#the thousand dollar tan line

[veronicamarsconfessions]

The Casablancas

[bodycomingthroughtherye]

favorite books → the thousand-dollar tan line by rob thomas and jennifer graham

“there weren’t many people in this world who would let you be vulnerable and still believe you were strong.”

[strniohoeee]

hii i was thinking you could do a smutty fic where y/n is the triplets bsf and she lives with them,and they go out to dinner one night and y/n was like wearing i very revealing dress and matt couldnt contain himself so when they got home matt went to hang out in y/ns room(alone) and he says something along the lines of “i looked so fucking hot today” and then makeout the session and then smutty smut smut,if u cant that’s totally okay love u and ur fics bae😝

Creepin

Pairing: Matt Sturniolo X Female Reader

Synopsis: After dinner, and Y/N wearing a short dress Matt’s feeling a bit conflicted….and turned on??🗣️

Warnings⚠️: SMUT SMUT SMUT. There’s nothing like crazy crazy at least that’s how I feel, but uhhh they definitely FUCKIN🖤

Song for the imagine: Creepin- Metro Boomin, The Weeknd, 21 Savage

⚠️This is an 18+ imagine, so minors do not interact, or do??⚠️

And if you’re Creepin, please don’t let it show

Oh baby, I don’t wanna know

The triplets had decided to have dinner at a fancy restaurant for hitting 5 million subscribers on YouTube. They invited Madi and I.

I have never been out to a fancy restaurant, so I was so excited to play dress up especially with Madi! We both decided on wearing black mini dresses, and we looked so hot

As we walked out to the living room we hear Chris

“Can we get a little commotion for the dress!! Holy shit yall look good” he said

“Thank youuuu” we both said giggling

Unbeknownst to Y/N, Matt was struggling to rip his eyes away from her. The way the dress hugged her curves, made her breast pop and her legs look long and beautiful. He was struggling badly

We had called an Uber to to the restaurant, and when we got there Madi and I felt so fucking luxurious. I mean high ceilings, thousand dollar light fixtures, hot older men….we were having a blast

“Holy shit we could find a sugar daddy” I said to them

“Omg let’s be on the lookout” Madi said winking at me

It seemed like they hired good looking people here because the waiters and waitress were out of a fucking model catalog

“Nick I see a whole lot of eye candy for you” I said looking over at him

“You’re fucking telling me…..my mouth is on the floor” he said looking around

“The women are hot too” I said winking at Chris and Matt

“I’m seeing a lot of blonde….not really my type” Chris said

“Not really my vibe” Matt said looking at the girls

“Your fucking loss every bodies hot here” I said to them

We had a waiter who was the definition of a wet dream. Black slicked back hair, dark eyes, tan skin and sharp facial features

“Dude he’s checking you out” Madi said

“Ehhh he’s alright” I said to her

“Alright? That man’s so fucking fine” Nick said

“10$ says he will flirt with you when he comes back” Madi said

“You have a bet” I said reaching my hand across the table and shaking her hand

When the waiter came by he gave us our drinks, and came back to me to take our orders. Everyone ordered before me and finally it was my turn

“And for the beautiful lady?” He asked me

“Oh…umm I’ll have the steak, medium well, and what are the sides?” I asked looking up at him

He flashed a sideways smile before looking at my lips and reading me the sides

“I’ll do the mashed potatoes and the Cesar salad” I said closing my menu and handing it to him

“Great pick pretty” he said all flirty, and then walked away

“You owe me 10 fucking dollars” Madi said laughing at me

“Why do guys who I don’t find attractive always hit on me” I said rolling my eyes

“Because you’re hot, ummm you radiate feminine power and you smell good” she said to me

“Boooo boring” I said to her

“Ouu how much you wanna bet he’ll leave his number and give us some type of discount” Chris said wiggling his brows

“Alright let’s not use her looks to take advantage” Matt said chiming in

“The number maybe, but a discount I doubt look at this place too boujee” I said to Chris

We had all finished our dinner, and gotten dessert and it was time for the bill to come around

The waiter came up to me, and handed me the bill while winking….bold fucking move

I opened the check and my jaw dropped

“SHUT THE FUCK UP” I said laughing

“WHAT IS IT” Nick yelled

“He fucking gave me his number, and gave the whole bill 20% off” I said laughing

“NO FUCKING WAY” Chris and Madi said

“I just saved yall 100 dollars” I said passing the bill down to Matt

“Dude you’re coming with us everywhere” Chris said shaking his head

“You gonna call him?” Madi asked

“Fuck no, but if I want a discounted meal I might” I said shrugging my shoulders

“Ew what a fucking loser he put a heart next to his number” Matt said laughing

“I was thinking the same thing” I said laughing with Matt

We had gotten another Uber back home, and everyone went to sit on the couch to watch a movie, but I decided to go to my room because I was so tired

I had changed and took off my makeup, washing my face and had been scrolling on tik tok for 20 minutes before I heard a knock at the door

“Come innn” I said locking my phone and putting it down

“Hey” Matt said coming in

“Oh hey Matt” I said smiling at him

“Can I chill with you? They’re being so loud and annoying out there” he said

“Of course you don’t have to ask” I said as he walked over and sat on the bed

“Do you have any plans for tomorrow” I asked Matt

“Nah, I think they want to film a vlog” he said sitting in front of me

“Oh funnnn” I said cracking my knuckles

“You should come with to film” he said

“Maybe I have some plans tomorrow morning, but after sure” I said to him

“Ouuu plans with the waiter?” He said wiggling his brows

“Oh god no eww” I said laughing

“God you just looked so hot today in that outfit” Matt blurted out

“WHAT?” i said genuinely shocked

“I mean….uh I’m not sure why I said that” he said blushing

“I appreciate it, I really do especially coming from you” I said smiling at him

“Oh yeah?” He asked

“Yeah Matt. I have liked you for so long I have waited for the day you’d compliment me” I said to him

“I have liked you so much too…..I’m so glad we feel the same” he responded

“You looked so hot tonight too” I said batting my lashes at him

“I did?” He asked honestly shocked that I called him hot

“Matt you’re really fucking hot. Not sure how you don’t know this” I said laughing at him

“Just kiss me already you’re begging for it at this point” he said laughing

I rolled my eyes at him and grabbed him by his shirt pulling him in and crashing our lips together

When I pulled away his pupils were dilated and his breathing was shallow

“I have wanted to do that for so long” he said looking at my lips

“Me fucking too” I said licking my lips

I pulled him back in for another kiss, and slowly we started to make out. I eventually scooched down, and Matt was above me now

Kissing my lips to my jaw then down to my neck.

“Do you want this?” He asked me

“More than anything” I said out in a sigh

Matt began kissing my neck again, and came back up to make out with me again our tongues fighting for dominance as our teeth clashed together

I pushed Matt back, so I could remove my shirt

“No bra” he said tilting his head

“Oh yes my bad I was getting ready for bed, and wasn’t expecting to fuck you, so how dare I not have some decorum” I said sarcastically

“Shut up” he said biting his lip before kissing me again moving his kisses down to my neck, and then to the valley of my breasts slowly moving to take my left nipple into his mouth, sailing his tongue around it

“Fuck Matt” I moaned out

He then went to my right nipples taking that one into his mouth as well

As he was doing that he slid his hand down to my waistband, and slowly slid his hand into my underwear snaking his hand to my pussy

“So wet” he said before licking my nipple and taking it back into his mouth

I just mewled at this feeling so fucking good

He slowly started to rub my clit and then switched to my left nipple

“Matt this feels so good keep going” I said running my hands through his hair

He slowly slid his middle finger into my pussy stretching me out, and causing me to gasp at the feeling, slowly pumping his finger in and out of me. About two minutes later he add his ring finger in

“FUCK” I yelled out

“SHHHH” he says laughing and covering my mouth

“SORRY” I said laughing with him

He kept fingering me for a good two minutes before I stopped him

“Baby I need more” I said looking into his eyes, and he nodded

Matt removed his pants and boxers, and the removed my pants and underwear

“Spit” he said holding his hand out, so I did

He then brought his hand down to his dick slowly stroking it

“I could cum right now” he says rolling his eyes back

Once he got his dick wet he then came down and licked a strip up my pussy

“Oh my god” I said shuddering

He slowly slid his dick in, us gasping as he pushed in further

“Alright we have to be really quiet” he said bottoming out

“Yes baby anything for you” I said nodding

“Good” he said and slowly started to thrust into me

Matt was pounding into me and I’m sure the whole house was hearing it if they were out in the living room

“Fuck Matt” I said clenching down onto him

“Keep doing that baby, and I won’t make it much longer” he said as he thrusted into me

Matt then turned me onto my left side lifting my right leg up and started to pound into me

“FUCKKK MATT” I screamed out

“SHUT UP” he said and smacked my ass

“I’m sorry it feels so good” I said with my eyes shut and my brows furrowed

Matt kept thrusting into me harder and faster, and I’m sure everyone had to hear us fucking at this point

“Fuck Matt I’m gonna cum” I said

And he brought his hand down to my clit using his thumb to rub the sensitive bundle

“SHIIIITTT” I moaned out clenching down on him harder

“Come on baby give it to me” he said thrusting harder

Matt started to rub harder and pound into me harder

“IM CUMMING IM CUMMING” I yelled out and clenched down on him as I came all over him. My thighs shaking and my knees bending as my toes pointed…..this was the most intense orgasm of my life

“Matt Matt Matt” I said as I was still coming down from my high

He let me ride out my high, and then pulled out of me stroking his dick, and cumming all over my pelvic bone and lower stomach

His lower abdomen constricting and his body shuddering forward

“Fuck fuck fuck” he said as he rode out his high

He went and grabbed a wet towel to wipe me down

“Lets shower baby” Matt said

“I agree, and maybe round 2 in the shower” I said winking at him

“I’m do-“ before he could finish his sentence we were cut off

There was banging on my ceiling coming from upstairs….Nicks room

“STOP FUCKING WEVE HEARD ENOUGH” we heard Nick yell through the vents

“SORRY” we screamed back

“IM FUCKING SCARRED” we heard Chris yell back

“WERE SORRY WERE HEADING TO FUCK IN THE SHOWER NOW” Matt yelled and I smacked him

“FUCK YOU GUYS! YOURE SICK” Nick yelled back

We ended up laughing, and heading over to the shower.

The End

Hope yall enjoyed this one too, and I’m about to start my last request and then I’m going to post my own ideas for imagines🖤🖤🤭

-J💅🏽

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Sarge & lil Mama: Wouldn’t it be Nice?

Fully co-authored with: @ab4eva 🤍

Summary: In between shooting movies and topping charts, Elvis Presley takes his young family to the California beach for some hard earned frolicking, nothing extraordinary occurs, but then again, extra and ordinary are words redefined since Elaine gave him five children under the age of five.

Date: 1962, Summertime

Word Count: 9k

Warnings: PG13- The accidental destruction of a child’s sandcastle, breastfeeding toddler, talk of being uncircumcised (including by children + children being aware of it), use of several nicknames for a man’s member, someone’s hair accidentally being set fire to, language, a minor injury involving sand in the foreskin + lots of talk about it (including by children) + treatment of the injury by uncommon methods while children are present (but not directly involved), Elvis being a big baby, Rosalee being distraught about her daddy’s injury, a child willfully acquiring a knife and threatening to cut off fathers member (more wholesome than it sounds) but has it taken away before anything can happen, parents kissing while children are present.

Jerry thought the day had been going quite well. Beach days were supposed to be carefree and rollicking and generally a time to let loose and soak up salt spray tranquility, and today had been correspondingly mellow. Or at least, everyone tried their best, a break from those back to back Wallis pictures doing wonders for EP and giving him a chance to take the kids to see the ocean for the first time, or the first time that some of them can remember .

It gave the day both a heavy amount of purpose and a giddy sense of long sought freedom. Away from the hustle and bustle of Hollywood, nestled between the Santa Monica Mountains and the cliffs of Pacific Palisades, sits a beach so serene and beautiful you’d think you were a thousand miles from nowhere instead of a stone’s throw away from the City of Angels. Miles of smooth, sandy shoreline and calm ocean waves, not to mention the virtually non-existent crowd, made it the ideal spot for their getaway. They would have space, and privacy, away from the prying eyes and curious shutterbugs that seemed to follow their little gang wherever they went.

They had a good little headquarters set up on the sand, a sandpit and bonfire beginning to be used for the evening’s meal of s’mores and hot dogs, a half a dozen umbrellas erected and a carpet of towels. Often they held a dozing child, nestled in a nest of cotton stripes when their little bodies couldn’t keep up with the games so vigorously played on at the water's edge. An hour ago Elvis had been there himself, laid out and snoozing next to Rosalee, his face in the shade but the entire rest of him in the sun’s full glare, clad in a wispy muslin shirt that had a penchant for riding up his belly with each gust of wind and tiny red shorts that he’d swiped from Edith Head’s costuming department after the latest film had wrapped.

“Those’ll make for some crazy tan lines.” Billy had remarked about it to Elaine while grabbing a beer from the cooler.

She’d just hummed dreamily while watching the way her man and their baby’s breath synced up, the little girl not even a third as long as his lanky frame, positioned in a L, her pasty baby skin in full shadow from the summer sun.

The cat nap had revived Elvis immensely and he was back at it within an hour, playing football with the boys while Elaine floated between her children, one minute collecting shells with Ella and Rosalee, the next inspecting a tiny crab Jackson had found. Jack, as his family called him, was intrigued by sea creatures and creatures in general, so he happily set about running from one thing to the next, crouching down to study a jellyfish that had washed ashore or gently returning a live sand dollar back to the water. At the ripe age of four years old, Jesse considered himself one of the guys, and was allowed, begrudgingly by some, to take part in the football game. Elvis had taught him how to throw a football almost as soon as he could walk, he’d been obsessed with any sort of ball since before he could talk and so was a natural. And Daisy Mae? For once she was sat quietly by herself, plastic buckets and pails all lined up in a row, diligently building a sandcastle..

It had three turrets so far, and an outer courtyard like the real life castle mama had driven them all to see when in Germany. Jesse had insisted that Daisy only recalled it from pictures and not memory, as she had been “just a baby” but she insisted she did. And to prove her point she was creating its layout with painstaking accuracy. Unless Elaine was greatly mistaken, Daisy’s little sand edifice bore a more striking resemblance to an illustration in Scribner’s edition of Grimm’s Fairy Tales, but she would be the first and staunchest defender if asked that the wet mounds resembled Lichtenstein Castle.

It made what happened next even worse as Elaine and Aunt Betsy watched as if in slow motion horror as a cataclysmic catastrophe of toddler sized proportions unfolded as the ball game spread and spread across the white sands. It wasn’t that Uncle Rex was trying to trample on Daisy’s masterpiece, but Elvis threw a Hail Mary pass, farther than even he thought possible, and the next thing anyone knew Rex was skidding to a stop with one foot in the moat and the other on a turret, his team cheering with wild abandon because he’d caught the ball. A high-pitched wail pierced the air, drowning out the gulls and the waves, startling them all.

Uncle Rex’s kindly and sun tanned face turned a little sickly pale upon looking down and noticing that while little Daisy Mae did not look to be in any mortal danger, she was glaring at his foot through a cascade of tears as if it were the cause of all human woe. Then he noticed the turret, the moat, what was probably a stable for horsies in back and the stack of plastic shovels and molds beside it that all bore witness to the four year old’s painstaking efforts. All of it demolished with a misplaced foot and when Rex looked up and saw Elvis running over to ascertain the cause of his child’s grief, Rex coulda swore his wide-receiver days were over.

In an instant, Elvis had scooped Daisy Mae up in his arms, her tears soaking the shoulder of his thin shirt as he patted her back soothingly, swaying gently from side to side and murmuring softly in her ear. Being a father was second nature to him at this point, he had perfected all of the little rituals and responsibilities that came with having so many children all under the age of five. At the same time, he was holding her close and checking to make sure she wasn’t hurt, smoothing the fine hair that floated in a halo around her head and running his hands over her tiny limbs.

“Aww now darlin’ it’s alright, it’s alright, Uncle Rex is awfully sorry,” he soothed her the best he could once hearing her bawling complaint, “he’s awfully sorry, didn’t mean to, such a pretty castle ya got here. So pretty, he’d never mean to do it and he feels sick about it.”

“Just sick.” Rex agreed vehemently, dropping to his knees on the sand beside Elvis and his child, careful to choose an undeveloped patch of sand from which to properly apologize, “I’m ever so sorry, Daisy dear.”

It was typical Daisy fashion for words to be cheap and the devastation of her afternoon’s work a soul scarring affair, and while her daddy’s arms and sweet words were soothing, at least a little, there remained a bitterly painful sense of loss in her little chest that nothing was ever again going to remedy or fill that void.

That is untill Jesse piped up softly at her side after surveying the damage, “Daisy, was this goin’ to be where they keep the wolves?”

Lichtenstein Castle had an large menagerie in back where it’s first Saxon overlord kept the native beasts for gruesome purposes Elaine did not expound to the children about. Seemingly forgetting his insistence that Daisy did not recall the place from memory alone, Jesse was intrigued by the design and after asking her she finally pulled her face out of her daddy’s shoulder to give her big brother a sniffling nod and very pointedly emphasized:

“S’posed to be.” For it would never be now and never could be again, for all her mortal dreams had been dashed by Uncle Rex’s foot.

“We can help finish it!” Jesse insisted. “Look here, Daisy, this shovel is the perfect thing to fix the wolf pen, just needs a bit of sand scooped out is all and it’ll be good as new!” He dropped to his hands and knees and got to work, carefully scooping out sand and water, shoring up the walls as he went. Daisy observed him watchfully from the safety of her father’s arms, hiccuping a little every now and then. Elvis gently swiped the tears from her reddened cheeks, kissing her forehead gently and whispering to her, “Whatdya reckon, Daisy Maisey? Think we can get this ol’ castle fixed up? Uncle Rex and I know a thing or two ‘bout buildin’ things, don’t we now, Rex?” He nodded knowingly to Rex above Daisy’s head, giving him the go ahead to speak up.

“Oh sure we do, I’ve been known to build a sandcastle as tall as your daddy before, ain’t that right, Elvis?” He hunched down beside the duo, eye to eye with Daisy to plead his case. “I’ll even make ya some pretty vines to hang down the side outta seaweed, would ya like that?” Daisy eyed him warily before nodding her head slowly and stating with a great deal of gravity, “Lick-en-stine Castle doesn’t have vines that hang down…but it has trees that grow on the side.” Her small concession was all the affirmation Rex needed to plop himself down properly, grabbing a pail and filling it with sand, talking to the little girl the whole while, regaling her with his favorite parts of the castle he had visited while in Germany.

“What’s going on down there?” Up at Beach HQ under the umbrellas, Elaine asked Aunt Betsy for an update on the toddler crises as she tried to discreetly nurse a rather lanky Jack under a towel he was insistent on throwing off.

He was perhaps getting too old for this, Elaine had to admit, but her milk hadn’t stopped, and she didn’t have another baby yet. “They’re all over the place.” She snickered at the sight of them, as much of them as she could make out which was mostly when they went to the water's edge and scurried back again with refilled buckets.

They weren’t that far off down the beach but Betsy was always nearsighted and so she held the binoculars Rex had brought for whale watching and trained it on the group of men down there hovering and packing and molding sand and fetching water like a great army of ants. Anywhere Daisy beckoned was attended to by a member of the Mafia, with Jesse as her most dedicated foremen, while it appeared that Rex had been entrusted with wreathing the front pillars with garlands of seaweed that he received from further up in the assembly line where Elvis was braiding the slimy stuff with dedicated perseverance and the help of Rosalee’s tiny fingers. Rex and Betsy’s son, Sam, happy and carefree and practically one of the Presley kids himself, plopped down beside Rosalee, far more interested in watching her work than doing any work himself.

“Your man has got the boys rebuilding it.” Betsy summarized with an amused smirk. “Only Elvis could wrangle a group of grown men into building a sandcastle for a three year old…and with such authority. He really did learn a thing or two in the army, didn’t he?”

Elaine smiled softly to herself and held out a hand for the binoculars to better see the little group at the water’s edge. She wasn’t at all prepared for the sight of her husband, tiny red swim shorts and wind-blown hair, breath-taking in his command of an army all his own, pointing and inspecting and generally being an adorable menace for the benefit of his girl. Her darling children were running to and fro with buckets and shovels, laughing and screaming, while Daisy sat like a queen in the midst of them all, the real commanding officer and Elvis only her obedient second. That girl had had her daddy at her command ever since the day she was born.

Jack was roused from his cozy stupor at Elaine’s breast by all of the noise, letting her nipple go with a soft pop and turning his head to the commotion. A lackadaisical learner, Jack’s favored vocabulary consisted mostly of “mama” and food items at this point in his life and having stuffed himself with milk, he proved he was his father’s son by looking away from the sand architects down at the beach and asking her hopefully,

“Cat’sup?”

By that he meant the hotdogs intended for the bonfire but his favorite ingredient in them was ketchup and so they were referred to by it accordingly.

“You can’t possibly be hungry, little man.” She laughed, poking his distended, milk full belly and making him laugh until he hiccuped and that dimple of his dug deep.

“Cat’sup.” Jack persisted, cheeks in full grin and he bonked his soft button nose to Elaine's, holding their faces together with clammy little hands. “Caaaat’suuup.”

“Well, ya heard him,” she giggled to Betsy. “The man of the place says he’s hungry.”

“I don’t blame him one bit. I’m a little hungry myself,” Betsy said, rubbing her pregnant belly and winking at Jack. “What do ya think, Jacky boy, should we get lunch ready?”

Elaine and Betsy set about preparing lunch, knowing the troops would be ready to feast when they finished with all their hard work. There wasn’t much to do, as roasted hotdogs and potato chips were the beginning and end of it, with s’mores for dessert, but they laid everything out on the card table that Betsy had brought, stacking skewers and buns, stoking the burn pit to a good blaze.

The sandcastle crew were just about done shoring up their renovations, much to Daisy’s satisfaction and glee, when the smell of the bonfire wafted down shore, making their tummies suddenly grumble, the promise of sustenance close at hand. The whole gaggle of them made their way towards Beach HQ, and chattering excitedly, descended upon the food like a pack of hungry wolves set free from Lichtenstein Castle.

After the hot dogs had been roasted and consumed, the s’mores fixins were brought out, much to the gathered children’s delight. With the concentration and patience befitting a much older child, Jesse slowly turned his marshmallow over the low flames, just like his daddy taught him. Slow and steady, until it starts to grow and puff up, turning a lovely golden color. It was almost there, almost ready to be popped onto a graham cracker and smooshed with chocolate, a melty, delicious, sugary mess. But then the inevitable happened, because no matter how careful and how meticulous you are when roasting marshmallows, at least one or two, three or four even, are bound to catch fire. It happens in a flash, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Waving it back and forth, though, that will surely put the flame out, right?

This is Jesse’s thinking at least, as his eyes grow big and he inhales a breath, intending to blow out the flaming marshmallow that is too far gone to save. He waves it back and forth, frantically, the tiny blaze only growing bigger by the second. Those gathered around the campfire watch almost in slow motion as the mallow launches off of Jesse’s stick, flying through the air with the greatest of ease, and lands with a plop on poor Jerry’s beautiful blonde mop of hair.

“Holy shi-“

“Uhem!”

“Somebody put it out!”

“No, no, not the marshmallow, forget the marshmallow, his hair! Get his hair put out!”

It’s absolute pandemonium then as Jerry tries to pat out the flames but only succeeds in yelping as the fire singes his hands, the same goes for Charlie and Billy as they try to bat it out and Elaine and Betsy are no help at all, lost to giggles and trying to make sure no more marshmallows get catapulted off sticks.

“Dunk him in the ocean!” Elaine suggests the obvious and suddenly Jerry is resistant to all help.

“No, no, just, just hand me some water or somethin-“ he backs away from the encouraging hands of his friends.

“There’s a giant body of water right behind ya.” Elvis laughs the same hiccuping laugh that Jack has.

“The salt will ruin my flow, man!” Jerry begs for him to understand and Elaine watches as her peacock of a husband has a compassionate epiphany for him.

It’s no time for vanity, the smoldering sticky bomb in his hair is singeing and casting a nauseating stench over the dessert.

“Jerry, just stick your dumb head in God’s teacup, man.” Charlie coaxes him towards the ocean.

“You’re gonna lose more than your flow if ya don’t.” Elaine predicts as she watches those blonde locks begin to frazzle.

She can tell it spooks him but it’s not enough and in the end they have some free entertainment with their s’mores, watching Billy and Rex dunk their unwilling buddy into the waves. Before Elaine can remind him to swallow his last bite, Jesse is off down the beach and into the waves himself, body surfing like his daddy taught him with an alarming lack of caution. It makes even Elvis nervous and with a sticky peck to her lips in thanks for the meal, her husband discards his shirt and jogs after their son.

The diaspora affects all and soon the bonfire occupants have dispersed, each to their own little endeavors again as the sun begins to dip towards the westerly horizon. There’s frisbee’s being thrown now, higher up the beach and well away from any sandcastles, and it gets quite competitive as the kids are happily intent on burying Betsy and Elaine. The mermaid tails requested by each take additional time to craft and part way through Jesse becomes too restless to mold sand any longer and with tentative steps makes his way back to the towel fort under the umbrella and pulls the family’s famed new Polaroid camera from inside Elaine’s diaper bag.

“Mama, can I?” he hollers, careful to wipe his sandy fingers off on the towel after he notices them near the lens.

“Sure, darlin,” she grins from her sand casement, “Rosa baby, can ya pull my hair back a little for mama? It’s gettin’ in my mouth, thank ya baby.”

“Alright,” Jesse appears before them all knobby knees and tanned little legs beneath his shorts, looking for all the world like a collectible sized Elvis doll, “gimme your best smile ladies!” he imitates his father’s tone so well that Betsy let’s out an ungainly snort alongside her shocked laugh.

“I want a mermaid tail!” Ella, usually so very selfless for so young a child, lets slip her needs with a wobbly lip and yearning eyes.

“Of course you do!” Elaine murmurs, nodding her head to the side, “Lay down beside mama, sweetie. Y’all got enough muscles for one more, right?” she eggs on her boys and Jesse springs to action for his twin maybe a little too fast: “No, Jesse, the camera -don’t, not on the sand! -oh well.”

It’s just money, Elaine realizes, as Jesse’s guilty face waits for her verdict on the Polaroid camera face first in the sand. Luckily her husband makes a whole lotta the yummy green stuff.

“It’s fine, darling,” she insists and the colony of worker bees sets in motion again until Ella has a tiny little tail to match mama’s.

After an hour in this full body cast Elaine ventures with an unassuming tone, “Do y’all need me to get you anything? Y’all hungry again?”

“Yeah, I think there are more graham crackers left over?” Betsy adds to it, a terrible itch on her shin hardly able to be tolerated any longer as her hands are pinned to her sides.

“No, we’re good,” Daisy replies serenely.

“Ya sure?” Betsy’s face shows alarm at the prospect of not being released.

“Yeah.”

Elaine smirks and leans into the sandy hair petting Jack is lavishing on her, “How long do you reckon mermaids last after they get tossed ashore?” she asks Betsy.

“With those men as the sailors?” She rejoins, wryly nodding at the group of full grown men body smashing each other in pursuit of the frisbee, “An hour max.”

Elaine snickers and settles for waiting until someone wants to be carried into the waves before breaking out of her meticulously crafted tail. She doesn’t have to wait long before unforeseen circumstances arise that require her attention. With that sixth sense that motherhood has given her, she senses an injury in the frisbee players even before the concerning hush alerts her to a downed man.

“Ow goddamnit! Ow, ow, owww!” The last thing anyone had seen was Elvis diving for the frisbee with ease, his long and tan athletic form sure in its ability. And now here he was, rolling around in the sand, clutching his groin through his tiny, red shorts and moaning like he’d been shot.

“What is it Daddy? What’s wrong?” Little Jesse is at his father’s side in an instant, dropping to his knees on the sand next to Elvis, his sharp, intuitive eyes assessing the situation like a triage doctor on the battlefield. He takes in Elvis’s hands covering his privates and understands what’s happened, in the way that men always understand when that delicate part of them has been injured, like a sixth sense. “Is it your nozzle, papa? Is it hurt?”

“I think I’ve got sand in my…” Elvis grits out, before blushing deeply and coughing, too embarrassed to go on. Jesse stares at him, eyebrows drawn together, a puzzled look on his little boy face, trying to decipher his father’s unspoken meaning. He looks from Elvis’s face down to where his hands are pressing at his shorts and back up again, a look of recognition dawning.

“In your scarf, papa?” Jesse whispers loudly, the way a little child thinks they’re being discreet but really they’re just announcing your business for the whole world to hear.

Elvis hears the snickers of the gathered men at this and through his pain manages to give them a hard stare, withering in its ability to shut them up immediately, their eyes pointedly looking anywhere but at the situation unfolding before them, though they can’t help their drifting gazes that settle back on the man himself. Jesse’s little boy fascination with his father’s “nozzle” that wore a “little scarf” came from the fact that he himself didn’t have one. There had been no way in hell that Elvis Presley would let any sons of his grow up being teased and tormented in every locker or shower room they found themselves in for the rest of their lives. He had been through so much hazing and shame in his lifetime due to his uncut self that he was insistent with Elaine when Jesse was born that he be circumcised.

Elaine had been torn, and a little bit saddened, by this decision. She had wanted her boys to resemble their father in this aspect, had wanted them to be able to see themselves in Elvis in this most intimate way. But she knew there would be no arguing her point with him, this was one concession she had no choice in. She understood his shame, his embarrassment, but that didn’t mean she had to agree with it. Her man was perfect in every way, this one included. So she had merely tilted her head to the side and given him a gentle, searching look, her brown eyes meeting his scared blue ones, before nodding once and agreeing to his decree.

And so it was that when Elvis taught his little sons how to aim just so in the toilet, or when they went camping and had to use the bathroom in the woods, or when they saw him getting out of the shower every now and again, they were sorely disappointed that their “little men” didn’t have a scarf like their daddy’s did.

Such was Jesse’s preoccupation with making sure that Elvis and his little scarf were ok. Elvis hisses as he shifts his position in the sand, trying to sit up, every move he makes jostling more sand to fall out of his tiny shorts.

Jerry rolls his eyes behind his aviator shades and drawls, “Want me to carry ya to mama, EP?”

“Help me up, dammit, and wipe that look off your face, Schilling. Do you have a nozzle with a little scarf? No? Then I don’t wanna hear it,” Elvis spits out venomously, hissing again as Jerry pulls him up by the hand, throwing Elvis’s arm around him as Jesse rather comically supports him on the other side, his daddy’s hand resting heavily on the little boy’s shoulder. A truly absurd amount of sand falls out of Elvis’s tiny shorts as he stands and Jerry has to bite his cheek to keep from laughing. Distracted by all the commotion, Jack leaves the seashells he’d been collecting, running over to see what all the commotion was about.

“Elbis’ wocket owie?” Jack asks his daddy who he refuses to call by his proper title, taking a sandy thumb out of his mouth as he casually observes the trio making their way delicately across the beach to headquarters. Ever their curious child, by talking age Jack was obsessed with NASA and everything to do with space. He had settled on calling his little man “rocket,” a decision his father was sure he would come to regret in a couple of decades. But as he could tell that Jack wouldn’t be persuaded against it, he had sighed with fondness, ruffling the little rascal’s hair and saying, “Ok, my boy. I see I ain’t gonna change your mind on this one.” Elaine had watched all of this from the darkened hallway in Graceland, biting her lip and trying not to smile, as her three men stood in the bathroom, discussing men things. Jesse was already making blast-off jokes about it, something he would no doubt continue to do for the rest of their lives.

“Oh now, what’s all the fuss about, hmm?” Elaine, having broken out of her mermaid tail at the first sign of distress down the beach, looks over her cat-eye sunglasses at the group slowly making their way towards her. Her motherly instincts kick in as she evaluates the situation with sharp eyes, taking in her husband’s disheveled and slightly embarrassed state - noting with some concern the pained grimace running from his furrowed brow to his twisted mouth, the look of pure concern on her son’s face as he peers up at his father and the barely concealed amusement that Jerry’s trying hard to reign in. Elvis is limping like his leg’s been shot clean off, and she can’t quite make out where the injury lies. There’s no blood, no bruise, no showing bone…she runs through all of these possibilities in a matter of seconds, still puzzled by the time she meets them halfway down the beach.

“Elvis, what’s wrong?” she asks again as she meets them up the beach and takes in Schilling's straight face but bouncing shoulders and Elvis’ teeth gritted glare at his friend. “What’s broken?” Elaine throws her hands up in encouraging exasperation at the mute trio and it’s Jesse who has the composure to break the dire news to his mother in grave, childish tones,

“Daddy’s nozzle is broken.” Jesse tells her and for a split second Elvis can see the identical expression on both Elaine and Jesse’s faces, that alarmed and incredulous mix that makes the beginning third of their eyebrows point upwards briefly in a way that blows out of the water any theories about Jesse being his daddy’s copy. He’s a pure blend of both parents and Elvis thinks that the boy having his mama’s expressions makes him somehow fonder for the almost womanish amounts of fretting his young son already indulges in.

“Broken?” Elaine repeats and she’s already gathered enough comfort for Schilling’s mirth to figure that this isn’t life threatening, pulling down her shades again she ducks to meet Elvis’ eyes and mutters for only him to hear, “Really, honey? We’ve talked about you runnin’ round with a stiffy.”

“It ain’t broke or stiff!” Elvis replies with vehemence driven by pain, “There’s a beach worth of sand down my drawers and all up in my…business!”

“Oh.” Elaine’s mouth trembles in a way that closely resembles Jerry’s suppressed attempts and that’s just great, Elvis thinks, Elaine finds him and his scarf full of sand funny and maybe he will too in a few months when this gets to be a bonfire story but right now it feels like fire in his drawers.

“Woman, I’m in agony over here!” Elvis cries and his wife composes her face with credible ease and looks down to the offending red shorts with eyes intent to solve the issue.

“Do somethin’ mama!” Jesse urges, mimicking his father’s faith that Elaine can work miracles on big or little men.

“Umm ok, yeah of course I-“ she starts to fret herself as she looks around at their entourage, most of whom are starting to take notice of the boss being injured. “Can’t you just -wade out there and rinse the sand out?” She misunderstands exactly how intricate the issue is. “Just pull the legs out a little and…shimmy in the water..”

“I could barely walk to you!” Elvis eyes are wide as saucers and he looks like a hurt child for all that his masculine body is on full display to dissuade her gut instincts.

“Yeah, uh, Boss Lady, it’s like -up, UP his …scarf.” Jerry helps out in his staple, sardonic drawl.

“And it hurts?!” Elaine looks flabbergasted and Elvis gives her one last pained and withering look of incredulity before she shapes up into the doting little caregiver Elvis has molded her into, “Oh Mopey, no, oh dear, I’ll fix it, I-I’ll find a way. We need these folks distracted -Jerry?”

“What am I supposed to do about a dick injury?” Jerry asks, offended at the notion he’d know anything about dicks.

Elaine’s eyebrow quirks in appreciation for Jerry and his staunch idiocy. “I need to rinse the poor thing!” she hisses, “And I need some privacy from our folks while I’m at it.”

“Yeah, she needs to rinse it!” Elvis repeats in a small voice that’s very hopeful and very needy and Elaine slips her hand around his bronzed wrist to keep her husband from fully floating away.

“Elvis, come on honey, just a little further to the blanket fort,” she urges him and he throws his arm around her sun kissed shoulders and hobbles to HQ with unsuppressed little whines at each step that Elaine shouldn’t find so cute but she can’t help it when he turns into a big baby for her.

“What’s wrong with daddy?” Rosalee demands with terror in her eyes and predictably Sam Harrison and Daisy Mae are right on her heels.

“He’s got a boo boo and I’ve gotta rinse it out.” Elaine hushes the brewing hysteria as gently as she can, and even Elvis gives his girl a weak thumbs up of assurance as he drops to his knees on the sand and tugs at the tight pant leg of his shorts. “Like how we gotta rinse your cuts with antiseptic when you scrape your knees, ya know?” Elaine explains patiently while thinking up a plan, “But daddy’s owie is higher up. And I need your help, Rosa sweets. I need y’all to make a blanket wall for me, can ya do that? Get your brother and sisters and hold hands with your towels?”

The words are barely out of Elaine’s mouth before little Sam Harrison seizes his chance and grabs hold of Rosalee’s hand, the essential towel forgotten. The little chestnut haired cutie stares at his forwardness with typical childish surprise before looking to her daddy to see if he’s gonna kill Sam for such an assumption. Elvis is staring at the wide blue sky with gritted teeth and so he missed both the interaction and the way Sam’s mother Betsy comes over and asks after the plan -which Elaine relays with unapologetic diction but pink cheeks. Soon they’ve got a fine little semi circle made with the kids facing outwards and their towels held between them, giggling like it’s a competition of who can keep the most soldierly posture, the felled umbrella doing the work of three in the gap.

Somewhat sheltered for her delicate work, Elaine crawls over her prostate husband and takes in his puckered eyebrows and the trusting set of his blue eyes as he waits for her to fix him. Fix him, oh it’s so silly, she thinks, he’s so silly and she loves him so much and can’t believe she’s humoring a grown man in this stupid fit of whimpishness. Then again, maybe it does hurt.

“I shoulda made ya walk to the ocean like we did Jerry and his hair,” she sighs over him and his eyebrows knit together, further aggrieved at the mere suggestion of him putting in such effort when he’s so dreadfully wounded.

“Mama I’s hurtin,” Elvis objects and his sad glare is the same as Jack’s and somehow she’s gone from angel to being in deep trouble with a grown brat -and Elaine never got taught how to deal with such a phenom, in her own experience it’s best to just kiss it better.

But Elaine was always one to be been torn between doing what’s best and doing what’s asked of her. “My poor pretty baby.” she coos to him and places a wet peck to his plump lips and Elvis pitifully puckers them to receive it as he is still petulant, the praise has him only slightly pacified. “Lemme just grab-“ Elaine ignores the nearby canteen, it’s empty anyway, and instead sneakily reaches into the cooler and snags a Coke bottle. It’s chilled even though the ice has melted throughout the day.

“Here Butnin, open up,” she murmurs and Elvis unscrews his eyes enough to see her lighting a cigar for him and drawing on it with the faded paint of her lips before pressing it to his. The familiar taste and warm rush of the nicotine soothes him and he lays his head back on the towel, expecting her to present that Coke she’s grabbed for him to taste as soon as she uncaps it.

The sky is impossibly blue above him without a cloud in sight and at the edges of the horizon it’s turning violet as the sun wanes, and if he holds very still the burning down south calms enough for Elvis to appreciate the breeze and the feel of Tink fussing over him. Jack’s been getting more than his fair share of doting from her and while Elvis would never fake an injury or embellish it’s severity, when God fells a man it’s his due for a woman to fuss over him.

Drawing on his cigar, Elvis feels her hands stretching out the leg hole of his shorts and gingerly Elaine’s hands creep up his thigh and beyond those golden tan lines. She finds him where he’s tucked himself to the side, soft and floppy in its silliest state, and takes greater care with her hold in him when Elvis hisses,

“Careful woman, it’s burnin’ like hellfire, don’t need your maulin’ on top of it.”

“Sowwy, so sowwy baby,” she simpers as she tries to carefully pull the floppy worm that is a man’s flaccid penis out of his very elastic leg hole. There’s nothing quite as absurdly unimpressive or cute as a soft cock when it’s in repose. A cock with a tan little scarf tugged round its pink head like a nugget bundled freshly in a towel after a bath is doubly so, and Elaine can’t help the grin splitting her face as the comedic aspect of her duty comes to the fore. “We’re gonna fix hims up, Butnin, yes we is,” she whispers as the cigar smoke burns her nose and she gives a furtive glance the sunburned backs of the kids who are still busy competing at being dutiful with the shield wall while the adults pack up the condiments and leftovers at a distance.

Letting his cock lay heavily on his thigh, Elaine deftly pops the top off the Coke and wedges it between her thighs at the ready before gently cradling little Elvis in her palm. She is quite certain she hears her strapping young husband sniffle as she does so. It’s more of a production than one might think, to pull back the foreskin on a soft cock, but Elaine has played enough with her man in every stage of arousal that she is able to uncover the tip with some ease, and the next little bit with only some trouble.

“Goddamn it, Tink, that hurts!” Elvis pleads as he bites at his lip, gripping handfuls of sand, and she pets his bare belly soothingly, knowing he might be childish but the poor man is sensitive.

“I’s gotta gets to him, Naughty,” she says, loath to make it worse but now she’s looking, the dear, chubby little thing really does look a bit raw. “Let mamas take care of ya, hold still an’ it’ll be over soon, pretty baby.”

“Hurts worse t-than breaking a bone, o-o-r a virgin f-or-” her pretty baby informs her of this in a growl that’s not aimed at her but at the situation, nonetheless Elaine doesn’t appreciate the cadence or the subject matter so near her children and picks up the bottle as he goes on pouring out his woes to the sky, “-hell I’d wager a couple grand it’s worse than childbirth! -WHAT THE HELL TINK?”

Elaine tips the Coke and spills it onto his unsuspecting member, thumbing back the foreskin with practiced ease as the bubbles fizz in a caramel dance on top of his little head and pool in his slit before running down to his thigh.

“Hellfire woman that’s ice cold!” Elvis screeches around his cigar with his voice gone up two octaves at least and the harmless appendage in her hand shrinks like a miracle lab specimen. It makes her giggle.

“You said it was burnin’?” she reminds questioningly and she looks so earnestly confused at her wrong doing when Elvis goes to give her the stink eye that he can’t quite manage it, it’s an honest mistake a silly little gal without a cock would easily make. What he doesn’t so easily condone is the way she’s still dribbling the soda over him and trying to swish the sand off with her thumb like it’s a wiper on a windshield.

“Y-yeah I did,” he accepts and crunches partway up to watch and correct her ministrations, his lean belly crumpling up like a washboard and shimmering from the Coke, Elaine licks her lips in longing that can’t be indulged in with a crowd of kids nearby. “But in no world does that mean Coke on a pecker, Laney.”

“Is daddy gonna live?” Rosalee asks tentatively from her distance away and Sam squeezes her hand in either solidarity or hopes she’ll stop being preoccupied during this, their historic first handhold.

Jack takes a peek behind him to ascertain whether his midnight rival for his mama’s snuggles is indeed still alive and after Elaine snaps her fingers at him to turn back around, he reports morosely, “Elbis still alive, Woslaee.”

“But-but he’s crying, he’s crying like you do!” Rosalee protests in a whimper and Elvis’ head jerks up at the comparison to Jack.

“I’m fine, Schnucki, just a little hurt and your mama’s bein’ silly.” Elvis hollers, using her German acquired nickname for emphasis.

“Elaine, enough with the Coke,” Elvis insists, pulled out of transient toddlerhood by the need to control his own nursing and calm his most suggestible child.

“But look -it works!” she eagerly defends her choice and before he can prevent it there's a Coke bottle rim being wedged under the extra length of his foreskin and she’s tipping it back again and watching his hood swell with fizz.

“You ain’t got the brains of a lil bird,” he realizes aloud while watching his wife use cola for antiseptic.

“You say the sweetest things, E,” Elaine titters and looks around at the restless kids before pulling him straight up with the bottle wedged atop, seamless from the foreskin still wrapped around the rim. “Someone oughta call Ed Sullivan and tell ‘em he was spot on. See look, it’s workin’, the sand’s coming out.” She sounds pleased.

“No thanks to you!” Elvis says a little loudly and it causes little Ella to whimper as her own nursing skills are denied their proper outlet this time. She was always the one to patch daddy up, bandaids or dab his cuts with mercurochrome and she finds her sidelining for this injury particularly offensive. The more her father whimpers behind her the more obvious it is that Mama’s care ain’t cutting it.

“Hold still while I rinse this last bit out!” Tink hisses back at her husband in a low tone, actually sounding a little impatient and Elvis realizes maybe she’s right.

“Why’s it takin’ so long? Is daddy gonna bleed out? Mama?” Rosalee starts up again and Elvis swears that child’s nightmares are as bad as his, only she has them when conscious.

“You can’t bweed oudda yer wocket,” Jack helpfully informs where the trouble lies (daddy’s rocket), while rolling his baby blue eyes in disdain for female stupidity. “But a wocket can snap off.”

“Why’d his rocket snap off?” Rosalee wails in concern for any limb of her fathers being snapped and little Sam let’s go of his edge of the towel wall to thumb a tear track away from her chubby cheek.

“‘Cause God doesn’t lub Elbis.” Jack clarifies.

“We should just snap it off all the way, then it’ll stop hurtin,” Daisy surmises in hopes of comforting her now sobbing twin.

“I can’t lose him, I can’t lose daddy! We jus’ got him back!” Rosalee’s grief brings Betsy over who tries to comfort the girl while watching as the thin barrier of privacy for Elaine’s work starts to waver like a Roman shield wall when met with the War Elephants of Carthage.

“Then we should snap the wocket clean off,” Jack insists gravely with a dimple creating a cavern in his milk fat cheek.

“Pete’s sake! It’s not his rocket doin’ this, it’s his scarf!” Jesse chimes in with authoritative four year old sensibility and not in a million years did Elvis dream that filling up sweet Elaine Phipps with children would get him five toddlers discussing his package.

“I hate Daddy’s scarf!” Rosalee screams about something she doesn’t even understand, straight into Betsy’s red and soothing face.

Elvis gives pause from hissing at Elaine’s ministrations of tying his foreskin off like a balloon end and shaking the soda up in it in order to reach and tickle the back of his disconsolate Rosalee’s neck.

“Schnucki, my Schnucki I’m gonna be fine!” he coos and Elaine rolls her eyes fondly at his picking and choosing moments to be tough. Elaine lets out the soda and retracts the foreskin back as far as she can manage it.

“I don’t want ya to die!” Rosalee wails, informing him of the obvious and not even Elvis’ tickles on her back can soothe her. Little Sam Harrison leaves off petting her wet cheeks and looks back, giving Elvis a hard stare that’s firm and straight outta left field as far as a clueless Elvis is concerned.

“What ya lookin’ at boy?” Elvis growls only to yelp as Elaine flicks his cock -in hopes of jostling the last bits of sand out.

The yelp breaks Ella’s resolve and the usually dutiful little eldest daughter drops her towel and scurries over to help her obviously insufficient mama. “Mama, where’s it hurt?” she demands to know with all the matronly surety of Elaine herself and Elvis launches upwards onto his knees in an attempt to cover himself. Laney and her Coke have done about all that’s gonna get done without a bath and some q-tips maybe-

-yeah, they’re done here. It's an effort to smash his cock back up his tight shorts lightening fast, when he put the article of clothing on he hadn't been sticky with coke. Elaine catches a flying Ella as she hurtles forward and keeps her spun away as Elvis modestly tugs on his leghole, mouthing to her husband with a vibrant smile,

“I’ll clean ya up at home!” Elaine fortifys him with a wink.

This sweet promise gets quickly smacked down with Jack having abandoned his post and coming up to Elvis on his chubby little toddler legs and asking with a bizarre amount of hope, “Does it hurt ya bery badly, Elbis?”

Never in a million years would Elvis give this imp the satisfaction of knowing it hurt like hell, besides, Elvis is now cradling a clinging Rosalee who keeps sniffling into his neck in a rain of snot that she’s gonna have Daisy “chop off his rocket” so it never happens again. “No, Trouble, I’m all better ‘cause mama loves me and fixed me up” Elvis goads with an ethereally content smile that Elaine catches and savors as she herself is in the middle of calming a spurned little Nurse Ella.

Jesse, peeved at his siblings lack of order, comes up and makes fussy noises in Jack’s ear as his baby brother swats at him like his mouth is a mosquito. “Ya ok, daddy?” he asks, the first selfless inquiry of this whole ordeal -alright Ella did too.

Elvis gives him a sober nod that the scarf will live to see another day. “Scarf’s fine and gonna make it.”

“No i’s not! We gonna chop it off!” Rosalee insists and Elvis would laugh that off except Daisy is up the beach bartering her juice box for Rex’s k-bar.

“Oh, honey now, that won’t solve nothin,” Elvis begs as he wraps his arms fully around her and smushes Rosalee till both their ribs are liable to crack.

Rosalee pulls her head out of his neck and cradles his cheeks in her hands and says while looking earnestly into his eyes with blues the same shade as his own, “Is’ better this way, daddy, s’never gonna hurt ya again. Promise.”

“It’s for de bestest, Elbis,” Jack agrees right at his shoulder like a tiny little devil and Elvis begins to panic slightly as his children’s wild terror cools into calculated anarchy. “Wosalee knows it’s gonna wot off odderwise,” he adds gravely as if this is common knowledge.

This induces a fresh bout of tears from Rosalee who may be resigned to the need to chop off a limb to save her father’s entire life -or at least have Daisy do her bidding- but it doesn’t mean that she’s immune to the grief the prospect causes them both. Elvis feels close to crying himself as Daisy rushes back towards them over the sand with the sheathed k-bar in hand.

“Rex why the hell did ya give my kid a knife!” he yells.

“She said you wanted it and would fire me if I refused!” Rex shoots back from where he and Charlie and Red are collecting all the beach paraphernalia, the evening truly setting in.

“Rex!” Betsy scolds, echoing Elvis in exasperation with her husband.

“Be a man about it, Daddy!” A breathless Daisy charges him as she skids to a stop nearby only for Elaine to grip her by the back of her swimsuit and haul her away from Elvis where he’s pinned and helpless under the mournful embrace of Rosalee and Jesse and a gleeful Jack.

“Nope, no Daisy, no, give it to me, now!” Elaine wrestles her most wiry and vicious daughter until the army knife is safely in her possession. “Nobody is gonna chop off anythin’,” she declares, winded from the chaos and yet utterly glutted from being in her element and Elvis thinks she looks gorgeous all keyed up and holding a child or two and a knife so effortlessly. Thinks he made the right choice when he married Elaine Phipps and filled her up with all those children.

“But what about it wotting?” Jack protests, as if he really gives a damn about Elvis ever peeing ever again.

“It won’t rot,” Elaine sighs, “It’s not that badly hurt at all.” And she adds that for Rosalee’s benefit as the girl’s cheeks are so smashed to Elvis’ own that there’s no discernible edge to the flub.

“But we wanna be careful,” Rosalee protests, “This can neber happen again.” And she sounds like Mr. Truman did after the great war ended, swearing that the universe wouldn’t make it in a nuclear age.

“Lil Elvis is my little friend, I don’t want him hurt either!” Elaine insists and between his children’s misguided concern for him and his wife making a court case for his assets, Elvis has never felt more loved.

“Daddy’s my best friend too, but I gotta help him,” Rosalee insists.

“But darling -I did help him!” Elaine mutturs.

“Didn’t sound like it got better,” Ella speaks up and Elaine glares at Elvis for being such a baby during his first aid.

“Billy says men can still pee without them,” Sam Harrison adds in support of Rosalee’s ambition and Daisy gives him a proud look for his display of spine.

“How do ya-“ Elaine looks flustered for the first time and Elvis winces in anticipation for what she’ll defend him with next, “-peeing would hurt, Sammy! Hurt worse than sand up scarves!” Elaine reasons.

“Sounds like it.” Jesse sides with mama.

“But if he don’t have a rocket it won’t hurt to pee-pee!” Daisy vehemently enunciates. “And Rosalee’ll stop cryin.”

It’s that simple for the twin.

Elaine looks up to her friend Besty who’s still standing near the group, helpless in a fit of laughter and holding half wadded up towels. “We aren’t cutting off my lil friend,” Elaine declares staunchly, standing up herself in the sand and wincing as a struggling Daisy elbows her in the ribs.

“Why don’t ya care that daddy’s hurt?” Rosalee asks with grief in her eyes.

“It’s gonna wot off.” There goes Jack again.

Elvis snorts and rolls his eyes heavenward, pinching the bridge of his nose and praying for a sliver of patience.“Hush up, Trouble. I’ve had just about enough outta you.”

“Do y’all want more siblings or not?” Elaine finally asks and even Elvis is a little jolted by it. “Cause without that nozzle there ain’t any peeing or babies or all sorts of important things. Y’all could manage without your noses far easier.”

Jack rallies to declare, “I’m baby, don’t want more sibwings,” and is summarily ignored by all in favor of pondering nozzles and their newly learned miraculous necessity.

“Elaine!” Elvis hisses at her indiscreet lesson.

“It’s true!” she cries, throwing up her hands in exasperation, and he’s maybe to blame for the fact she’s got no filter, he taught her without any precaution and now she’s half savage about these things.

“Rockets don’t rot off when they get enough care. Just like any other boo boo,” Elvis assures his group of concerned progeny as Elaine pulls Jack away from his father by the arm not occupied with Daisy.

“I can’t wait to play thirty questions with Sam tonight,” Betsy drawls sarcastically and Elaine huffs.

“Serves ya right, much help you were, Blue Eyes.” Elaine rolls her eyes at her friend and both women laugh. “Consider it payment for Rex’s K-Bar,” she adds and watches as Betsy’s face pales again at the recollection of her husband’s stupidity.

“That man…” she grumbles fondly while taking a squawking Jack off Elaine’s hip to free her friend up for more child wrangling. Elaine mouths a weary “thank you” and kneels next to Elvis, gently prying Rosalee out of his arms where she still clings to his neck. She lets out a small whine of protest which is quickly overtaken by a big yawn, her little fists rubbing her eyes sleepily.

“Come on baby, let’s get you dressed, hmm? It’s time to go home,” she murmurs, pulling a sundress over Roselee’s tiny frame before turning to help Daisy into her matching one, kissing her forehead tenderly and smoothing her hair down. Betsy and Rex start the slow procession of herding the gaggle of children towards the car, making sure everyone has a hand to hold. Elaine can still hear them chattering loudly about rockets and nozzles as she flops down in the sand, catching her breath a moment, trying to find the willpower to stand, to move. It’s been such a lovely day, but suddenly she’s bone tired, the exhaustion hitting her like a wave and threatening to pull her under.

Jerry ambles over as the guys start to gather everyone’s scattered belongings - beach umbrellas and chairs and coolers, remnants of a day well spent. He stares down at Elvis over the top of his aviator shades, the amusement on his face still threatening to spill over. He holds out a hand, “Help you up, Boss?”

Elvis scowls, swatting his hand away indignantly, “Don’t need no help, Jerrah, it’s just a scratch. Actin’ like I’m too wounded to stand on my own. I’m not an invalid, goddamnit! Git outta here and help those boys clean up this mess. God almighty, think I was a child, need some hand-holding or some shit.” He continues his grumbling as Jerry holds up his hands placatingly, shrugging his shoulders good-naturedly before jogging over to help the clean up crew.

Elvis watches him go, making sure he’s well out of sight before gingerly standing up, shaking a leg and adjusting his swim shorts, hopping from foot to foot a few times, hissing quietly. It snaps Elaine out of her reverie and she blinks slowly as a face-splitting yawn hits her out of nowhere. Elvis chuckles and pats her head, gently tugging on the chocolate curls that have become bouncy spirals in the salty ocean air.

“Ok Laney, let’s get you home. Had enough excitement today to last us the whole year,” Elvis chuckles, winking as he offers her a hand.

Elaine smiles up at him, shading her eyes with a red manicured hand, the setting sun casting a warm orange glow over the beach and making her movie star husband look even more like a bronzed Adonis, if that’s possible. She places her small and delicate hands into his larger ones as he hauls her up easily, wrapping her in his arms and resting his chin on the top of her head. She sighs dreamily, shivering a little in his embrace as his body heat warms her against the chilly sea breeze.

“Thank you, baby,” he whispers, rubbing slow circles on her back. She shifts a little, resting her head on his shoulder and looking up at him quizzically.

“For what, E?”

“Whatcha mean, ‘for what?’ For-for always takin’ such good care o’ me. Even when I’m a grumpy sonuvabitch about it.” Elvis smiles down at her, planting a little kiss on her button nose. She wrinkles it and arches up on her tippy toes, rubbing her nose against his in a bunny kiss, her hand cupping his jaw lightly.

“Oh Mopey, I’ll always take care of you. Sweet man.” Elaine runs a thumb across his lips, pulling down his plump bottom one before slotting her lips against his, her hands twining through his mussed hair, moving his head just so, like her own personal puppet on a string. Elvis groans, moving his hands to cup her bottom, pulling her tightly to him. Just then he hears a shuffling of sand behind them, someone discreetly clearing their throat. He sighs, like the most put upon man on the planet and pulls away, gritting his teeth, “What now, Jerrah?”

“Sorry boss, but everyone’s all packed up and ready to go. Just waiting on you and Mrs. Boss.”

Elaine smiles at Elvis’s look of utter hurt and disappointment at being interrupted just when things were getting good, like a little boy who’s just had his favorite toy taken away. She knocks him on the chin playfully, swatting his butt for good measure. “Oh now, don’t look so blue, mister. To be continued at home, yeah? In the meantime, how bout I buy you a milkshake. Swing by Mel’s Drive In on the way home?”

Elvis’s face brightens at that. “Can I have strawberry?” Suddenly the little boy look is back, and he practically skips across the sand, dragging Elaine by the hand to their car full of waiting children. Elaine gives Betsy a peck on the cheek and a sweet belly rub to the little bean inside before hopping in the driver’s side and waiting for Elvis to finish his goodbyes. She turns around to address her children only to find that all but two of them are fast asleep. Jesse and Jack are still discussing the events of the day, with Jack holding a sandy handful of shells and beach glass he collected, carefully explaining each piece to a patient Jesse. By the time they reach the drive in diner, all of the kids are snoozing, and the weary parents breathe a sigh of relief.

“Just us then,” Elaine whispers, looking over her shoulder at their brood. “Just like old times. Almost.” She turns off the car and scoots to the middle of the bench seat, and Elvis does the same, careful not to wake little Rosalee snuggled between them. He drops his arm over Elaine’s shoulders and twists the knob on radio dial until he finds a doo wop station.

“Now it really is like old times. ‘Member when I crashed your date with Billy at the drive in movie? Scared that poor boy half to death,” he chuckles gleefully. Elaine’s eyes grow wide and she starts to titter, her hand flying to her mouth at the recollection.

“Oh goodness. Elvis! I’d completely forgotten about that. You came barging in with your flashlight and ill or good intentions, I never could figure out which,” she muses.

“Then I drove ya home, real proper like,” he breathes quietly, placing a hand on her thigh, an echo of a memory. “And then,” he murmurs, tilting her head back, exposing her long, white throat, “I kissed ya, right…here…” His soft lips meet the pulse on her neck, pounding in time with her heartbeat.

Elaine shivers and swallows. “Naughty,” she whispers.

The magic spell is broken abruptly by a gum-chewing teenage waitress, knocking on their window. “Hi there! Can I take your order?” Her chipper cheerfulness is a stark contrast to their soft reminiscence. Elvis clears his throat and sits up, coloring slightly at being caught by this stranger as Elaine winks at him, leaning over to roll down the window to order their milkshakes. They settle in again, snuggling back together and regaling each other with stories from their beach day. Before long the milkshakes arrive, and they tuck in, enjoying the sweet sugar rush of the milky treat.

“God, how long has it been since I’ve had a milkshake?” Elvis wonders, sipping his strawberry concoction happily. Elaine doesn’t have the heart to tell him it’s been a good long while, that the Colonel doesn’t allow such simple pleasures these days. But she doesn’t want to spoil the moment so she settles for humming in response, squeezing Elvis’s knee as she slurps her chocolate one.

Elvis scoots a little closer to Elaine, forgetting about Rosalee squished between them. She startles in her sleep, her tiny arm flailing in the neon lights of the diner, inadvertently knocking Elvis’s shake from his hands. In a flash everything is covered in pink - it dribbles slowly down the dashboard and soaks into Elvis’s thin shirt, it’s even in his hair and a small blob drips down his right eyebrow. Elaine’s face is a mixture of horror and mirth, her perfect mouth a round o as she struggles to keep a straight face, staring at her husband who is frozen in place, covered in cold strawberry milkshake.

“Oh! Elvis…baby! I…” she starts, struggling to keep her voice steady, her hands fluttering around him, unsure of where they should try and help first. She bites her lip and an unladylike snort escapes as her shoulders start to tremble with held-in laughter. She starts to giggle, slapping her hand hastily over her mouth, her body shaking with silent laughter as she tries to keep quiet, not wanting to wake the children. Elvis’s blue eyes blink rapidly as the concoction runs down his cheek now, his mouth still hanging open in surprise. He starts to laugh, doubling over in his seat as Elaine reaches over and swipes a finger across his eyebrow and brings it to her mouth, sucking the sugary sweetness off her fingertip.

“You taste good, honey,” she wheezes as their laughter starts to die down and he remembers Rosalee between them, checking to make sure she’s ok and by some miracle she’s untouched by the ice cream bath she accidentally gave her father, still sleeping peacefully.

“Aw hell! My leather seats!” Elvis swears through hiccups, looking around for something to clean the car, and himself, up with.

“Shawbewies?” A little voice from the backseat whispers, followed by a blonde head sleepily popping up over the backseat. “I want some.” Jack opens and closes his tiny hands in a gimme motion, and Elvis and Elaine start to crack up again.

“Just perfect. Here Trouble, here’s some for ya,” Elvis says as he sweeps some shake off the dashboard with his fingers and leans back towards Jack, shoulder almost dislocating in an effort to feed the kid a taste. Jack happily laps it off his fingers like a kitten, licking them clean. His sleepy little face breaks into a happy grin and Elvis ruffles his hair. “That’s enough sugar for today, boy.”

Elvis looks at Elaine. She stares back at him a moment before another fit of giggles threatens to overtake them again. “Why’re we never alone in a car, baby?” Elvis whispers aloud, a comically pleading hint to his voice. Elaine reaches behind her, into the backseat, and snags a forgotten beach towel tossed aside by one of the children. She gently wipes his face clean before moving on to his hair, rubbing as much of the ice cream out as she can. It sticks up on end, making him look much like their cat Whiskers did whenever he got a bath.

“You’re the one who wanted to fill up my little house, remember?” she teases softly, her eyes drifting over their brood before returning to meet Elvis’s gaze. He raises an eyebrow, cheeks puffing out in droll amusement as he whistles lowly.

“Yeah, with somethin’ besides strawberry milkshake, I did.”

Hope y’all enjoyed!

If you’d like to be tagged in this particular series please drop a note below. Xoxo 💋

@prompted-wordsmith

@powerofelvis

@crash-and-cure

@elvisabutler

@heartbrake-hotel

@stylespresleyhearted

@thatbanditqueen

@crazymadpassionatelove

@myradiaz

@ash-omalley

@steph-speaks

@burningloverdoll

@angelface-555

@lookingforrainbows

@missmaywemeetagain

@coolgirl462

@kingdomforapony

@18lkpeters

@richardslady121

@from-memphis-with-love

@lillypink

@artlover8992

@pennyroyalcreep

@notstefaniepresley

@ellie-24

@renaissingle

@waiting4brucewayne2adoptme

@presleyenterprise

@marriedtopresley

@ashtag2887

@dkayfixates

@vampireindistress

@ashtag6887

@i-r-i-n-a-a

@obsessedvibee

@peskybedtime

@goth-cowgirl-03

@stephthestallion

@fav-fanficssss

@loving-elvis

@honeyorangess

@soloangel

@xenaspace3-blog

@60svintage

@dragonkingsdaughter

@presleysgirl6

@that-hotdog

@mydarlingelvis

@presleysweetheart

@50sexyshadesfashionista

@sexystarfish

@whatstruthgottodowithit

@suraemoon

@lialocklear

@elvispresleywife

@presleysgirl6

@ipostwhtifeel

@jaqueline19997

@queenheartz

@starryschoolgirl

[gb-patch]

Hi! I saw your ask about skin tones and honestly, that is very much a barebones excuse to not include skintones in your game. You act as though adding skintones to a sprite would be a complete hand-drawn new asset when it would quite literally be filling in a pre drawn base for both Opal and the mc. Not only that but you potentially have thousands of mc outfits you promised for specific tier havers on the kickstarter. And then for 250,000 dollars, you're telling me we'll get more colors but not even 2 or 4 skintones when there are games with Less funding who have more skintones? Especially considering OL:B&A had the exact same amount of skintones and I could count all the afro centric hairstyles in that game on my two hands. I rather have more skintones than just pale, peach, olive, tan, brown and dark brown (most of which screams a 2000s foundation line of tones) than have more hair or clothing colors. I'm sorry, I love your games, I really do but that's an extremely lazy and abhorrent response from you and I am extremely disappointed.

"Hi. I just saw the post about you not adding in more skintones. I really hope this doesn't come across as rude or demanding but I find your reasoning for not being able to add them...lackluster at best. With all due respect, you set this goal for 250k, over three times the original goal you set for the kickstarter, the idea that somehow you can promise an additional set of darker colours for the clothes, accesories hair and eyes alongside the additional MC pieces people are going to request but not an additional skintone because of Opal seems a little ridiculous. I'm not an experienced artist but I do know how art files tend to work and I imagine adding additional colours to Opal's base design wouldn't be an extreme undertaking. In fact, by contrast, the work to add more colours to the clothes and hairs seems much more labourous considering the amount of them and the fact that some of the clothes have subcolours.

Again, I do hope I don't come accross as rude but I just feel like this announcement was highly dissapointing, especially considering the fact that the additional colours are currently the biggest goal for the kickstarter at the moment" There were two replies, so I put them together. I hope that's alright.

I understand. It would be bad and make no sense if that didn’t happen. I can say that this has nothing to do with funding. I'm not gonna attach more skin tones to a stretch goal, that’s not fair. It’ll be done whenever it can be regardless of what happens with the Kickstarter.

The other colors for hair and such is something I confirmed can be done by our programmer ahead of time using a color picker system in coding.

The situation as it stands today for Opal is that I personally don't have the skills to recolor her myself, the artist we have is in a situation where it would be unkind to increase how much work they have to do (it'd be easier if even less work could be on them), and while another artist could be hired- that hasn't happened at this point. So, saying it "could happen but maybe not" is cautious development process. It’s how it went with both the Cove Patreon Bonus Moments, where I pretended for months that it may or may not happen while working on it behind the scenes because I wasn’t sure how long I’d need to finish it and was worried it could be delayed for long stretches of time.

Being realistic, it is virtually a 100% certainly that before the game comes out, the skin tones will be expanded. There is no good reason why it wouldn’t. I was waiting until things got to a better point in production before coming out to officially say that it’s happening.

And I could’ve said it’s extremely likely but we’re not able to do it quite yet and avoided making anyone feel hurt. I wish my way of handling it hadn’t made the people who believed in our games sad. The reason why I didn’t is that I just can’t help but be averse to making promises I can’t do/the team can’t do and so have to rely on something else working out at some point in the future, even if it is entirely likely that it will.

That’s because I know that these things will make a lot of people happy. I want the excitement and any praise that might come to not happen until the goal has been achieved or is on the way to being achieved for sure. To a degree it’s helpful for players to have confidence in what the company is promoting, but it’s mainly to help with my own habit of catastrophizing. I tend to believe bad things could happen and I’ll let people down even when it’s so unlikely it’s not worth considering. I consider it anyway. And so, you get this kind of long-term hedging before the feature people hoped for suddenly appears. Even now my compulsion is to add a caveat that “there’s still a chance something (I don’t even know what) could happen and it won’t be added so don’t thank me yet” despite me already coming out with the truth that there’s every intention to have it added. I’m sorry to have disappointed you and made you feel disregarded by doing this. Hopefully when the skin options are expanded people will be able to enjoy the game a lot more than how it is with the current demo. And thanks for taking the time to let me know what you thought rather than giving up on the project entirely.

[poetry-protest-pornography]

Okay, Love Sea ep 1, finally!

This place is so pretty, I wanna go

Rak is going to this island to be a supermodel, I guess

Jfc Fort is so attractive, ugh

Did he just push that man overboard because of a pen?

Seriously, why is he so fancy?

Side note: I actually love that Rak looks expensive. It not only sells the "rich guy on vacation/fish out of water" thing, but it also places him apart from this tight knit island community and from casual tourists. It makes it clear that he's not comfortable in himself here, because he's dressing specifically to hold himself apart from the rest of them.

It also gives fun opportunities to see him relax through his wardrobe. Also, Peat is just really beautiful, and he wears it all so well

Rak is so grumpy 😆 I love rich bitch Peat already

The casual "I'm borrowing this" and Mut being zero percent fazed by Rak's bitchiness is so attractive and also immediately introduces and characterizes the setting and Mut both. Super well done

Baby those are not island shoes

I love that Mut clocked that Rak needed to be knocked down a peg and spoke so he couldn't understand him. He's establishing right off the bat that he's not intimidated or particularly impressed with Rak's attitude, and I love it. They're doing characterizations so well so far? Honestly really impressed to get this from Mame

The knocking a little tune on the window 🤣🤣🤣

Oh. I already don't like Vi. Like. A lot don't like her

JA IS HERE?!

A lovely surprise Ja!

Baby is stressed

I love that everyone who looks at Rak is like "this guy is sooo pretty". They're right and they should say it. Just look at him

This waiter is just like "oh, you know my friend? Let me tell you all his business (because you're his type, shh)"

Rak's momentary disappointment at the "women" part, and then his incredulous "that guy?!" when the waiter pointed out the guy who's staying because of Mut were incredible. Peat's acting is excellent here

I love that literally the whole island is just "that's our boy, isn't he wonderful!" about Mut. He deserves all that praise

"more like a cat, you'll know when you see him" Yep. That's like, 5 "Rak is a cat" references so far

35,000 bath is only like, $1000usd. I know money is different in Thailand than here, but idk if I'd put up with that grumpy man for a whole two weeks for that little

I was very concerned that this was going for some really gross colorism, and I'm very glad that it very quickly established that Rak is being made fun of for being an uptight rich jerk and projecting superiority all over the place

Rak: *seduction mode activated*

Mut: wow, where did all your hair go?

Thank goodness.

"don't you feel anything at all? I'm way hotter than that guy getting the bar!" Oh baby, this i didn't want you act is not fooling anybody

Rak just sent him another line, thousand dollars over breakfast. "You had me at 5k" 🤣🤣🤣

What a great fucking line

"Keep being arrogant and you'll hurt yourself". Mut is a king, actually

The caught punch and the "I can do more" while he laced their fingers was A Lot. Wow. These two do tension SO WELL

Oh I really don't like Vi

I feel like a lot of GL now is at where BL was a couple years ago. Which is to say a lot toxic. But this is a shitty way to introduce a character. Instantly unlikeable. "I'm going to be so shitty to you and use class politics to use you, but it's okay because I have a crush on you". I haaaaate it

Oh no, Fort looking at his hand and smiling softly is giving my PaiSky flashbacks and I'm gonna cry (I know someone made this side by side gif, please tag me)

What Mame book is Rak writing rn? 🤣

God Fort is so hot, how dare he (had a conversation with @hotasfahrenheit about how hot he is, and I've been informed that we get to see stretch marks at some point and that makes me feel crazy, actually? I love that he's visibly tan, I love that he has imperfections. He's so insanely attractive and it's so much hotter when he's a real person -- and not whitewashed)

Rak running around this boat like an excited puppy is adorable

And now, pouty time because he got yelled at for leaning too far over the edge 😆

Oh no

That hug and little kiss on the temple are going to haunt me. What a beautiful moment. And absolutely bonkers for two people who have known each other for five minutes

Their acting has really grown, I'm so proud of them

Are you hungry for clams or for me? Lol. The "hungry" metaphor for sex never fails in BL. Never miss an opportunity to make the joke

Ughhhh:

He's so beautiful what the fuck

Well. That was a hell of a first episode. Cannot wait for more

[eastgaysian]

it's ABOUT. ewan getting the ranch and logan getting the business and forever looking down on his brother because when uncle noah made them kill squirrels ewan buried them with headstones. logan threw their bodies in the trash but ewan learned how to skin a squirrel and tan the hide and when logan brings it up at thanksgiving dinner everyone else thinks it's equal parts funny and disgusting. ewan doing the work of animal husbandry and his grandson greg studying zoology in theory and thinking that makes him knowledgable enough to survive the rest of the roys. connor buys a ranch in new mexico to play at being a frontiersman roughing it in the desert but he can't even bear to put his dog down, so he gets conned out of three thousand dollars by a guy who just shoots it in the parking lot. logan takes his employees on a corporate retreat so they can play-act being hunters but even with the boars lined up to run in front of them they're shit at it and the people they're paying laugh at them. he underpays the contractor and gets rotting raccoons stuffed in his chimney.

the obsession with these ideas about the order of nature and the violence of animals but the disgust and disdain for people that are actually involved with the work while they're unable to do it themselves. you rely on people you think nothing of doing work you think is demeaning, but you need them, and they hate you and turn it against you but as an act of resistance it's ultimately futile because they still need your money. the inability to accept killing and gutting and skinning an animal as a part of normal, mundane reality is symptomatic of their disconnect from 'reality' entirely, people fixated on money as value in and of itself. and that psychological disconnect is deeply damaging to them but at the end of the day they're still the people with the money and power making the disgusting, demeaning reality they never have to contend with. animal death motif ^_^

[goatsludge]

Once again

LBT-1961AF Chest Rig, Gen.1, OD Green, 2002 Buckles, No Labels

Very similar to the AWS Strike Vest in terms of layout and construction, but definitely loaded with lots of little force multipliers and creature comforts that make this rig more contemporary despite being a 20+ year-old design at this point.

More capacity for mags, an 'okay' map pocket, and lots of additional pouches really push the format to its limit for the overall size. If one were to make a swiftclip-able/PC placard-style version of this design, it would not be out of place in the modern age.

The outer radio pockets each have a generously-sized utility pocket, which have a removable elastic 'lid' to use as a dump pouch as well as a small frag grenade pocket on the inner sides.

The rig has four double M4 mag pouches (holding 8 mags total in the dedicated pouches) and a double pistol pouch that can either hold two double stack or four single stack mags. Also good for holding multitools.

The 'AF' in the designation refers to 'Air Force' as this variation of the LBT-1961 was designed with three dedicated pockets for MS2000 Strobes for CCT guys to mark landing strips.

Also notice how the flaps are sewn with a box stitch to hold the velcro in place - later generations of these rigs would sew the flap velcro with a third horizontal line rather than an 'X' shape.

Inside the map pocket, there's an 'envelope'/EDC style holster that simply velcro's in place. An extended 'wing' off the leading edge of the holster holds one or two extra mags.

Honestly, this is probably the least usable feature on this rig given how awkward it is to access. Still neat that it was included all the same.

The H-Harness, while simple, was revolutionary for the time and elements of which like the velcro-adjustable rear cross-strap can still be observed with modern chest rig designs. The cable management flaps aren't spectacular, but it's good that they're there.

Note how the rear ends of the shoulder pads are 'squared' and simply terminate to 1" webbing, rather than folding off to the sides - this is another one of the ways you identify these as Gen.1 rigs.

Copious amounts of drain grommets on all the pouches.

It's very jarring to notice the difference in pricing for these rigs depending on the color you have - for instance, the 'pinky tan' versions of these oldschool rigs were used extensively by Navy Seals and AFSOC and currently go for several thousand dollars when they pop up.

But because this one is OD, and almost nobody has been seen using them, they're only worth about $300 at most and I actually ended up trading a helmet for mine lol.

[shrekyaoi]

Yuri Roach Vegas trip highlights: Yuri falls asleep at the pool with a drink tray on his stomach and wakes up to a extremely comical tan line, they make over a thousand dollars in the casino but manage to loose it all the same night, they get each other's names tattooed with no recollection of it happening, they get high and climb the sphere with all the gusto, trial and tribulations of a 19th century mountaineering expedition climbing mount Kilimanjaro, Roach falls off the hoover dam

yuri keeps getting arrested and saying increasingly incriminating things every time. they hike the grand canyon because “we might as well while we’re here” and roach nearly fucking falls into that, too. yuri becomes utterly transfixed by wheel of fortune even though he’s really, really, really bad at it. roach gets into no less than fifteen bar fights. they sleep in a van the whole time because they’re too cheap to get hotel rooms then collectively realise how goddamn cold it is in the desert at night but they’re too stubborn to cuddle so they freeze instead. to return to the carnival thing, roach wins yuri a horrible, ragged-looking stuffed bear he names “little yuri” and yuri gets extremely emotionally attached to it but won’t admit it

[learnwithmearticles]

Conservation Misconceptions

In trying to be environmentally conscious, many people struggle to find ways to really make a difference. This makes misinformation easy to fall for, especially when it leaves out the nuance of trying to be environmentally friendly.

Leather

“Vegan clothing” reached popularity as early as the 1970s. Its sleek, shiny, and stretchy look make it ideal for many fashion icons. In November of 2023, reality TV star Kylie Jenner released a line of twelve “faux leather” or ‘pleather’ outfits. In the first hour, it had reached one million dollars in sales.

The appeal of vegan clothing is understandable. Many people in the U.S. hear about the horrors of the cattle industry before entering high school. Many people sympathize with animals and seek ways to reduce their consumption of animal products.

Contradictorily, faux leather is significantly harmful to the environment. Most pleather consists of polyurethane, which is plastic. It is unsustainable on the basic factor of the oil from which it originates being nonrenewable. Additionally, manufacturing this material includes high levels of toxic chemicals like dimethylformamide which is linked to cancers and birth defects. Polyurethane pleather can also take one thousand years to break down in a landfill.

Leather, from the hides of cow, sheep, goat, deer, and many other animals, is organic. It breaks down at the end of its life, usually over ten to fifty years in landfills. 

Interestingly, plastic clothing in a landfill takes a long time to degrade while leather breaks down quicker. Yet during its use, plastic is prone to scuffs, tears, and showing more wear while leather clothing can last years without significant damage.

Leather is not all perfect, of course. Animal cruelty is a large factor for people turning to faux leather, and those concerns are well-founded. Animal cruelty in the leather and meat industries is well-evidenced.

Aside from animal cruelty, tanning hides also produces chemical contamination. While chromium used in leather tanning is less toxic now than earlier solutions, it is still hazardous. Other hazardous materials in leather tanning include nitrosamines, benzidine-based dyes, and formaldehyde. Being exposed to the former two in high levels can increase the risk of cancers, while formaldehyde causes skin irritation, nausea, and respiratory difficulties.

Addressing fashion industry pollution is not as easy as switching entirely to different materials. A more effective alternative to fake leather is addressing the waste of the fashion industry. In 2023, the fashion industry produced 97 million tons of waste, including 18 million tons from textiles and 2.5 million tons in chemical waste.

Additionally, there are vegan clothing options from plant alternatives. One example, calotropis, is sometimes considered wool without the need for sheep. Calotropis plants grown in India need little in regard to water, attention, and pesticides. Cactus leather is another example which requires less water and produces less plastic. When industries turn to plants, the supply chain and issues of fair trade continue to require attention, but these avenues of sustainability are possible.

Turning to leather entirely is not the ideal choice while the farming industry retains its wealth of problems, but pleather is not a suitable replacement. Those seeking to be environmentally conscientious with clothing choices can try non-synthetic materials like colatropis, cactus leather, and linen.

Honey

Veganism is a diet people adopt for a variety of reasons. Some have biological restrictions that a vegan diet works best with, helping them to avoid foods they can’t eat. Others do it in an effort to consume fewer calories, and some use it in an effort to reduce the waste and mistreatment in the farming industry.

In a strict vegan diet, one avoids all animal products, usually summed up as milk and eggs. Strictly speaking, honey would be included in those animal products. But for those eating a vegan diet for ethical reasons, avoiding honey can do more harm than good.

Honey alternatives include maple syrup, molasses, and more. Maple syrup and molasses contain important nutrients, but some dieters find them to contain too much sugar.

Another popular honey alternative, with lower amounts of sugar, is agave syrup. Agave syrup also contains vitamins and other nutrients, and comes from the agave plant, which is grown around the world but native to Mexico and the southwest U.S.A.

Agave farming faces multiple problems. One is that agave plants are fragile, and will have trouble surviving in the rapid climate changes the world is experiencing. While agave does well in desert conditions, climate change might cause desert-like conditions for some months or some years and without warning flip in the opposite direction. Similarly, demand for agave is growing but could shift rapidly. For a plant that can take seven years to grow before harvesting, farmers can have a difficult time planning their supply in a way that’s sustainable to them and consumers.

Agave is also often grown as a monocrop, which is unsustainable for long-term agriculture, and carries risks of run-off, blight, and increased need for fertilizers and pesticides. Harvesting blue agave specifically also depletes a vital food resource for the lesser-nosed bat species.

Perhaps the most important consideration with agave plants is the inequity associated with it. Slave labor, underpaid labor, and child labour are dire problems across the agricultural industry. Fair trade certification exists for some agave-related brands, but cannot be assured for all of them. In 2021, data from the Brazilian Institute of Geography and Statistics registered 1.8 million children involved in child labor, with 45.9 percent of them in the occupations of operating agricultural machinery, and of processing tobacco, agave, and sugar cane.

Ethical alternatives to honey are not necessary. Responsible beekeeping hurts no honeybees. It is a symbiotic relationship. Bees gain protection and a good hive place, with the freedom to leave if conditions are poor. Beekeepers harvest excess honey that the hive does not need to sustain itself. It is a sustainable, beneficial practice that produces a sweetener which very few humans are allergic to.

Alternatives to products we use in our daily lives can become trendy and take some time to see the true impact of. While vying for a more environmentally friendly life, we can be misled or mistaken about the true sustainability of products. It is important to continue to learn about and educate ourselves on the products we’re using.

Additional Resources

1. Faux Leather Unsustainability

2. Fashion Industry Waste

3. Sustainability of Leather

4. Comparing Leather and Faux Leather

5. Problems with Leather

6. Ethics and Fashion

7.Vegan_leather_An_eco-friendly_material_for_sustainable_fashion_towards_environmental_awareness

8. Leather Tanning

9.  Plant-based Alternatives

10. Agave Climate Change

11. Agave and Bats

12. Beekeeping Sustainability

[eprobles]

ETERNAL ECHOES

I

Toward dark blue skies, endlessly, Where topaz seas shimmer bright, In your evening, blooms ecstasy - The lilies, pills of pure delight.

In our age where plants must toil, Lilies drink blue distaste divine, From your religious prose, they'll coil, Fleur-de-lys, for bards to twine.

Lilies, lilies, none in view, Yet in your verse, sleeves of sin, Soft-footed women, pure as dew, White flowers shiver within.

Always, dear man, when you bathe, Your shirt with yellow 'neath your arm, Swelling in the breeze, and wave, Above forget-me-nots, the harm.

Love comes to you in lilac's guise, Wild violets too, nymphs' delight, Sugary spittle on lips, belies, Dark passions on a moonlit night.

II

Oh, Poets, imagine you possessed Roses, crimson Roses, blooming bright, Adorning laurel stems, at their best, With thousand octaves swelling in delight!

If Banville could make them snow, Tainted red, swirling, in a frenzy, Blackening the eyes of those who show Ill-disposed interpretations, not friendly!

In your forests and in meadows so calm, Oh, peaceful photographers, Flora thrives, Decanters' stoppers no different in charm, Than varied veggies with cross-grained lives!

Phthisical and absurd, they seem to be, Navigated by basset-hounds at dusk, After frightening drawings we see, Of lotuses or sunflowers blue, so brusque!

Pink prints and holy pictures we behold, For young girls making their communion, Asoka Ode agrees with Loretto's window old, Heavy vivid butterflies dung on daisy's union!

Old greenery and galloons, fancy-flowers, Vegetable biscuits of yore's drawing-rooms, For cockchafers, not rattlesnakes, like powers, Pulling vegetable dolls with colors, like in cartoons!

Grandville would have put them round the margins, To suck in colors from ill-natured stars, Drooling from your shepherd's pipes, in wondrous fashions, Creating priceless glucoses, like fried eggs in hold hats, so bizarre!

Lilies, Asokas, lilacs, and roses, in a pile, Inspirations for poets, like me, all the while!

III

white Hunter, running sockingless Across the panic Pastures, Can you not, ought you not To know your botany a little? I'm afraid you'd make succeed, To russet Crickets, Cantharides, And Rio golds to blues of Rhine, - In short, to Norways, Floridas: But, My dear Chap, Art does not consist now, - it's the truth, - in allowing To the astonishing Eucalyptus boa-constrictors a hexameter long; There now!... As if Mahogany Served only, even in our Guianas, As helter-skelters for monkeys, Among the heavy vertigo of the lianas! - In short, is a Flower, Rosemary Or Lily, dead or alive, worth The excrement of one sea-bird? Is it worth a solitary candle-drip? - And I mean what I say! You, even sitting over there, in a Bamboo hut, - with the shutters Closed, and brown Persian rugs for hangings, - You would scrawl blossoms Worthy of extravagant Oise!... - Poet ! these are reasonnings No less absurd than arrogant!...

IV

Speak not of pampas in the spring, Black with terrible revolts and strife, But of tobacco, cotton trees that sing, Exotic harvests, a fruitful life.

Say, white face, tanned by Phoebus' rays, How many dollars Pedro Velasquez earns, Of Habana, a city that displays, Excrement covering Sorrento's seas in turns.

Where swans go in thousands to roam, Let your lines campaign, oh poet bold, For clearing mangrove swamps, a home To pools and water-snakes so cold.

Your quatrain plunges into bloody thickets, And returns with subjects great and grand, White sugar, bronchial lozenges, and rubbers, tickets To the land of plenty, a fruitful land.

Tell us, oh hunter, if the yellownesses Of snow peaks near the tropics, hide Insects that lay many eggs or microscopic lichens, And scented madder plants, two or three, provide.

Nature in trousers may cause them to bloom, For our armies, strong and brave, On the outskirts of the Sleeping Wood, assume Flowers, with snouts, drip golden pomades on buffaloes' cave.

Find in wild meadows, where the bluegrass shivers, The silver of downy growths, Calyxes full of fiery eggs, livers Cooking among the essential oils.

Find downy thistles whose wool, Ten asses with glaring eyes, labor to spin, Flowers that are chairs, a beautiful tool, And gem-like tonsils close to pale ovaries within.

Find flowers in coal-black seams, Almost like stones, so marvelous and bright, Close to their hard pale ovaries in dreams, Bearing gemlike tonsils, shining in light.

Serve us, oh stuffer, on a vermilion plate, Stews of syrupy lilies, a delicacy divine, To corrode our German-silver spoons, a fate Worthy of kings, in a color so fine.

:: 03.06.2023 ::

Poet's Notes:

Firstly, analyzing the poem from the perspective of a poet, I would observe that it is a complex piece with vibrant language and a robust structure. The thematic clusters around nature, colors, and the exploration of human passions are presented with a combination of ordinary and extraordinary imagery. The author makes use of creative metaphorical devices, intertwining nature and human experiences in a unique way.

The piece exhibits a considerable degree of intertextuality, referencing multiple literary figures and creations, which enriches the reading experience by providing additional layers of meaning. The poem also appears to take a critical look at artistic endeavors and societal expectations, seen in lines like "Phthisical and absurd, they seem to be."

Furthermore, the author creates juxtapositions between beautiful, appealing images and harsh, distasteful ones. This could be interpreted as a commentary on the paradoxes of life, with its mixture of pleasure and pain, beauty and ugliness.

From a Jungian perspective, this poem could be analyzed using the concepts of the collective unconscious and archetypes. Many of the images used - like lilies, roses, the evening, moonlit night, hunters - can be seen as archetypal symbols that resonate with universal human experiences.

The poem explores the interplay between the conscious and the unconscious mind. For instance, the verse "Dark passions on a moonlit night" could be read as an acknowledgment of the shadow archetype, the darker, unconscious aspects of the personality that are often repressed.

Moreover, the poem explores the dichotomy between order and chaos, symbolized by the cultivated flowers and the wild forest. This dichotomy could be seen as a representation of the tension between the ego and the unconscious.

The use of botanical metaphors throughout the poem might be seen as a manifestation of the Anima/Animus archetype, representing the feminine principle within the masculine unconscious, or vice versa. The presence of female figures such as nymphs and "Soft-footed women, pure as dew" would support this interpretation.

Finally, the closing lines of the poem, with the "corrode our German-silver spoons," suggests an ultimate dissolution or transformation, akin to the Jungian process of individuation, where one achieves a harmonious balance between all aspects of the psyche.

[psych---ologically-deranged]

psych 2x15 Black & Tan, a crime of Fashion. I thought this was way later in the series, it was one of the earlier episodes I'd seen. SF, CH, KK, JRr, DH

I might be able to tell their voices apart this time

nope nvm it has been nearly two months.

kelly is using her husband's name now! <3 Good for her

*asked permission to not have the flashback* *denied* *extended part where shawn gives himself a mustache*

Something sexy & edgy & sleek

Gus not working on his birthday & the complications that ensue when a case pops up

DH: I enjoyed shooting this scene because it was right around the corner from my apartment (I love the "I'm Black, he's Tan" it's so good.)

JRr: Dule Hill's finest hour

"Cheeta" SF's bro knew the names of ALL the laker girls & that was the inspo for Gus knowing the Gooey Girl's name.

SF: How do you know if someone is bulimic? Me: ... Mom don't read this post. *listing off symptoms in my head* SF: The two fingers are chafed but it looks like she dipped them in acid or red paint.

My man was named after a german tennis player. & then he died.

"The names caused a stir in this episode with the network." "American duos had, like, five, but this has eighteen." "I sent them a document with 30 REAL supermodel names, all of which were multisyllabic & weird, & they were like 'yeaaaaaah....',"

Foot model XD ok Gus. & ankle & hand

It's Gus's birthday hence he's not working tonight. *counting down until midnight.*

Why does Shawn think his dad is asleep at 8pm? Wait nvm he fishes early in the morning.

*Chief opens the door* SS: I didn't see anything SF: & then for one moment it gets just a little weirder

Purple shirt

HS: Come on hawn you have an opinion on everything (Funny how it comes off as "I hate you" even while he's asking him for help)

*leave the gate open* *Gus calling himself cinderella*

Pancakes in a diner at 11 at niht? BG: Woah! Six five! Commenters burst out laughing bc Shawn isn't even doing anything

"Every promotional clip of this show should have this" *Gus & Shawn doing the arrow dance thing

The sneeze was so cute

JRr wrote "I'd rather shower with a bear"

"Look at my jaw!" KV: I've seen enough, you're hired.

YES PLEASE BRING THAT CHARACTER BACK! The show's over, nothing I can do now

Heck yeah amanda detner

a thousand dollars over budget & all in wardrobe

... "I got the window" Kelly left it in for once

Sigrand O'o, who he went to college with. Sorry, Gus would kill me if I said that. Let me fix it: with whom he went to college.

Gus is legit hella strong. I love him. *immediately tends to him* (gay) That pillow fight is JRr sticking to his guns; everybody tried to take it out but JRr du his heels in & got ONE shot.

So much debate on what the song for the slow-mo should have been. *winds down* Dad?

"Why was Henry out in an alley knowing where Shawn would be?" There was an earlier version where Henry heard they were going to a bar, but "I was a detective" was fine.

I MISSED THAT; GUS THROWING THE MODEL OUT OF THE WAY, AGAIN HE'S SO SO STRONG

SS: I'm proud of the fact that I've never been in therapy That's true, he didn't even call the crisis line, he made Gus do it. Related fact: his mom was a psychologist. He probably should be in therapy though.

JRr directed this scene! Good for him.

SF: It's taken Gus about 3 minutes to turn into an incipient horror

Heck yeah aotearoa, this kiwi stuff is so funny but so subtle.

Still shocked that they kept "don't be surprised if your pillow smells faintly of my butt" made it through the censor

Soo funny how the models wake up looking ready for the runway & Shawn is there looking like a normal guy (still a pretty actor tho ofc)

She's a vampire? Where did that come from?

*walking by saying horrible things to the head*

The fashion funeral was a great set piece. "You can't dance at a funeral, Shawn"

"Props to my dear friend amanda for letting herself look like this" *weird model fashion*

She died with her eyes WIDE open but it was cut

Gus with NO PANTS ON but still his SHOES

"That's a painting of Bruce Jenner as a fish''

Star filter & the three of them like *eyes emoji*

Ghandi as a fish

Dead, not dead, & this is how the show got around it.

The point of it, besides Gus's birthday, was to see if they could write a show where there was nobody to cuff in the end.

[ao3feed-love]

The Warm Comfort of Snow

by VioletEmerald

A cute domestic fluff ficlet about Logan/Veronica, Veronica’s half-brother from the canon Veronica Mars novels, their dog Pony, and a vacation destination with snow.

Words: 582, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Veronica Mars - All Media Types, Veronica Mars (TV), Veronica Mars (Movie 2014), Veronica Mars: The Thousand Dollar Tan Line (canon novel #1), Veronica Mars: Mr. Kiss and Tell (canon novel #2)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M, Gen

Characters: Veronica Mars, Pony (Veronica Mars), Hunter Scott, Logan Echolls

Relationships: Logan Echolls/Veronica Mars, Veronica Mars & Pony, Logan Echolls & Hunter Scott

Additional Tags: Snow, Domestic Fluff, Breakfast

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/44693803

[christiangrest]

Manufacturer Spotlight: Does Geissele Make the Best AR-15?

There are a ton of different manufacturers out there on the AR-15 market. Everyone has their favorites for one reason or another. There’s truly an AR-15 manufacturer for everyone’s budget no matter what that might be. You can spend as little or less than $500 or many thousands of dollars. There’s mass produced AR-15 rifles then there are more “boutique” AR-15 manufacturers or let’s just say “custom”. So who truly is the best mass produced AR-15? We’re going to discuss one of the more popular AR-15 manufacturers that is Geissele Automatics.

For many years I have purchased various AR-15 parts and pieces manufactured by Geissele Automatics based in PA. They’ve made a well known name for themselves with various military contracts being awarded for their robust handguard/rail systems, bomb proof gas blocks, charging handles as well as their super crisp triggers. They even manufacture some of the most solid optics mounts in the industry. Not too long ago, within the past few years they started manufacturing complete AR-15 rifles and pistols.

Just over a year ago while visiting Brownells, I got an opportunity to handle and shoot a Brownells exclusive Geissele Super Duty rifle package. The main thing that set it apart from Geissele’s other Super Duty offerings was the combination of OD Green anodizing on the receiver set, handguard and buffer tube with DDC flip up sights and tan furniture. Unlike other Geissele Super Duty rifles, this one came already packaged with a set of Geissele flip up iron sights ready to rock right out of the box. This was my first opportunity to handle a Geissele rifle and I was thoroughly impressed. It was a smooth shooter, maybe a tad heavy on the weight due to the barrel profile, but a well-built rifle. What I also noticed was the amount of attention to detail in things like the reliability enhanced bolt carrier group and new SSA-E X trigger. I’ve put my finger on many triggers over the years, but the SSA-E X trigger is something else entirely. With a hybrid flat trigger bow and light 2-stage…it can be run both fast and precise when needed. Kind of the best of both worlds.

So how does Geissele stack up? Geissele has definitely played into their strengths of rail and trigger manufacturer, but their barrels seem to be meant for the harshest of use, living up to the Super Duty name. They’re cold hammer forged and chrome lined and have a unique taper profile placing more meat of the barrel back towards the chamber and less weight hanging out front. This of course does 2 things, it helps balance the barrel, but the weight being at the chamber helps to soak up the heat where the majority of the heat resides. Another notable component is the super 42 buffer and spring setup. The spiral wound buffer spring is less likely to fatigue over long round counts and provide a consistent capturing of the buffer and bolt carrier group under recoil.

Is Geissele Automatics manufacturing the best mass produced AR-15? That’s probably subjective, but they honestly produce one of the best, no doubt. Geissele rifles and pistols are available over at Brownells and can be had for a very reasonable price especially when there’s some sale happening.

[veronicamarsconfessions]

Guess who's still bitter about Veronica Mars season 4

[blind-rats]

Jennifer Graham is no longer has ‘Author of Veronica Mars books’ on her Twitter bio. She is trying to shake off Rob Thomas influence from her profile after the disastrous season 4. Especially after she bluntly criticized him (and Veronica) for being pro-cops in the corrupt noir world.