and even random things that shouldn’t be in there just trash the path. It’s your job not to step on anything! It’s different each time, though (a speed runner’s nightmare). One level you might get lucky and have a straight shot with a sleeping dragon, the next there might be so many things it’s physically impossible to reach any exit at all. Potentially can get out of trouble with some digital coin™, but you’ll have to have found enough hidden in the room to forgive each “damaged item.”

Here she is much, MUCH larger and far cleaner. An oversized display never meant to be bought. A collectors item far too expensive for a child. Think “I used to be a beloved toy and now I’ve been forgotten, even forgetting myself, and this is how I cope” favor VS “I have never known the touch of a person and have been trapped on this shelf only to be abandoned and have the personality of an unsocialized dog” flavor.

She has no mouth, but she bites.

I want to draw more of her :) She’s a goof.