#the way some of these are tiny details and some are entire scenes which leave me pacing circles....... 💞💞💞

[queerholmcs]

it's been a minute and it's a monday evening! but! tab is really good bc they give the unambiguous statement that None Of This Is Real and therefore we can just do away with the clever subtext bit and rather just Say Things! deep waters nothing made me since when do you call me john you are flesh and blood there are no ghosts pure reason toppled by sheer melodrama did you miss me......... mwah........

[physalian]

What No One Tells you about Writing #3

Opening this up to writing as a whole, because it turns out I have a lot more to say!

Part 1

Part 2

1. You don’t fall in love with your characters immediately

But when you do, it’s a hit of serotonin like no other. I’d been writing a tight cast of characters for my sci-fi series since 2016 and switched over in a bout of writer’s block this year to my new fantasy book. I made it about ⅓ through writing the book going through the motions, unable to visualize what these new characters look like, sound like, or would behave like without a ‘camera’ on them.

Then, all of a sudden, I opened my document to keep on chugging with the first draft, and it clicked. They were no longer faceless elements of my plot, they were my characters and I was excited to see what they could accomplish, rooting for them to succeed. Sometimes, it takes a while, but it does come.

2. Sometimes a smaller edit is better than a massive rewrite

Unless you’re changing the trajectory of your entire plot, or a character’s arc really is unrecoverable, sometimes even a single line of dialogue, a single paragraph of introspection, or a quick exchange between two characters can change everything. If something isn’t working, or your beta readers consistently aren’t jiving with a character you yourself love, try taking a step back, looking at who they are as a person, and boil down what your feedback is telling you and it might demand a simpler fix than you expect.

Tiny details inserted at the right moment can move mountains. Fan theories stand on the backs of these minutiae. One sentence can turn a platonic relationship romantic. One sentence can unravel a fair and just argument. One sentence can fill or open a massive plot hole.

3. Outline? What outline?

Not every book demands weeks upon weeks of prep and worldbuilding. I would argue that jumping right in with only a vague direction in mind gives you a massive advantage: You can’t infodump research you haven’t done. Exposition is forced to come as the plot demands it, because you haven’t designed it yet.

Not every story is simple and straightforward, but even penning the first draft with your vague plan, *then* going back and adding in deeper worldbuilding elements, more thematic details, richer character development, can get you over the writer’s block hurdle and make it far less intimidating to just shut up and write the book.

4. It’s okay to let your characters take the wheel

I’ve seen writing advice that chastises authors who let their characters run wild, off the plan the story has for them. Yeah, doing this can harm your pacing and muddy a strong and consistent arc, but refusing to leave the box of your outline greatly limits your creativity. I do this particularly when writing romantic relationships (and end up like Captain Crunch going Oops! All Gays!).

Did I plan for these two to get together? No, it just happened organically as I wrote them talking, getting closer, getting to know each other better in the circumstances they find themselves in. Was this character meant to be gay? Well, he wasn’t meant to be straight, but you know what, he’d work really well with this other boy over here. None of that would have happened if I was bound and determined to follow my original plan, because my original plan didn’t account for how the story that I want to tell evolves. You aren’t clairvoyant—it’s okay if it didn’t end up where you thought it would.

5. Fight. Scenes. Suck.

Which is crazy because I love fantasy and sci-fi, the actiony-est genres. Some authors love battle scenes and fistfights. It comes naturally to them and I will forever be jealous. I hate fight scenes. I hate blocking and choreographing them. I hate how it doesn’t read like I’m watching a movie. I hate how it could take me hours to write a scene I can read in 5 minutes. I hate that there’s no way around it except to just not write them, or put in the elbow grease and practice.

Whatever your writing kryptonite is, don’t be too hard on yourself. It won’t ever replicate the movie in your head, but our audience isn’t privy to that movie and will be none the wiser of how this didn’t fit your expectations, because it’s probably awesome on its own. It could be a fight scene, sex scene, epic battle, cavalry charge, courtroom argument, car chase—whatever. Be patient, and kind to yourself and it will all come together.

6. Write the scenes you want to write first

And then be prepared to never use them. It can be mighty difficult working backwards from a climax and figuring out how to write the story around it, but if you’re sitting at your laptop staring at your cursor and watching it blink, stuck on a tedious moment that’s necessary but frustrating, go write something exciting. Even if that amazing scene ends up no longer working in the book your story becomes, you still get practice by writing it. Particularly if you hate beginnings or the pressure of a perfect first page is too high, you’re allowed to write any other moment in the book first.

And with that, be prepared to kill your darlings. Not your characters, I mean that one badass line of dialogue living rent free in your head. That epic monologue. That whump scenario for your favorite character. Sometimes it just doesn’t work out anymore, but even if it ends up in the trash, you can always salvage something from it, even if that’s only the knowledge of what not to do in the future.

7. “This is clearly an author insert.” … Yes. It is. Point?

No one likes Mary Sues, because a character who doesn’t struggle or learn to get everything they want in life is uncompelling. The most flagrant author inserts I see aren’t Mary Sues, they’re nerdy, awkward, boring white guys whose world changes to fit their perspective, instead of the other way around—they don’t have anything to say. I’m not the intended audience to relate to these characters and I accept that, but I don’t empathize with the so-called “strong female character” who also doesn’t have flaws or an arc either.

A good author insert? When the author gives their characters pieces of themselves. When the “author insert” struggles and learns and grows and it’s a therapeutic experience just writing these characters thrown into such horrible situations. They feel human when they’re given pieces of a human’s soul. They have real human flaws and idiosyncrasies. I don’t care if the author wrote themselves as the protagonist. I care that this protagonist is entertaining. So if you want to make yourself the hero of your book, go for it! But make sure you look in the mirror and write in your flaws, as much as your strengths.

[thatfeelinwhenyou]

KINDRED — 18

It’s your final year of highschool, and your only goal is to graduate top of your cohort, as usual. Except as student council president, your advisor can’t seem to leave you alone. What happens when you take Decelis Academy’s top student, their star athlete and put them in front of a camera?

smau + written (3.6k words)

❥･• episode 18 — you are approved!

In the soft glow of the cosy cafe, you sit in quiet observation as Jungwon engages wholeheartedly in playful banter with Bora. He's gone so far as to immerse himself in a roleplay, portraying a gallant knight on a noble quest to rescue his cherished princess. You laugh as Jungwon’s eyes twinkle mischievously as he adds in adlibs of his own, only to feign innocence when Bora scolds him for not sticking to the script at hand.

"Uncle Jungwon! This is the 10th time you've died and come back to life," Bora declares with a pout, crossing her tiny arms over her chest. Her earnestness tugs at your heartstrings, and you can't help but chuckle at the sight of your precious niece scolding Jungwon once again for deviating from the storyline she's meticulously crafted within the confines of her young imagination.

Jungwon's laughter rings out, a warm and melodic sound that fills the cafe with an enchanting harmony. You casually sip on your mango juice, supposedly for your niece, though it’s merely a flimsy excuse to indulge your childlike taste buds without Jungwon giving you a hard time about it.

Unbeknownst to you, a gentle smile forms on your face as a heartwarming scene unfolds before your eyes. Jungwon affectionately feeds Bora pieces of the chocolate cake they were sharing while hanging on to every word of her animated storytelling about a vivid dream she had last night. Needless to say, it’s a stark contrast to the interactions you’d witnessed between the two of them earlier today.

You recall the moment when Jungwon stooped down to meet Bora at eye level, inadvertently causing the shy little one to seek refuge behind your legs. It’s a humorous irony—Jungwon, who claims to be terrible with children, yet when confronted with one, he effortlessly transforms into a gentle and nurturing presence, a side of him you've longed to see more of, so different from the way he usually acts around you.

Jungwon catches your gaze, his eyebrow arching slightly at your evident distraction. It dawns on you that you've been staring blankly at him, and in a swift reaction as if you’ve just been caught secretly peeping at your crush, you avert your gaze, a faint blush colouring your cheeks. With self-consciousness gnawing at you, your eyes start to wander around the cafe, scrutinising every detail except the man who's become the epicentre of almost all of your daydreams these days.

As your gaze sweeps the surroundings, you notice several members of the film crew discreetly stationed in various corners of the cafe. Their cameras are pointed directly at you, serving as a poignant reminder that this entire scenario is being documented for the world to witness—and, more pressingly, for your mother to see. At this moment, you yearn more than ever for a black hole to materialise out of thin air, whisking you away to another universe where you could escape the spotlight's unrelenting glare.

Jungwon must have caught wind of your uneasiness, which doesn’t take a genius to figure out by the way you are shifting uncomfortably in your seat. He catches your gaze with a reassuring smile. “Hey, just ignore it. Look at me instead, like you’ve been doing the entire time.” A teasing smirk tugs at the corners of his lips, and you just know he’s not about to let this go without some playful banter.

"Yeah, I was staring at the chocolate stain on your cheeks." You didn't even notice the stain on his cheeks until just a few seconds ago.

"Sure you were."

"Halfway to your mid-life crisis, and you can't even eat a cake without smearing it everywhere." 

"Told you, I'm a big baby," he concedes with a casual shrug, returning his focus to entertaining Bora. A sigh of relief escapes you as he drops the topic, and you mentally pat yourself on the back for coming up with a reasonably convincing excuse to divert his attention away from your blunder.

However, Jungwon isn't the only subject taking up your thoughts these days; so was the whole documentary leading up to your midterm exams in less than a month. Doubt creeps in, and you begin to wonder if your mother is right—that this isn’t such a good idea after all. Because at the end of the day, is this pursuit of good publicity worth compromising your academic performance for?

As your mind grapples with these uncertainties, you momentarily drift away from the present moment and inadvertently surrender your grip on reality. In that fateful instant, a moment of distraction seizes you, causing you to accidentally tip the glass of mango juice that rests before you. The bright liquid spills over the brim, splashing onto your top and drenching your jeans in a sticky cascade. The cold sensation against your skin jolts you back to reality, a stark reminder of the unpredictability that life seems to throw your way, much like the documentary project itself.

As you attempt to salvage your dignity, Jungwon springs into action. Without a second thought, he reaches for the napkin holder, his movements graceful and purposeful. "Y/N! You alright?" You struggle to process the whirlwind of events, your eyes widening in astonishment as Jungwon rushes to your side, his concern palpable in the depths of his expressive eyes.

"What were you thinking? I thought I was supposed to be the baby," he playfully teases, a trace of amusement dancing in his gaze as he extends a helping hand. His fingers, warm and reassuring, gingerly touch the damp fabric of your top, blotting away the sticky residue with a tenderness that sends shivers down your spine.

Despite the embarrassing mishap, you can't help but be entranced by the depth of his concern, which brings back memories of that incident with Hana outside the campus library.

It's as if the universe conspired to orchestrate these moments of vulnerability, allowing you to glimpse a more intimate side of Jungwon, a side that sparks a connection neither of you can deny. 

In this unexpected moment of closeness, you lock eyes with him. Your heart flutters like a fragile butterfly, and you find yourself drawn to Jungwon in a way you've never experienced before. The looming spectre of the documentary, once a daunting presence, now fades into the periphery, leaving behind only the two of you in a world of your own.

“Accidents happen to the best of us,” Jungwon finally speaks, his voice a velvet whisper that tickles your senses. His eyes remain fixed on yours, their depths seemingly bottomless. "But sometimes, they lead to unexpected moments like this."

"What?" you murmur in response, lost in the captivating spell that seems to have woven itself around you.

"Let's go," Jungwon declares with a determined resolve. He stands up straight, his arms extending forward in a silent invitation for you to take hold. Without thinking, you place your hands in his, feeling his grip envelop your fingers. He guides you gracefully out of your seat, shedding his jacket and draping it tenderly around your shoulders.

“Go… where?”

"You can't possibly go home like this," he insists, his voice laced with concern. "Your mother won't be pleased to see her own daughter drenched in mango juice.” He laughs before continuing, “My place is nearby; you can change into one of my mother’s clothes. Come on."

Shock and any synonyms along the line aren't sufficient to describe what you're feeling at the moment. It's as though reality has taken an unexpected turn, leading you down a path you never dared to dream of. The notion that Yang Jungwon, a figure you've long held conflicted feelings toward, would extend such a heartfelt invitation to his home—his safe space—feels like a surreal twist in the script of the initial plan of just pretending you like each other. And it's not just the invitation itself but the ease and casualness with which he offers it that leaves you bewildered. Who are you to be on the receiving end of such unexpected kindness from him?

Your chilly discomfort only becomes apparent when you're enveloped in the warmth of his jacket, a cocoon of reassurance that he so willingly lends. As you bask in the comforting embrace of his jacket, Bora, who has been silently observing from the sidelines, picks up a napkin of her own. With a gentle and caring touch, she begins to delicately dab at the stain patches on your jeans, mirroring the actions she had witnessed Jungwon perform earlier.

"Are you helping me wipe the stains too, Bora-ya?" you ask, your fingers playfully pinching her chubby cheeks. In response, she scrunches her nose, her cheeks dimpling with delight. You notice her tiny fingers gently picking at the fabric of your jeans, and it's clear that she has something on her mind. Concerned, you crouch down to her eye level and cup her cheeks in your hands. "Princess, what's wrong?"

"I'm sleepy; I want to take a nap," Bora murmurs, her voice a soft, sleepy sigh. You can't help but smile at her adorable request, realising that you had momentarily forgotten about her daily afternoon naps that she holds dear.

"I guess you'll have no choice but to accept my offer, Y/N," Jungwon declares with a teasing glint in his eyes and a cheeky smile gracing his lips. You hadn't initially planned on accepting his offer, but as reality sets in, you realise that you may have no other choice. Your apartment is a long, hour-ride away on the metro, and with your mango-stained clothes and a sleepy Bora in tow, the journey seems like a daunting task. Reluctantly, you nod in agreement, a mixture of gratitude and uncertainty swirling within you.

"You must be Y/N! It's so nice to finally meet you!" Mrs. Yang exclaims, her hands slightly frantic as she hurriedly wipes them on her apron before reaching out to you. You graciously accept her welcoming gesture, noting the uncanny resemblance between her and Jungwon, especially in their eyes. She sports a pair of dimples, just like her son, and it's a striking familial trait that adds to the warmth of her presence. "I've heard a lot about you from Jungwon."

"Nice things, I hope," you tease, playfully squinting your eyes as you exchange a friendly banter. Her laughter fills the air, casting aside any lingering nerves.

Mrs. Yang isn't a complete stranger to you; your mother had mentioned her in passing, having met at school events organised by the council. However, her vivacious and welcoming demeanor is a pleasant surprise, different from how your mother had previously described her.

"Jungwon informed me that you were coming over, so I prepared a fresh set of clothing. They're some of my old clothes, so don't worry about returning them," she says, her warm smile putting you at ease. With a gentle hand on your shoulders, she guides you away from Jungwon and Bora, leading you to an empty room that you deduce to be his mother’s. "Feel free to freshen up. You and the little one can stay for dinner too if you'd like."

Her kindness and hospitality leave you touched, and you nod gratefully, appreciating her thoughtfulness. As you step into the room, you can't help but wonder how this unexpected visit will unfold and how it might reshape your perceptions of the Yang family, especially Jungwon, who seems to be a different person in the comfort of his home.

As you step out of the room and into the living area, your eyes are drawn to the film crew busily setting up cameras all around the apartment, and you begin to imagine your mother’s reaction when this particular scene airs. 

In the heart of the living room, you find Jungwon and Bora seated side by side, each clutching a Nintendo Switch controller. They're engaged in what appears to be an intense game of Mario Kart, their expressions ranging from fierce determination to pure delight. Your heart swells at the sight of them bonding so effortlessly.

Silently, you watch as Jungwon purposely slows down in the middle of the virtual track, allowing Bora to race ahead. Her infectious enthusiasm knows no bounds as she jumps up and down on the sofa, gleefully celebrating her victory against Jungwon when she spots you. "Bora-ya, didn't you say you were sleepy?"

"Auntie Y/N! Come on and play with us!" she exclaims, her excitement palpable. The sparkles in her eyes are impossible to resist, and you find yourself folding at the mere sight of her eagerness. In this moment, you realise that you've never quite engaged with Bora the way Jungwon does. Your interactions with her have typically revolved around helping with homework or leisurely walks in the park, which often end with her complaining about being tired of walking and you carrying her home on your back as she naps. You now understand that Bora is a child, and children should be free to enjoy the simple pleasures of life.

With a gentle smile, you nod, and you don't protest when Bora runs over to tug you toward the gaming console. Before you know it, you find yourself seated between Jungwon and your niece, controller in hand. They enthusiastically instruct you on how to play, offering playful critiques whenever you make a wrong move. "Are you guys playing, or am I?" you sigh in mock exasperation as you come in last place against Jungwon once again.

"I never would've thought the day would come when I found something you're horrible at," Jungwon teases with a playful grin as the game-ending credits roll out, his chosen character standing triumphantly in the centre of the screen.

"I don't care. We’re playing until I win," you declare with determination, pressing the start button once more. Jungwon, who is not one to shy away from a challenge, simply laughs and shrugs, as he prepares himself to win against you once more.

Game after game unfolds, and you lose track of how many rounds you've played until your first victory. While you may not have secured first place, the satisfaction of besting Jungwon is a reward in itself. You suspect that he may have let you win at will, but you refrain from mentioning it. After all, you've been engaged in this virtual competition for the past 30 minutes, and you figure he must be growing tired.

In truth, Jungwon's loss resulted from his distraction—watching your unwavering concentration and determination to defeat him in a mere game of Mario Kart. He realises then how competitive you are, much like himself.

Before you can fully relish your single victory over Jungwon, you feel a delicate weight on your arms. Bora, who had been awake and cheering you on not long ago, has finally succumbed to the gentle embrace of sleep. "I'll take her to my room," Jungwon offers, his voice soft and filled with consideration. "Also, I'm pretty sure my mom could use some help."

With the grace of a protective guardian, Jungwon lifts Bora into his arms. Her small, peaceful form nestled against him is a heartwarming sight. He flashes you a tender smile, a silent understanding passing between you, and then he disappears into a room down the corridor, leaving you with a sense of longing that you're still trying to comprehend.

With Bora's departure, you decide to extend your helping hand to Mrs. Yang. "Would you like some help?" You announce your presence at the entrance of the kitchen, catching her attention. Her warm smile and welcoming demeanour put you at ease. "That would be lovely, Y/N."

You immerse yourself in the culinary task at hand, assisting her in prepping ingredients for the dinner you hadn't initially planned on staying for, but Jungwon insisted that his mother had already purchased the ingredients, and you figured it would be impolite for you to just leave.

"How's your mother these days?" Mrs. Yang asks in her gentle attempt to bridge the silence between you.

"Oh, she's still the same old feisty woman," you joke, and she responds with a soft laugh, recalling her limited interactions with your mother. "I always thought you were a really kind student when I saw you in school, though Jungwon used to tell me otherwise."

"Really?" You raise an eyebrow, curious about Jungwon's perspective.

"He used to say that you were arrogant, but he also thought you were too good for him. I suppose he didn't want to admit that he liked you," Mrs. Yang playfully teases her son, and you chuckle at the revelation.

"Well, Mrs. Yang, any bad feelings between us are long gone, so you don't have to worry about it."

"I'm glad to hear that. You know, this is the first time Jungwon's brought anybody from school home. I was worried that his training was taking up too much of his time and that he wasn't fitting in well enough. So, imagine how happy I was when I found out he was going to be doing this documentary. Thank you, Y/N, for giving our Wonnie a chance to act like an ordinary high school student." She puts down the utensils in her hands, replacing them with your own dainty fingers as she gently caresses the back of your hands in heartfelt gratitude.

"The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Yang."

Unbeknownst to both you and Mrs. Yang, Jungwon stands at the entrance of the kitchen, a silent observer of the exchange between you and his mother. His heart swells with appreciation and warmth as he listens to the bond forming between the two most important women in his life. In this moment, he realises that life has a way of weaving unexpected connections and that his world is becoming richer by the day with you in it.

You knock gently on the door of Jungwon's room and wait a few seconds before a groggy voice on the other side invites you in. The sight that greets you is one that tugs at your heartstrings: Bora is sound asleep, nestled atop Jungwon, who appears to have just woken up from a nap. "Good morning, sleepyhead. Dinner's ready," you whisper softly, your fingers brushing the stray strands of hair that cling to his forehead, to which he responds to your touch by leaning in.

Jungwon is careful when waking Bora up from her sleep, knowing how kids get cranky when they’ve been disturbed in their beauty sleep. Surprisingly, she doesn't resist his gentle nudges; instead, she responds with tired laughter, finding the sensation ticklish rather than annoying. It’s a miracle she hasn’t bitten a finger or two.

You marvel at her level of trust in Jungwon and the bond they've formed in a matter of hours, surpassing any interaction you've witnessed her have with others.

“If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve mistaken her for your daughter.” You playfully jest, to which Jungwon scoffs, amusement dancing in his eyes. "And you'd be the mother?" His teasing tone takes you by surprise, prompting you to deliver a quick but playful slap to his chest, eliciting a hearty laugh from him.

Around the dinner table, Bora eagerly devours her plate of food, a feast prepared by Mrs. Yang herself (with your help, of course). She eats with a gusto you've never seen before, and you can't help but wonder if there's some kind of magic in Mrs. Yang's cooking.

Jungwon keeps a watchful eye on Bora, gently cleaning her mouth each time she takes a bite, ensuring no stray food lingers on her lips. It's a level of care and attention that surprises you, and you can't help but admire how easily he has slipped into this role of guardian and friend to your niece.

"Uncle Jungwon!" Bora chimes merrily, her laughter echoing through the air as she savours another slice of apple that Mrs. Yang had spontaneously cut up.

“Hm?" Jungwon responds, his curiosity piqued by Bora's enthusiastic proclamation.

"You are approved!"

“Approved? For what?” Jungwon tilts his head curiously as he gently pushes the loose strands of hair behind her ear.

“To be Auntie Y/N’s boyfriend!” Bora exclaims with a triumphant grin, her little hands clapping together as if she's a brilliant detective who has finally cracked the code. Meanwhile, you find yourself in an unexpected predicament, your throat tightening as you inadvertently choke on the water you were drinking. A subtle blush creeps onto your cheeks, though you manage to stifle your surprise with a discreet cough.

"Bora-ya! You can't drop bombshells like that out of the blue. It might make Uncle Jungwon uncomfortable, okay?" You lovingly scold Bora, appreciating her bubbly and chatty nature but also wishing she wouldn’t put you on the spot like this.

Jungwon, on the other hand, is caught off guard by Bora's candid declaration. His gaze fixates on a distant point, lost in a moment of profound contemplation. For an instant, he allows himself to imagine what it would be like to be your boyfriend, even if just for a second, and weirdly enough, it doesn't seem to bother him as much as he thought it would.

Mrs. Yang simply laughs at Bora’s bold proclamation, and you struggle to maintain your composure as you stuff another apple into her tiny mouth, hoping it will distract her long enough for the topic to roll over.

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♡。·˚˚· ·˚˚·。♡

authors note: it’s finally here…. zzzz

perm taglist. @hajimelvr @s00buwu @urmomssneakylink @grayscorner @bubblytaetae @mrchweeee @artstaeh @sleeping-demons

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[allmyocsarebritish]

His blue hoodie

Pairing: Xavier x reader

What to expect: entirely self indulgent fluff :')

I have a hoodie exactly like his and this has been on my mind for over a year now haha

Nevermore was a school that heavily enforced its rules. This was entirely reasonable; seeing as the school housed students easily capable of mass destruction. Some of these requirements existed to prioritise safety, such as designated areas for werewolves on a full moon, but the majority remained in place to enhance the reputation of the academy. An instance of the latter was the uniform.

Of course, the dress code of Nevermore was not as strict as most uniform schools - for example jewellery had to be permitted, mainly down to the use of amulets to halt siren song. Beyond this, the individuality of students was the basis at which Nevermore was founded, rendering a lack of self expression entirely hypocritical. Thus, the rules were slackened. And, no-one seemed to complain when one of the boys' hoodies made its way beneath your striped blazer. Surely it was no more than a coincidence that the day it appeared was the last day Xavier was seen wearing one.

The rain hammered against the glass of your window on the second Tuesday in November. Condensation began to form on the inside, forming an entirely dismal scene, only enhanced by the miserable grey sky. The gloomy weather dampened your mood, and the temptation to hide away in your room, ignoring all of the day's classes, was steadily beginning to grow. Groaning dramatically, you heaved yourself from the excruciatingly soft, pillowy mattress.

Promptly after dressing in your own uniform, you reached once again into the wardrobe, pulling out a familiar navy fabric. The fabric was endlessly comforting, enveloping you in a warm, safe embrace as you were almost swallowed completely. The scent of oil paint and turpentine mixed with pine needles overwhelmed you, immediately distinguishable as entirely Xavier. It transported you immediately to long evenings in the art shed, soft breezes whilst practicing archery and loving nights spent cuddled together in eachother's dorms.

A smile immediately fixed onto your face; suddenly the day no longer felt quite so unbearable. You quickly pulled on your striped blazer and raven combat boots, leaving your room with a newfound sense of urgency. After all, who were you to keep him waiting?

Practically bounding out onto the quad, your eyes cast the area, scanning the surroundings. With the morning still being early- and therefore having few students around- It didn't take you long to make out a ridiculously tall figure. Paintbrush predictably in hand, he was continuing work on a particular mural, depicting a swooping raven amongst a background of featherlight clouds. It was nothing short of perfection, enhanced by the passion behind the artwork.

You knew how much this specific piece meant to him, especially after the destruction of his painstaking attention to detail by the normies last outreach day. This was the first mural he had painted since, after being borderline forced by Weems. Nevertheless, he seemed to enjoy it, and the labour was paying off.

"It's beautiful, Xav." He spun swiftly around at the sound of your voice, gaze immediately softening and a loving smile replacing the frown of concentration.

"You're wearing my hoodie." You couldn't hold back a small giggle at the expression he wore, a mix of pride and bashfulness.

"I love it," you leaned in to give him a quick kiss. "But I love you more."

Xavier's arms wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you in. His chin rested on the top of your head, as you each sighed out a tiny huff of contentment.

"I love you too."

[narrans]

My Borrowed Son | 31 | Into the Unknown

Chapter Thirty-One | Into The Unknown

Confusion clouds judgment, but Parker didn’t feel confused. After everything that happened over the past three days – after his entire life unraveled before his eyes – he wasn’t confused. Parker was angry.

Though he’d heard the phrase “blind rage,” the feeling in him was far from that. There were so many unnamed emotions, but that one wasn’t among them. There was something that drove Parker forward, but it wasn’t rage.

Whatever it was, it was powerful.

It convinced him that he needed to know the truth.

It convinced him he needed to go back to where his so-called “mom” said it all started.

It convinced him to pack his bag and run away.

It convinced him he could do it all on his own.

So, bag on his back and supplies for the next week in the folds of fabric, Parker slipped out of the house through the crawl space and ventured out into the unknown.

Parker had to admit it was all more terrifying than he thought it was going to be. The outside world was imposing, but it had never seemed unconquerable like how it did now. At one point, Parker wanted to be an explorer of the jungle or some grand national park. The outdoors was a place to be curious and bold.

That was when he thought he was human.

Somehow knowing that he wasn’t human and that he was something else.

The small teen gazed out at the wall of grass and pavement before him. There was a brief moment where he considered going back inside and hiding out there, but Parker was determined. He needed to do this, and he was in no mood to talk to anyone about it.

Besides, he knew the way.

Keeping all of those rules that the Borrower family and Kers told him about, Parker decided to keep close to the sidewalk but far enough away for no one to possibly notice him. The last thing he wanted was for someone to stop him from achieving his goal.

Twilight had just passed. The clouds above were a soft rosy pink and the sky above was shifting from that midnight blue to the pale cyan combination. It would soon be pale blue and the sun would be high above baking the ground all around. Now that the sun was coming up, streaks of light arched across the sky.

The scene would have been a beautiful one that Parker would have appreciated if he weren’t in his current mood.

The early morning dew refracted off of the blades of grass he passed and brought some beauty to the walk, but Parker didn’t feel like appreciating the little things right now. In fact, it made him angry that he could see so many minute details that the normal human eye wouldn’t be able to see. It was because he was so small that he could see the tiny hairs on the edges of the grass blades. It was because he was so small that he could see the specks of dew that could fit on the tip of his finger.

The Borrower teen shrugged it off and soldiered forward. Cars on the street roared by, making him flinch and duck off to the side of the road. Morning joggers who passed didn’t pay him any mind, especially since Parker was able to duck off to the side of the road. He wasn’t sure why, but Parker kept Kers’ cloak. Whether it was for protection or because Parker didn’t want to let go of something that was keeping him grounded, he didn’t know.

What Parker did know was that his instincts felt like they were as sharp as a knife. Every sound felt amplified. Every sight had colors he hadn’t noticed before. Every instinct when something or someone was approaching kept him on high alert. It let him hide when he needed to and kept him aware of his surroundings.

The teen pushed past massive leaves and crawled under blades of grass and branches that were by the edge of the road. Parker didn’t need a map or his technology to find out where he was going. Memories of the maps and the route going to his new house were more than enough.

Parker felt like Bilbo Baggins from “The Hobbit,” which was still one of his favorite books of all time. He had charged out into the unknown with little to no time to prepare, but it didn’t change his objective. The unexpected journey he started wasn’t going to be complete until he made it to the park, and he had just found his first challenge.

Supplies.

Specifically, water.

The day felt unusually humid, and Parker was having a hard time rationing his water. There were no puddles for him to test or to filter on the route he chose. Also, Parker underestimated the distance he was going to be traveling.

Parker considered himself an athletic kid, but already his legs were starting to itch and ache. His back was getting sore. His shoes were making his feet cramp.

By midday, Parker took a moment and calculated that he was only a quarter of the way there. Despite the shortcuts he took through yards and along the walking paths, he was nowhere near where he needed to be.

Adventuring is hard. Parker thought as he sipped on his water, carefully rationing it before screwing the cap back on and pushing himself back up onto his feet. No sense in stopping now.

He readjusted his pack and set off back along the path he set for himself. At this rate, he would be at the park in his home area by the old apartment in another day and a half. It was well within Parker’s food ration limit and Parker had some additional supplies to help with resupplying water if he found a stream as well as making a shelter. His confidence and determination, sadly, were mildly misplaced… as he would soon see.

~~~~~^*^*^*^*^~~~~~

Continue

Previous

Beginning

[be-my-ally]

The Lisa-Marie

Big Bunny + The Return Flight (in case you want to catch up!)

Warnings: 18+, exhibitionism (public rehearsal, but no-one else is watching/or sees), elvis is a panty thief for no reason other than it’s now totally canon in my head that he continually stole knickers, fingering, mentions of drug use + abuse, oral (v receiving, p mentioned), jealousy, p in v sex, the briefest mention of a gun threat, references to elvis’ ill health. this is somehow the least-bunny fun + plottiest, while also the smuttiest so uhhh enjoy the angst at the end?

Director Elvis is linked where the scene goes in the middle of this, however there have been some minor adjustments to the opening + closing paragraphs to make it fit *just right* and so they’ve been inserted here. 

wc: 12k

Pls forgive me for the longest author note ever:

I went waaaay too far into attempting to make the timeline totally accurate; to the extent that I was noting down what city each night when i wasn’t even referencing them but honestly it was stressing me out so much that I gave up and removed a lot of the references - so this is *mostly* accurate in the general tour dates and vibes but not entirely because … this isn’t a biography, it’s smut with a lil teeny weeny bit of plot. 

Confession time! I was and am super unhappy with The Return Flight, there was so much in it that I was excited to share but I think my writing is off and I’m not super sure why, which affected my motivation for this A LOT so apologies for the fact this took a literal months. But hopefully you’ll all think it was worth it! And hopefully a lesser wait for the fourth and final part. 

Anyway, I might return Elvis onto the Big Bunny plane for a little spin-off fun but for now, enjoy bunny still being referred to as Bunny even though, by half-way through this, she is no longer a bunny. 

October 1974. 

You’re awake before him, gently shaking his shoulder as he groaned into the fur comforter that he didn’t want to wake up yet. He eventually shoves you hard enough that you decide it’s probably safer just to leave him as he is, pulling yourself together and redressing instead - he’s still got his eyes closed when you slip out. Ten minutes later you get a note passed to you with details about where to meet them for the pre-show rehearsal but you don’t actually get the chance to see him again, too distracted with dealing with all the matters of the disembarkation and cleaning. After you’re done you change as quickly as you possibly can, ignoring the questions from the other girls about where you’re going - practically sprinting to catch a cab.

He’s already on the stage when you walk in, pacing about - blocking the show as best they can in preparation to allow for the lights crew to have some idea of where he might be at any moment. He looks marvellous - absolutely gorgeous, his hair back but essentially left to do what it likes, all fluffy and soft looking. Eyes bright underneath his tinted glasses. He’s dressed in a white shirt, cuffs like a pirate, damp see-through sweat patches evident when he raises his arms, filigree studded belt, huge against his stomach, blue stones glinting in the lights. You feel your mouth water and tummy start to flip just at the sight of him. He smiles when he sees you, with your tiny little halter dress on, chilly in the cold air of the auditorium at the venue. The breeze causes you to wrap an arm around yourself a little self-consciously as he waves you closer to the stage. You're practically leaning on the edge when he kneels down in front of you and you get a sudden flash of what it must feel like to be a girl at his concert. Someone who hadn't had the luxury of falling asleep beside him, or the feel of his palms against theirs. The feeling of being forced to look up at him, his head backlit by the lights, a halo like he's the goddamn messiah. That feeling of desperately pining for a single moment of his attention. 

“Ah-ha! lil Bun-Bun! C’mon up here,” He puts an arm down before retracting it, looking you over more carefully, a note of stern shock in his tone,

 “Good lord! That might be more r’vealing than your lil bunny get-up. Uh - here!” He gropes around the floor for his jacket before he thrusts it at you, and you look at it with amusement, it’s a rainbow. Rainbow fringe. It’s truly one of the most preposterous things you’ve ever seen in your life. He grumbles as he holds it out, 

“Don’t need every man in here to be starin’ at you. Got work to do - don’t need ‘em bein’ distracted.” You don’t think you’re particularly scantily clad, you’re certainly showing a fair amount of leg but you’re far more covered up than Playboy enterprises would like you to be had you been on shift. But still, it was chilly, so you shrug it on gratefully. The soft leather caresses your arms, encasing you in his thick scent, it’s heavy on your shoulders and big enough that the fringe tassel tickles your thigh. 

“Uh Hi, Where-“ You wonder if you should even ask, “Where’d this come from?” You shake your arms out, making the fringe dance. 

“Oh - it was a gift,” He grins at you, lips all crooked in his sheer delight, “You like it?” He clearly loves it. So you lean into the absurdity and realise that what you’re about to say wasn’t even really a lie. 

“Uh. You know what, yeah I do,” You giggle as you shimmy a little making the strands swing. “I love it.” He looks at you fondly before he leans over the edge of the stage, tugging you up with a grunt. 

“Glad you could make it doll, been waiting for you.” You smile back at him, pleased as anything that he’s laying on the charm but that underneath you can still sense the sincerity in his voice. 

“Thank you for inviting me.” He pulls you close to him and you brace yourself with a hand on his belt, feeling the weight of the buckle against your fingertips. He reaches down to grasp your hand, pulling it up to press a kiss against it. It’s intimate and gentlemanly and you feel like you’re in a period drama, feeling your chest heave as your breath catches in your throat at the movement, and you’re helpless to do anything but gaze into his eyes. You glance down, eyes catching on the wide white band on his wrist, just above his diamond encrusted ‘Elvis’ bracelet. 

You stroke his wrist gently before looking up at him with a questioning brow raised. He kicks his foot out to show you that beneath his gently flaring trousers there’s a matching white band on each of his ankles. 

“It, uh, it mimics the weight of the ‘suit, gets me used to it for the performing.” He flicks a wrist, “And, uh, gotta try and get some of this weight off.” He pats his stomach, gripping the side harshly, “No-one wants to see a big doughy ol’ Elvis.” He shakes his wrists at you, and you’re mortified at the fact that it makes you squeeze your thighs, drool pooling in your mouth forcing you to swallow hard. Something about the way the rings on his fingers glint under the stage lights, the way the buckle makes the tiniest little metallic clang, feels akin to being shown a hidden sliver of skin. Makes you think all sorts of things. Of the weight of them around his wrists, of the possibility of them around yours, weighing you down, wrapped around your ankles too, making you heavy and pliable. Or his belt around your middle, the huge buckle pinning you in whatever position he chose. You don’t realise how low your eyelids have slid at this line of thinking until he laughs, 

“God - you got them dirty thoughts written all over your face Bunny, this is a respectable r’hearsal, don’t you go getting any ideas now.” He wags a finger at you, you feel like you’re being hypnotised watching it.

“Go on now - hop over there for me, sit yourself down, just watch the show baby.” He slaps your ass, causing you to yelp as he catches your bare thigh, while he grips your upper arm and ‘helps’ to lower you down gently, almost missing his huff of laughter in response. You have to take a second after you're on the ground forcing a deep breath feeling your heartbeat between your thighs. 

You take a seat where he’d pointed, content to try and settle down and watch him practice. It’s gorgeous to watch, he struts about the stage, breaking into gospel every now and again, making you smile at the clear little flashes of joy on his face. You’d considered if it was going to be boring, contemplated even bringing a magazine with you but now you were here you can’t imagine being able to concentrate on anything but him.  Every now and again he cracks a joke, changing the lyrics to something dirty and tossing you a wink, laughing back at the boys who all join in like a pack of wild hyenas. It’s different to how he is in private, yet shockingly the same - there’s flashes of the insecurity you caught on the last flight, a quietness to him while he waits for a song to be set up or a wire to be fixed. But also an exaggerated boyishness to him, playing the jester for men who don’t seem to be aware he’s putting it on.

He calls a break after you’ve been there about an hour, and he slides himself off the stage to walk over to you. You were going to try and play it cool but you can’t stop yourself from gushing at him; 

“You sound wonderful. I can’t wait to see the show tonight.” He smiles, a little bashfully, 

“Yeah? I can see you wigglin’ your yittle hips from all the way over there,” He narrows his eyes at you, crinkles forming as his high cheekbones move, “ ‘just wonderful’, ‘s that all I am?”  

“Well you’re not - ” You squirm a little under his line of questioning and consistent stare, suddenly feeling a bit too hot in his jacket, “- not bad to look at. You’re so different out here than on the plane.” 

“In a good way?” You hum back a non-committal noise and though his brow wrinkles a little he lets it go. Instead leaning back on the chair in front of you, feet crossing between your legs. He folds his arms across his chest, your eyes track the bands on his wrists again and when you look up he’s smirking at you watching him. You can’t take it any longer and his smile grows wider watching you shrug his jacket back off, letting it hang over the back of the chair, fringe tickling your arms as it falls, 

“Let’s make this more interesting for you huh, must be boring having to wait for all this - ‘n I can see you’re all fired up for me doll.” You look around, but he’s blocking your view forcing you to focus on him even more, as if he wasn’t already the only thing you could see. 

“Oh no, it’s plenty fascinating enough El honestly,” He shakes his head, magnanimously as if he’s doing you a favour, 

“No, no, must be boring for an exciting lil girl like you.” He taps his chin almost pantomime-esque in its overdramatic nature. 

“Hmm… what shall we do to keep it entertaining.” You squirm silently begging him to stop drawing your attention to his wrists. He bends down, unstrapping the weights from his ankles, 

“They’re gonna be a bit big on you. But still,” He kneels down, like he’s the prince and you’re Cinderella, tapping your foot to make you lift it up for him. He slips it onto your ankle, letting it fall down over the top of your foot as the weight drags it down. You wiggle your foot - it’s not particularly heavy, you could definitely still walk and run in them - as was probably their intended use. But they made you feel very … aware, made you notice whenever you wanted to move your leg. He grabs your right leg now, doing the same, placing it back down when he was finished, your legs wide. You glance down at him, realising that your dress was certainly too short for this. You try to close your legs but he stops you with a hand to your knee. 

“No, no, darlin’, leave ‘em where they are. That’s gonna be your job ok baby? You’re gonna keep these yittle legs spread, and when you try to wiggle around again these-“ He taps one of the weights “ ‘ll remind you to keep still.” You hiss back at him, 

“Elvis - someone’s gonna, you gotta get up - they’re all gonna think we’re up to no good, don’t want - I don’t wanna get you in trouble.” He grins up from between your legs, spreading them further. You cringe a little, feeling the air now brush against your uncovered underwear, feel your wetness start to drool onto the fabric despite the embarrassment. 

“Ain’t gonna be no trouble ‘round here little one. ‘Member I’m in charge.” He takes a second to leer at you, and your thighs twitch at him staring straight up your skirt. Finally, he stands up, using your thighs for balance, clutching at them on his way up, you gasp at the firm grip. He leans down over you, one arm bracketed on the back of your chair, and the sudden scent of him, stronger than what was lingering on his jacket almost overpowers you - his cologne almost too much, like walking past a men’s locker room. He leans down to murmur in your ear, his other hand going down to brush against your hip, feeling through your dress for the waistband of your panties.  

“C’mon Bunny slip ‘em off, let me have ‘em as a good luck charm. I haven’t got any of yours yet.” Your legs slip a little closer together and while he looks down and smirks he allows it, 

“You got a collection?” You ask shocked, tilting your chin up at him, he grins back at you, boyishly and amused ignoring the question. 

“C’mon! Hurry up, gotta get back to work in a second baby, want you all bare - so its nice and easy for you to slip a lil hand up there, want you to rub yerself every time you like what ‘m doin, ‘till you’re all silly with it. Okay doll?” He says it like its a totally sane request, and you have to wonder if he’s of completely sound mind. You glance around, double checking that the building is practically empty, and where there are people that they’re all preoccupied with the stage rather than glancing back at you sat in the middle of the row a few lines behind the mafia. You roll your eyes, heart going almost a little too fast, but still obediently lift your hips up to tug your panties down and off, they catch on the weight on the way down, 

“No need to be shy doll, I’ve seen it all before.” He winks, as he bends down to pick them up, glancing straight up your skirt as he does. You flinch a little at the sight of them in his hand, if you’d known Elvis was gonna be taking them home you’d have put on something a little sexier, but you can’t imagine that any change could have made his face more gleeful, as he stares down at the wet spot on them before slipping them straight into his pocket.

 “You ‘member what you’re meant to be doin’ now.” He whispers in your ear, pressing what would look like an otherwise fairly chaste kiss to your cheek, before sauntering back up to the stage.

 You nervously fumble the hem of your dress, delicately sliding a hand up, trying not to noticeably flinch as your fingers brush over yourself. You wonder if it wouldn’t have made more sense to slip your arm down the side of the wide arm-hole of the dress, more subtle perhaps? But all you can hope is that the the way the chairs are placed in front of you obscures your actions should anyone look back. From anyone that wasn’t up high on the stage. You can practically feel his laser focus up your skirt, you’re far enough away that you’re sure he can’t see anything in detail, perhaps not even the way your slickness glistens against your skin, but just the gentle motion of your fingers teasing yourself. There’s a clang as the metal inside the cuff on your ankle knocks against the chair leg and you freeze, anxiously glancing around to check no one had heard. Elvis’ head had whirled around at the noise from where he’s been talking to someone at the side of the stage and you can see the way his face contorts into a knowing smirk. 

You didn’t think you’d be into this level of wanton exhibitionism, but the sudden fear that had jumped through you had translated straight into excitement, and you could feel the pulse of arousal swirling with the butterflies in your stomach. You brush your fingers more confidently, rolling your hips with the motion, not even really aware of how much your body was moving, but simply going with it. Your eyes briefly slip closed as you rub a singular finger down your self, trying to build the anticipation, but you can’t resist moving your hand to play with your clit when your vision clears and you witness him moving about the stage - dancing, thrusting. He pauses while they reset something - the mic perhaps, or the lights, and you can feel the thrum of your climax growing; the fear of being spotted, the sheer desire for him, the feel of your feet firmly planted on the floor, weights holding them down, enough to bring you closer and closer. 

He starts singing again but if someone had had a gun to your head though you wouldn’t have been able to tell them what, and as you start to move your fingers again you make eye contact with him, swallowing a moan as you watch him attempt to surreptitiously adjust himself. You should feel embarrassed, you think, but instead a sudden boldness creeps over you at the evidence of his undivided attention, and you instead spread your legs wider, your skirt riding into the little roll of your stomach, completely exposing yourself. You run your fingers against yourself, feeling them slip as you gather wetness and drag it up, reducing the friction on your clit when you finally let your finger brush over it again. 

Elvis is stood still now, ostensibly staying put so they could manually hold the lights for him to sing a ballad, but in reality in the perfect position to watch you. You watch his face flush as he misses a note, watching you finally dip your finger into your practically dripping entrance. You’re made away of the weight on your feet when your legs try to jerk and your body compensates by crunching in on yourself a little. Making it startlingly obvious to anyone watching, hopefully just Elvis, what you’ve just done. 

You let his voice wash over you, and your eyes close as you go to add a second finger, thumb moving to tease your clit with little circling touches. Your climax comes over you suddenly and unexpectedly, a slightly unplanned harder touch directly over your clitoris and the combination of your fingers curling inside yourself sending shockwaves down your spine and belly. You continue to touch yourself through it - dragging it out for a moment. Until you just know that if you push yourself any further you’re going to scream and you have to slow the pace, gently stroking yourself as you slowly come down from the high. Your head had fallen back and with a little effort you manage to bring it back around, shifting yourself upright as you do. 

When you make eye contact he winks, mimics licking his fingers, and you look down at your own sticky pair, before following his mimed instruction. You meet his eyes again and watch him trail off mid-sentence as his chest heaves taking you in, squinting under his glasses to try and focus on your fingers leaving your mouth. You make sure for a second that you let your tongue peek out, watching him gulp in response.  Before hastily rubbing your hand against your dress, thankful for the colourful pattern that hides all sin. He sets the microphone back onto its stand, slowly, deliberately. Then, he motions you to the stage, and when you make no attempt to move, fear shooting through you that you’re going to be leaving a wet patch behind, he makes the request vocal. 

“C’mere Bunny, can’t see you all the way over there.” You rapidly close your legs, weights knocking against each other, and sit stock straight as several of the boy’s heads spin to look at you. Elvis breaks into song, “C’mon and be my little good luck charm.”  While pointing to a spot in the front row. You swallow hard, trying to make your limbs cooperate again, but it just looks like pure defiance, and he’s frowning at you when you try to plead with your eyes. 

His tone changes, “Ain’t gonna ask again honey,” You flinch as several other heads in front of you turn around to stare. You trip a little as you stand, forgetting about the extra weight on your ankles and when you look up Elvis’ smirking straight at you. 

“Can take them off now baby, leave ‘em on the chair, someone’ll clean it up later.” He winks and you suck in a gasp as you do as he directed, the implication of someone having to clean up both the weights and the seat of the chair. You can feel the heat in your cheeks at the complete lack of secrecy, with your mind all muddled you don’t have the capacity to consider that the other people in the room wouldn’t understand the double entendre. 

 “There we are, right there Bunny,” He points at the same spot again and you gratefully stumble down there, collapsing into it. You can feel your cheeks blazing and you clasp your thighs together, trying to tell yourself to just watch Elvis and not pay any attention to how wet you still are, or the embarrassment of being ordered around in front of everyone. 

You sit there primly, for the rest of the rehearsal, ignoring your newfound nakedness under your skirt - unable to draw your eyes off of his wrists, his waist, now you know how those innocuous little white bands feel. Waiting to be dismissed, sent home - although you hope that you might get another invitation. He finishes, stripping off the weights as he’s laughing and thanking the sound guys - although shouting back at them as he stalks across the stage to where you’re sat to the side of the front row.

“That interference needs to be cut by tonight, it’s messin’ with my ears, I don’t care if you have to go out and buy a whole new fucking system - just get it done.” Despite his harsh words by the time he’s kneeling in front of you he’s smiling slightly bashfully. His eyes crinkling at the edges as he mutters to you - 

“Don’t know why I keep ‘em around.” He offers you his hand, pulling with his suddenly weightless feeling arms to yank you up with him, clearly overcompensating without the weight, causing you to stumble with the force of it. His arm comes around to steady your waist. He stands there, legs spread and solid, holding you to him, brushing your hair off your neck to whisper in your ear. 

“Wanna come back with me, honey? C’mon baby,” He’s pleading with you, entreating you to follow him, babying tone convincing you as if you even needed encouragement. “How - How’d you feel about, I got some things we could watch, we could, could - I sure would love to tape ya, baby.” You lean back, brow furrowing as your mind runs through what he’s suggesting. 

(Director Elvis + Model Bunny)

But still, after some consideration you agree, and before long you’re relaxing on the bed with him, taking in the moments of quiet before he’s got to head out into the screaming crowds, performing for the pleasure of the girls and women. He’s magnificent in the flesh, masterful in his ability to command the ultimate attention of the audience. But still, as wonderful as it is to watch him, rhinestones glinting in the stage lights, you have to admit to yourself that you much preferred him in the somewhat faux intimacy of the rehearsal. 

By the time you’re all filing up the steps to the plane once more it’s night again, looking forward to a short day-break for you all after the busy past couple of days. Elvis is exhausted, and though he’s gentle with you still you can tell he’s had enough. He wearily waves to the other girls, calling you over to ask for some food before disappearing.  You push the cart into where he’s ensconced himself in the bedroom to discover him in the bathroom - door open, and you can’t help but take a peek. Your eyes catch on the little pill bottles lined up on the side, the man himself shaking seemingly every bottle possible into his palm until there was a little cocktail of medication contained in his hand. He takes them with a swig of water and jumps when he makes eye contact with you in the mirror. 

“Jeez honey, make a noise next time.” His tone isn’t harsh, it’s not annoyed - but it is solid, serious. You frown, the floor was carpeted but the rickety wheels of the cart still made some noise. 

“Oh, uh, sorry - didn’t mean to scare you.” You laugh a little bit in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere. He doesn’t respond. “Uh, I’ve got, there’s hamburgers, and sandwiches and uh-“ He’s wiping his hands on a hand towel when he comes out of the bathroom, throwing it back onto the floor behind him when they’re dry. 

“S’ok Bunny, that’s good. Just-just leave it over here.” He sits on the edge of the bed, pointing to a spot within arm’s reach. He’s in the tracksuit again, out of the jumpsuit from the show, out of the the sharp outfits you were now used to seeing him in. But he still looks appealing, if not moreso now. Soft, approachable and above all else - cuddly. He’s evidently exhausted, face pale after removing the stage makeup, and he shuffles back on the bed. He’s starting to slur his words a little as he reaches for a sandwich, 

“Come. Come sit here baby… come sit here with me.” He pats the side of the bed next to him as he shuffles further up. You do so and he tucks a hand into the crease of your stomach and thigh, thumb brushing in circles, a gently squeezing grip. 

“Here.” He holds out a sandwich for you and you take it gratefully, “Gotta…feed you up while I got the chance.” His head is starting to slip forward as his eyes fall closed. You pat his arm, leaning over to take the parchment out of his hand. He grips your wrist, forcing you to put your sandwich down too as he slides down the bed to lie down, tugging you into him. 

“S’ok El, just, just close your eyes. You did so good today.” He hums, a little pleased noise like he’s somehow not used to being praised still. He pulls you closer, arm wrapping under and around you, pulling you tight to him. 

“That’s it Bunny, that’s it, just - just gonna rest my eyes for a moment, doll. Be…be ready for action in a mo’ - just, ju-“ You shush him, his eyes were fluttering closed, arm clenching around you and you felt it relax a second later as he drops off into sleep. 

There’s a few more flights scheduled, but they’re busy ones - short flights with barely enough time to get the men fed and watered, let alone enjoy any other kind of extracurricular activities - there’s a hasty blowjob and an attempt for the world’s quickest round of intercourse and that’s it.

There’s a break for a little while before he cancels the next flight on Big Bunny so you only see him once more, and that time he barely acknowledges you; exhausted from a show he locks himself in the bedroom and doesn’t appear until the plane is touching down. You wave goodbye to him, a little melancholy and hating yourself for wishing that he make some grand gesture to prove it had all meant something, instead he winks at you as he leaves down the steps, whispering a

“Thanks for takin’ such good care of me, Bunny.” As he went. 

That’s the last you hear from him. For little over six months you hear nothing else. You’re almost immediately thrust back into the reality of the normal world and you’re kept busy enough that he doesn’t pass through your mind too often. 

Occasionally, when you see a tour announcement pop up in the tabloids, or from a fan-club membership that you totally didn’t take out in a pitiful attempt to keep up-to-date with his life, you wonder about him. About whether you were a bit of fun to flirt with, to tease, to sleep with for a couple of days - a distraction from the real life, like all the bunnies were intended to be, or if he’d meant any of what he’d said. The thing is, even if you were curious, you could never know - despite being so intimate, so close to him; had he lied? Did he help every girl through a panic attack with meditation? There no longer felt like six degrees of separation between you, no longer like you were travelling in similar circles, there now felt more like a hundred degrees; what were you supposed to do; ring the operator in Memphis and ask for Elvis’ number? Pull Hef aside on the next flight and ask him? Don’t be so ridiculous, so clingy you tell yourself, disgusted at your inability to let it go. 

Time passes, as it does, and though you somehow feel like you can’t escape him, ultimately you have. Months have passed and you’re busy - being promised a promotion, training a couple of new girls and it means that you don’t get to go home for what feels like weeks.

 You finally get back to your apartment, relieved to be there for at least a week, with a stack of mail waiting as tall as your arm. You take your time enjoying the peace and by the evening it feels like you can relax for the first time in a long while, glass of wine poured, comfortable little short pyjama set instead of the bunny-approved corset or dress. You’re just starting to open the first of what looks like several catalogues of clothes you’ll never get a chance to wear when the phone rings. 

You glance over at the clock, surprised that anyone would be calling you at half eleven at night, when as far as you’re aware none of your friends or family even know you’re home yet. You consider not answering, too content with your night, but it rings insistently so you drag the handset closer, accepting the call. 

“Fuckin’ finally,” You’re immediately taken aback by the annoyed exasperation of the voice on the other end of the line, 

“Where’ve you been?” You start to protest, to question who on earth is questioning you and explain that you’ve been working but the voice doesn’t give you the chance. 

“Listen, Boss’ got a new plane, he’s uh, calling it the Lisa-Marie,” he shouts to someone on his end, “I don’t know man, thought it would sweeten the deal if she knew he’d already named it! Like - ain’t that what you’re supposed to do if you’re negotiatin’ - let ‘em know you have a name?” Right. So, Elvis. Someone is calling about Elvis’ plane. You’re trying to comprehend that when he continues,

 “Sorry. Anyway, he wants you on it. He won’t hear otherwise.” He pauses, “Permanently. On call whenever and wherever he needs to fly,” As if he can sense this isn’t the most attractive prospect, “but you’ll uh, all expenses paid for, apartment in Memphis, the whole shebang, you’ll be well taken care of.” You take a second to process that, 

“Uh, I don’t quite know what to say - do, do you need to know right away?” He chuckles down the phone at you, 

“Well - uh, no, but, he’s goin’ on tour soon and we need the flights staffed by then so….” He trails off, and you know from your limited experience with Elvis and his methods that this means, actually yes, we do need to know right now, and we’re not actually giving you a choice. You take a deep breath, still confused as to why you’re getting this call out of the blue, thinking that you’re going to regret it if you do, regret it if you don’t. 

“Oh, uh, ok fine - look I’ll be at one of the offices tomorrow; I’ll give you a call and you can fax me over the information for the dates and things?” 

“No need, we need you by July.” You pause, that’s… barely a month away, 

“Ok, I’ve got a three week notice period though, I can’t just -” 

“We’ll take care of it with Hugh direct.” You laugh incredulously - is that how they think it works? 

“Hugh Hefner isn’t my boss - how high up do you think I am? I’m a jet bunny for god's sake.” There’s silence on the other end of the line as if they'd expected you to feel cowed, or awed by their famous friend. You can hear them whispering before the voice returns, just as confident as before; 

“Well, we’ll take care of it.” You frown but you’re not sure what else to do but agree - at least this way of something falls through you can claim you had no clue about any of this. 

“Ok, but you’ll have to ask for Ellen at the office and I’ve got a notice of -“ You’re cut off by him, 

“We’ll make it happen.” Well, you couldn’t say more than what you’d said - you’ll just have to hope they do enough that it all gets sorted somehow, and without totally burning all your bridges. 

“Right, well then, -” 

“Tickets for your flight on the 26th June to Memphis will be waiting at the airport. Someone’ll pick you up there.” 

“Uh ok, um, well then that’s -” 

“Thanks again, you’re a doll, bye!” The phone hangs up and you’re left holding the receiver wondering what on earth you’ve just agreed to. 

—— 

It turns out you’ve agreed to a stewardess job pretty similar to any other. You’ve got a cute new little uniform, and it was indeed little, sleeveless and hem skimming the middle of your thighs but Elvis had indeed fulfilled his promise - it was stretchy. With a scarf around your neck and tall boots it almost didn’t feel much different to your bunny outfits. In fact it all would have felt quite similar if it weren’t for the sudden increase in responsibility you were facing. There was another girl who worked on board here and there, but whether as a cost-saving measure (although you couldn’t fathom the necessity considering the gold sinks on the plane) or simply the knowledge that one stewardess and the pilots were enough for a plane of this size you weren’t often put on the plane together. It meant that you were often working alone and solely responsible for the cabin. It was certainly an adjustment, you’d been safety trained before - of course - but you’d never really had to use it; the focus of your jet bunny role had pretty much been to cater to the whims of the people on board. Like a Barbie doll you’d had too many jobs to count, and the responsibility to look good while doing so. On the plane you’d had to be waitresses, dancers, chefs and bartenders but less so a safety officer. 

And it’s so strange, you’d not been expecting much but you had been anticipating at least an acknowledgement, or something? But instead on the first flight Elvis collapses in a seat, clearly out of his mind and ignores you completely, There’s this, somewhat odd, hierarchy evident and you somehow just know that you shouldn’t approach him like this - trusting that his needs are being catered for by his entourage. But you can’t help but glance over at him, inspecting that he looks paler than before - almost sallow-like in comparison to the fit tan of the first time you’d seen him in the flesh. So you do your job, and see them on and off the plane with nary a word exchanged between the two of you. 

You fall into this habit pretty quickly, flight after flight. When he’s awake his eyes skim over you, unfocused and never stopping for long. You hate yourself for how upset it makes you, he hadn’t owed you anything and yet you still feel like you’d signed up for something under false pretences. It keeps you up at night, wondering how you could have been so stupid - you’d given up a stable salary, a life and an exciting one at that, for this - for him. With every month that passes you’re more and more aware that you’re creeping towards your next birthday and the chance to return to Playboy in any capacity is dwindling. They aren’t shy about declaring there’s an age limit. You feel like you’re trapped, in a never-ending cycle - flight, sort the plane while they’re at a concert, flight, fitful sleep in a hotel, flight, flight, flight. 

But then, like magic, two weeks before your birthday - two weeks before the deadline you’d come up with in your head to quit he notices you. He’d been looking better for a few days, on an upward swing or so it would seem, and seems significantly more aware than he had been.  He almost does a double-take, as if seeing you for the first time. It’s then that, suddenly, Georgia - the other girl, starts to come on board with you a lot more frequently - taking care of the other guys while Elvis not so surreptitiously pulls you into his excessively decorated bedroom.

It’s not the first time you’ve been in there, you clean the damn place after all, but it’s the first time that you’re able to look at it with fresh eyes, through the lens of the awe of a girl being invited back there as a guest. You feel the bend of the fibres of the plush carpet underfoot, against the smooth sole of your boot. 

He sits down, patting his thigh, “Give me your lil footsie baby, them little footsie sooties, put ‘em up here.” You look at him slightly askance, fondly, but still do as he asks, putting first one foot up on his lap, letting him unzip your boot, tugging it off and then your other one when he taps your ankle. He looks up at you, as he holds onto your foot, and you know you’re both getting flashbacks to that first flight, when he’d tugged your heels off, got caught in your pantyhose, the joy of that first time. He grips your wrist, forcing you to kneel onto and then shuffle across the bed as he tugs you while sliding back himself.  Pulling you're both placed far enough to the headboard that he sinks down into a lying position and drags you down with him. 

“Elvis - I, I, I don’t know what -“ 

“Shhh baby, don’t worry about anything, just, just feel it with me - you feel that?” He shifts to hold your hand, “Feel that energy? ‘S right between us darlin’ girl, right there.” You’re not really sure what he’s talking about, but you had been feeling the thrum of a connection, willing him to pick up on your silent desires, so you can’t deny a strength of feeling there. 

“I feel it.” He hums at you, happily, still holding onto your hand, threading his fingers through yours and pressing his nose against your cheek. He nuzzles at you for a moment, starting off gentle and slow, before rolling you into him and catching your mouth with his. He’s sure of himself, pressing himself skilfully against you - you’re more than aware that this is a skill he’s nurtured, learnt - been judged upon, almost as much as his singing and it shows, it feels no different to the first time you’d kissed. A masterclass in the right moves, just the right amount of bite, just the right amount of tongue, and it makes you buck into him. You’re suddenly desperate for him to break out of the cultured practiced mould, feel him lose control and slip. You gasp, trying to provoke it in him, biting down on his lip a fraction too hard. He shifts his grip to your neck, clutching it to pull you back a little, 

“Careful, honey, careful.” You can feel his lips move against your skin as he murmurs and it makes you shiver a little at the tickle of his breath. He kisses across your jaw, little sucking presses, before he returns once again to your mouth. 

It’s hard not to assign more feeling or meaning to it than what it is, when he seems to do everything with such feeling. Not for the first time you wonder how it would be possible to be kissed at a concert and then have to continue to go about your life, acting as if nothing huge had happened, as if something totally earth-shattering hadn’t taken place. But then, you imagine, it’s probably not that different to what you have to do. 

He pulls back a little, pushing himself up to be more on his knees than lying back, before he slips a hand down between you, pushing underneath your dress to pull at your panties, rubbing a finger on the outside. He pushes them against your folds, circling with his finger until a little damp patch is forming where he’s touching. He pulls them to one side, shimmying his hand underneath, a ring knocking against your thigh and catching on the fabric and your hair as he cups your mound. You reach a hand down yourself, brushing it over his trousers, but you’re slightly surprised to feel him still soft inside. He jerks his hand off of you, gripping your leg instead, shoving your hand away with his other. 

You pat his face as it peers over the top of you, the creases in the corners of his eyes a little scrunched up in disappointment and his lips in a slight pout; as if he were trying to stop himself being upset.

“‘S ok El, You’ve still gotta perform tonight too -“ You go to tug your dress back down assuming there was no need for you to remain bare but his hand flies out, gripping your forearm and pushing it against your stomach.

“Take it all the way off,” You look nervously over at the unlocked bedroom door but obediently wiggle down a little, as best you can with his arm still locked over top of you to slither out of the dress. He shifts back down into a horizontal position, sliding himself further down, shirt crumpling with the motion, before gripping you with one hand on an arm and one on a leg, to hint at where he wants you to move to, tugging you until you’re in position, straddling him.

“El - seriously, I don’t think, it’s fine, it happens all the time it’s noth-“ He cuts you off by sharply pulling, with hands gripping right on your hipbones, you closer to him - forcing you to stumble on your knees even further up his body. 

“‘Nough of that.” In that wonderful growly voice only he seems able to achieve, he lifts his chin up to press a kiss against your inner thigh. “Can still, still make you feel good Bunny, baby. Still make that pretty yittle cunt o’ yours feel good.” He yanks you so you’re perfectly placed, hands gripping the navy velvet headboard to hold yourself steady. “Just gonna have a lil taste, ok darling? Just needta give me a little more time. Let, let it kick in.” You nod frantically, although you’re not 100% certain what you’ve got to let ‘kick in’. 

“Yes, god, yes. Sure.” The kiss, and his brief touches had been enough to turn you on, and you jerk as he holds your thighs to press a kiss against your now bare cunt, 

“Oh, fuck.” Elvis laughs against you, and you can feel the vibration up your spine, thetickle sending sparks straight into your stomach. The sheer level of arousal makes you feel almost a little nauseous but you’re distracted by the feel of his tongue moving again, holding you tight to him with his grip on your thigh when the feeling makes you try to thrust out of his hold.  You can feel twin bruises form from the thick bands of the ring on each of his hands and the twinge of pain when he lifts the pressure makes you gasp, 

“Oh, Christ - Elvis, need, need you to,” You’re not sure if you were planning on asking him to let go, or hold you tighter - but you’re distracted by him shifting to suck down directly on your clit, briefly, just enough to make you choke on your own spit, before he releases, flattening his tongue and moving it down. Every time you clench or move you can feel his fingers digging tighter in and you can’t help but move, grinding onto his mouth and against his tongue. He pulls away, and you shift your hips slightly so you can look down at him, and your head tips back with a moan as he quirks a little grin at you. It’s utterly filthy the way his chin and mouth is glisteningly sticky and wet.

“You like that honey?” You nod, and he returns, surging forward to renew his efforts, your hips circling in response. 

“Oh god, yes, don’t, oh, holy fuck, - don’t stop,” You can’t stop moving your hips, and part of you is briefly concerned that you might be suffocating him, but the larger part is more concerned with making sure he keeps licking right there until your building climax hits. His tongue is flicks between lapping at your vagina and your inner folds. Your hips are constantly moving and you grip the headboard even harder, feeling the fabric pile shift and flatten under your hold as he finally captures your little puffy clit in his lips again and sucks hard, reaching up to slip a finger inside you as he does. 

Your lower back is starting to ache, thighs beginning to cramp but you can’t think about that, reaching down with one hand to comb through his hair, clutching at it as you thrust up and back, finally your climax rocking through you. He licks you through it, holding you open still, feeling you shudder around him, until you finally insistently tug on his hair enough to make him come away. 

You dread to think what it must have sounded like on the other side of the door, the wet smacking having been all you could hear past the blood rushing through your own ears and you’re sure you couldn’t possibly have stayed silent. You watch him wipe his mouth with a sleeve, blushing the whole while before he slips out of the shirt. Fully exposing his bare chest and, finally, reaching down to unzip himself. 

You’re sticky and soft when he reaches down, running a finger against you, opening you up to bump against you with his now, hard, cock. You’re not quite sure when it had happened, if it was a delayed reaction to a pill he took earlier, or if he simply was that turned on just by licking you to completion, but you’re not about to complain feeling how his head slips against your wetness, nudging at your clit before he angles himself down, bumping against your entrance. 

“There he is, Bunny, got Lil’ Elvie here just for you baby, for my sweet lil - ah, bunny bun,” 

Elvis pushes into you, a hand straying to stroke your labia on its way up to clutch at your waist, feeling the way you open up around him - for him. You groan at the sensation - it’s been a while, actually it’s been a long while; the last man you’d been with was the one currently pressing inside of you. He takes a moment to allow you to adjust, although you suspect it also allowed him a moment or two, either to calm himself down or encourage himself up. 

“That’s it, honey, there we are, there we go, Oh Lord, here we are, I got you, gonna, gonna do such a good job, you just lie back. I got you, got -“ 

He’s fucking into you now, slowly, sweetly, accompanying each thrust with his mouth joining onto yours, and sloppy open-mouthed kisses against your jaw and neck. He’s trying to get the angle right, you can tell, but he’s decidedly less sure than he ever used to be, or least how you remember him. Taking longer to hit the right spot, and then almost immediately slipping away and losing it.

“Ah, that’s - that’s it, right there,” You almost cry out as he moves again, begging him in your mind to return to where he was. 

Still, he’s not totally unskilled, and the motion of his body against yours, of the feel of his hand reaching down to play with clit, combined with the growling curses and praises falling from his lips, southern accent coming out harder as he loses himself in it, is enough for you to feel yourself start to shudder your way towards a second orgasm, clenching down onto him. That is, apparently, enough to set him off and he takes some time firmly rocking his hips into you, before, with a hand splayed on your tummy for balance, withdrawing fast to shoot across your stomach. He collapses there for a moment, lips in a pout and eyes closed from the sheer pleasure of the minute before. 

He rolls off of where he’s pressed against you, where you’d welcomed being crushed under his weight, tummy pushed against yours, hairs tickling your own bare skin to flop onto his back. You watch his chest heave, eyes drawn to his tight little nipples, as he catches his breath back. You take a moment to swipe the cum off your belly with the edge of the bedspread, noting in your head to send it to the laundry later. You know you should be getting up to pee sooner rather than later but he’s holding out an arm to you, and you can’t bear the thought of refusing his offer. Instead curling into him with a sigh. He smells the same as you remember now, that same heady mix of sweat and sex, woodsy heavy cologne combined with the tint of smoke, and you hate how it sends flutters down your tummy again at how you feel a sense of familiarity from it. He murmurs into the top of your head, lips catching on your hair, 

“You been here all along Bunny? Hopping around my plane?” You nod and you feel him grimace, “Didn’t recognise you without your ears, or your yittle tail.” You don’t mention that you very rarely wore ears on Big Bunny, and that he had in fact seen you both on and off the plane without them too. He tips your chin up to look at you and you make eye contact with his pair of guilt tinged blue eyes. Your nose wrinkles and he taps it with a finger, “Twitchy lil thing though still ain’t ya?” He pats your cheek, “Still gonna be my bunny? Ain’t got another bunny, got, got,” He stumbles over his words as he takes a breath in, clearly struggling to stay lucid enough to have the conversation, “got other girls, not got ‘Cilla no more, but got, got Linda … and, and - I got a whole list, baby, but no - you’re my only bunny.” 

The thing is though, it’s never for long. You prefer the flights after a show to the ones before, he’s more awake before but he’s panicked like a tiger in a cage. It’s still difficult to tell what kind of Elvis you’ll be dealing with on any given night. There’ll be one flight where he’s perfect, drowsy from a show but awake and alert, flirty and fun, and then another where he sleeps for so long and so deeply that you worry he’ll never wake up. The worst are the ones where him and Dr Nick, his father or one of the other boys with that damned black bag disappear into the bedroom for the flight. He stumbles down the stairs after in a daze, clearly half out of his mind. The alternative - that you have to listen to his whimpering cries, that his body aches, that sleep won’t come to him - why won’t anyone listen to him? That he wants his mama, that everyone leaves him, “even my yittle yisa.” Is worse, it makes you wish for when he’s sedated or so over the top in his exuberance that you know his ‘vitamins’ have a lot to do with it. You don’t know how much longer you can silently pick up the pieces - cleaning up when he’s trashed the room in a rage, or left pill bottles littering the floor. Going in to him when he calls for you, acting as his waitress, nurse and on-call girlfriend all at once. 

Linda accompanied him often, and you’re shooed out of the way of her keen eyes as they watch you a little too knowingly. She’s sophisticated and classy though, more than you would be in the situation. More than you are. You take the opportunity to swap with Georgia as often as you possibly can when you know she’s coming with him. 

You’d avoided her too at first, often being the only one working on the little plane, not usually that many people on board - maybe ten at most, well within the capabilities of a single girl and the pilots. You hated that you felt the sting of jealousy, of worry that he was fooling around with her too, to the extent that when she, unprompted, had reassured you that she had not slept with him and nor would she ever sleep with him you had laughed it off. Pretending you had no idea what she was suggesting. 

Linda though proved difficult to ignore. She was a presence - even when she wasn’t physically there - he was swearing to the boys they were through, broken up, done, and then would spend hours on the phone to her. He’d swear he didn’t give a shit about her anymore; just had to keep his promises to take care of her - but then a week later she’d appear on the plane with him. They’d sit cuddled together half the time, shouting and screaming for the other half. You had no idea how to react when she called you in to the bedroom, Elvis’ head pillowed on her thighs, dead asleep. She doesn’t ask you for much, a coffee and some water to be brought to them. You do so, still slightly surprised to be invited to intrude on what seemed like an overwhelmingly private moment. But then, a large part of your job is being invisible when necessary. You don’t expect to her acknowledge you when you return, but she does - she’s polite and courteous, but quiet, eyes never leaving his relaxed forehead. A cynical part of your brain wonders if it wasn’t intentional, if she didn’t purposefully call you in at that moment to prove she was different, but that line of thinking gets you nowhere. It’s not your place to be jealous.

Occasionally there’s other girls with him, you burn when Sheila comes aboard - you’d given up your cover dreams for this, and it feels like she’s the new kid in town - replacing you in every way. Better than you in every way, she’s pretty and lithe and young; you’re young and pretty too but you’re feeling it less and less. She’s above you - in the privileged position to sit at the side of the King while you have to settle for serving him and her. She had the cover, you had gotten pouring the drinks into branded glasses.

Elvis didn’t help how you felt - the first time she came on board he took it upon himself to personally introduce the two of you. He was sat with his legs spread wide, Sheila’s own legs over the top of his, an arm tucking her tight against his side out in the lounge area, the public display of affection almost too much for you to witness. 

“Here she is!” He called out when you came around the corner of the half-dividing wall, and you balk a little before steeling yourself to walk over, 

“Here I am.” You respond, flatly. He’d been particularly difficult recently, and your patience was wearing thin. 

“Looksies - this here is my Sheila,” He raises her arm, she nods politely, “She’s - she’s a bunny too, she was on the cover.” You smile, what else can you do? 

“Oh - wow, congratulations.” You nod at her, she’s silent. 

“Two bunnies on the plane! My two bunnies together!” He laughs, and the tone and words immediately make you smart. There’s a cruel edge to it that you don’t quite understand, it’s not like you’ve ever turned him down or refused him, not like you’ve done anything to be treated second best - to have her paraded in front of you. 

 It makes your skin crawl, furious with every decision that led to this point, cursing those pretty blue eyes that you couldn’t refuse. Makes your skin crawl that he’d sworn you were his only bunny; and as ridiculous as it might seem, the evidence that that wasn’t true at all, that it was an empty promise makes you cry yourself to sleep for too many nights in a row. The first time you’d found a notelet, tucked under the bed having perhaps fallen out of a pocket or book, 

“To Sheila, 

Love you allways, 

E.P.” 

You take two weeks off, and debate whether you should even return, if it’s worth how it makes you feel. You don’t have time to see anyone else, and you’re not dating him. But then in some ways it makes sense all your emotions would be put onto him, you weren’t physically seeing anyone else, in general, exclusively cocooned in the Elvis Presley Show bubble. There is, you think after three glasses of red wine at home in your fancy new Memphis apartment, nothing else in your life. There is only Elvis. You wonder if you can use that as the excuse on your notice. You make yourself go back though, determined to get a grip of yourself, of your feelings, give it one last try. 

It’s short-lived with Sheila, at least from your perspective up in the air above the reality of the ground below. Ultimately, you feel you somehow won. And although he may, every now and again, bring some pretty young thing up into the air with him or have Linda come on board during some of the tour he’s fundamentally alone again - the same group of men his only constant companions. You form your own opinion of them, watching two of them cringe at the sight of the little black bag of pills and needles and two others writing his signature out on blank cheques. 

You’re horrified, making eye contact with Charlie, you think, you know their names now you need to start to use them. You open your mouth to say something, but uncertain about what, but he catches your eye, shaking his head and you wonder if there’s anyone on this plane willing to stick up for him.  You’re forced ot consider if it’s something you can do too - turning a blind eye to all of this or if you’re going to be forced to leave because you were unwilling to do so.

But then, there’s a few months where he behaves differently, and he looks different - his face brightens up, and though you don’t dislike how he looked before you can appreciate that he’s slimmed down a little, looking less bloated than he had before. A renewed interest in the happenings of the group. Suddenly, he’s interested in you again - ensconcing you in his bedroom, telling the boys to stop telling you what to do or asking you for things,

“It’s not her job - her job is looking after me.” And you do, distracting him as best you can when that’s what he’s after - reassuring him when it’s not. You have to talk him down from a panic at one point and you’re thankful to have the memory of him calming you down to use as your guideline, even if you find irony in being the one trusted to provide the measured breaths. 

The sex though, is still almost non-existent; he apologises constantly, and at one point you try to have a conversation about it, lying with him in the bed, cuddled together. 

“I’m not your girlfriend, E, you don’t needta explain yourself to me,” He hushes you, 

“You’re my girl as much as any of ‘em.” It’s your turn to stroke his cheek, 

“I don’t need to be, you don’t hafta say that to me.” He just hums at you, tucking you further under his arm and cupping your face to his chest. That’s when the gifts start rolling in, before you’d even arrived back at your apartment for a few days off, finding on the doorstep a gift bag filled with lingerie. You smile when you see it, but you’re a little puzzled - he’s not even seen you in your underwear in months. Was this a hint? Were you meant to be the one putting out? You took it as you thought he intended it, picking out and wearing the little white set you found in there, but you were unsurprised when nothing came to fruition on the flight. You tentatively bring it up the next time you’re curled up next to him - the flight not really long enough to justify a nap but happy to be tucked up in his chest.  You’re drawing circles with a fingertip through the gaping neckline of his shirt, absentmindedly thinking of how best to bring it up. 

“El, what’s -, not that I’m not appreciative but you don’t needta buy me things - especially, especially if you’re not gonna get anything out of it.” You refuse to look at him, anxious for his response. 

“Wasn’t that what you told me before? That you don’t dress for me?” You can feel him already grinning at you in anticipation of your reaction and you laugh, surprised he’d even remember that conversation from a year and a half ago. 

“Well, You weren’t really my boss then.” He chuckles, wrapping his arm tighter around you, 

“Oh-ho, so I can have my wicked way with you now huh?” He squeezes you hard against his side. You giggle, and he continues - his tone turning more serious; “Honey… - Bunny,” he laughs when you squirm at being called bunny still, “I’m just, I can’t, can’t do more at the moment but I uh, I do still - I like thinking about you all pretty for me unner that tiny little scrap of a dress.” He flicks the hem, leaving his hand grasping the back of your thigh and your respond in playful outrage. 

“Scrap! You picked out this dress!” You smile into his chest as you feel his tummy move with his laugh, “Elvis - you don’t owe me anything, I don’t need to be bought things, you don’t need to feel like we have to do anything. I just, just want you to take care of yourself.” He hums at you, as non-committal as one can be. 

He shifts a little so he’s lying on his side, brushing his hand down your body, fingers fumbling as they graze over your core, he seems remarkably less sure of himself than the last time he’d touched you, and you have to wonder if, despite all these girlfriends hanging around, he hadn’t actually been doing it with them either. Whether it’s because his fingers are a little thicker than before, or his skills are simply rusty,  or maybe this is all some new technique he’d thought he’d try, he seems to take a while to do anything. He slips a finger between your folds, gathering the wetness you’d started to feel drip as a pavlovian response to his fingers anywhere near you, and rubbing it up your pussy but when he reaches the apex he seems to struggle, fingertip roving around, rubbing down but not quite finding your clit. You squirm as he continues to rub around just a bit too low, his finger making you pant simply from the virtue of it being Elvis’ finger, but not because of success with his ministrations. You panic, eyes flying open, wondering if you’re gonna have to fake it with Elvis beforehe pulls his hand away with a grunt. 

“Ain’t no good little, my hands are hurtin’ too much tonight, got them, got them shakes again.” You nod even though you know it’s at least partially untrue - his fingers not in the least bit unsteady, if anything they’d been a little too solid. 

“Just, it’s fine to just cuddle El.” He’s silent beside you for a few moments, 

“One sec doll, lemme just -“ He shakes his arms out, staring at the curvature of the plane ceiling as if he’s trying to talk himself up. “Ok, ok Bunny, lets, lets give this another go.” He captures your mouth in his, sucking gentle little bruises across the bottom of your jaw, and lowering himself down to your neck. He concentrates there for a moment as he dances his hand back down your body, shifting your dress up again. His touch this time is more sure, more similar to how he’d always felt, the confidence appeared to be back.

He circles your clit just right, the two fingers curving inside you hitting just the right spot, and he moans with you, 

“C’mon darling that’s it, oh that’s your lil button isn’t it - let me, just relax into me baby, relax, I’ve got you.” He crooks a finger, and your hips jerk, his other hand reaching over to pin you firmly against the bed while he takes the opportunity to brush directly over your clit once again. You squeal, panting, as he whispers into your neck, 

“Such a good girl, good little baby Bunny, c’mon now,” He croons into your ear, voice unmistakable, “C’mon - for me.” His words, the sight of his face, the feeling of his fingers, it all combines so that in mere moments your back is arching off the bed, clutching at his arm as you tip over the edge. 

When you’re back into the land of the living, and your breathing is starting to ease up a little, you’re able to sit up. You get onto your knees for him, expecting to reciprocate but he shakes his head at you, “Just, just lie with me, mama, let me cuddle, ‘s that alright? No-one lets -  everyone wants somethin’ offa me.” You frown, standing up, his words manipulating you into believing you’d even asked him for something, 

“Sorry El- there isn’t, there’s no pressure from me, I just thought because -“ You gesture to his still clearly wet and sticky fingers, “Just wanted to give it back to you.” He huffs, lying down again, and looking over his shoulder at you. Betrayal written on his face. It softens when you clamber back under the covers with him, and he tugs you closer. 

It goes downhill fast, the tours just keep coming, and the random, sudden desires for trips here and there. You’ll be home for a scheduled three, four week break and get maybe 60 hours before a call comes in - he wants to be taken to Colorado, California, to Vegas. Before you know it you’re careening into 1976. He swings like a pendulum from happy to angry - the emotions impossible to keep up with. He wasn’t ever wholly staid before but everything seems suddenly emphasised and the erratic nature of his personality is making you wonder if you can do this job much longer. It’s worse without a girl on board. Linda and he may have argued but he was almost always easily soothed. But she’s coming on less and less, and he’s telling tales about her more and more with the boys. Expressing how he hates her shopping now, how she deserves it but doesn’t earn it, how he can’t stand her nagging. He seems to have more girls than ever before, one or two picked up for him in every city, but they never seem to make it onto the plane.

Without the settling presence of a girlfriend that role falls to you, and although you’ve now spent countless hours with him it’s different; the fits and starts with which you get to see him is completely different to being a girl who’s able to be with him in his home - you find him almost overwhelmingly difficult to manage. The first time he’s brandishing a gun and threatening to shoot you for attempting to put him to bed, you laugh - not expecting to be essentially thrown off of the plane for weeks for such an indiscretion. It doesn’t get mentioned again - not until a while later; simply brushed over, forgotten about. There’s no apology, just suddenly one day, a bashful joke gets made with Elvis tucking his chin to his chest to look at you shamefacedly but almost immediately he cracks a laugh, and you’re forced to laugh it off with him.

His health swings like his moods, it seems to be entirely dependent on a number of factors that all seem to change within a minute’s notice. It’s a combination of his mental health, the exact cocktail of medication at any given time, the number of shows he was doing, how often he was getting to see Lisa, whether he’d been home recently, the financial situation or whether he’d recently liked how he’d looked in the mirror. As soon as any one of these changed it would either send him crashing into lengthy highs or a period of lucidity. 

You didn’t sign up to be a nursemaid - it wasn’t the role you were expecting to fill but as time goes on it seems the only form of relationship you can have with him. You don’t truly mind, although you do wish for more, if he’s going to let you have this part of him - the part of him that’s sad and lonely, the part of him that he’s ashamed of - even if just for a few hours on a plane where he can pretend to be distinct from real life, then you think you deserve the same relationship back on the ground. But you would never broach that with him, not even when he’s alone, or when he brings a girl on board who doesn’t even make it to the next city. All you can do is stay. 

The last part of the year is particularly hard. He looks awful, you only really get to see him directly after a show, the schedule doesn't allow for more spare days in each spot, and the sweat pores off of him. You can’t say he doesn’t look appealing in some ways, you wouldn’t mind  licking him clean, or crawling onto his sweaty chest. But in other ways, his face growing paler and yellower, it makes you cringe away from him. It’s not that you don’t want to spend time with him, or that you’re disgusted - a fear he’d mumbled into your stomach one night recently, it’s that it’s so difficult. Difficult to watch a man, so otherwordly virile to succumb to earthly decay. It’s almost painful - and it’s made all the worse by the fact that you’re only given the choice to witness it in fits and starts - over a tour you watch him, keeping a close eye, spending hours alone with him. But then, as you land back in Memphis, or Vegas, or California you lose him again - with no idea of how he’s getting on physically or mentally, no idea of how he’s feeling. He grows distant - and all you want is to make his journey easier, although the destination at this point is unclear. 

--------------

TAGLIST:

i’m just gonna tag anyone that’s specifically msged me about it and/or anyone who commented/reblogged the last two chapters - there’s one last chapter to this ‘verse coming soon(ish) so lmk if you wanted to be added or taken off the list before then :)) 

@ellie-24, @whositmcwhatsit, @thatbanditqueen, @vintageshanny, @doll-elvis @18lkpeters @prompted-wordsmith @richardslady121 @meetmeatyourworst @marriedtopresley @steph-speaks @a-literal-no-name @elvisabutler @precious-little-scoundrel @eliseinmemphis @iloveelvis @literally-just-elvis-fics @livelaughlove-talia @angelborn1

[roeroe-world]

no way in, no way out. (belly edition)

starring: queen pokoo as kai, nas as sincere

set in 1998.

warning(s): mention of marijuana and alcohol, detailed smut, adult situations, harsh language

Another late night. Another late night Kai would spend alone in the spacious home. In the arms of the young woman, an infant. Warm tears trailing along her light brown baby face, loud wails passing her tiny lips.

Her facial features resemble both her mother and father, crafted beautifully in the hands of God.

“Shh, it’s okay.” Kai tells the young child, rocking her gently. “Ugh, what’s the matter?” She’d fed the child, bathe her, changed her diaper, and the infant still isn’t satisfied. The young mother is growing increasingly frustrated.

“You hungry, baby? Is that what it is, yeah?” Attempting to get her to stop crying, Kai puts the bottle to her lips for her to drink. Instead, the infant turns her head away and continues to scream aloud.

The young woman’s head tosses backward in pure aggravation, on the verge of crying herself.

“Infinite, please.”

Seven months ago, Kai and Sincere’s lives had changed. They welcomed a child into this world. Adjustments were made due to the unplanned pregnancy.

But Sincere isn’t home as much as she needs him to be now that they were parents. He’s around but not enough. Especially for nights like these when Infinite is extremely fussy.

Kai caresses the head of the infant, running her natural nail beds through her small curls. She rocked the child into her arms, gently shushing her before repeatedly murmuring, “It’s okay, it’s okay,” For a slight second, her brown orbs glanced at the clock placed by the television of their living room.

12:42 AM.

With an eye roll, Kai looks away.

Unfortunately, there were many nights like this.

The sound of keys meets her eardrums. That familiar raspy voice semi-shouts, “Yo?” Which alerts the young woman. “Why my baby girl cryin’?”

Once he’s finally in her peripheral, their eyes connect as he turns the corner and enters their living room. The faint smell of marijuana and liquor enters her nostrils, watching the male toss his baggy leather jacket on the couch as well as his keys.

She’s entirely fed up.

Leaning in for a kiss, Kai turns her head as he takes their child out of her hold. His eyebrows shoot upward in an instant but focuses his attention on his daughter whom stopped fussing surprisingly. Infinite grew calm.

The young woman scoffs at the scene, hands falling to her hips, “Wow…”

The infant was giving her a hard time all day but all it took was her father to swoop in after being gone all day to take her from her arms.

“Aye, what you doing all that cryin’ for? Huh? Why you stressin’ mommy out?” He began to rock her, planting a kiss amongst her forehead.

“Now that you’re here, please get her to sleep. I’m going to bed.”

His brown orbs traveling up and down amongst the woman, reading her body language. “I got you.”

“Yeah…” She began with a light chuckle of irritation, heading for their bedroom. “okay.”

Shutting the door behind herself, Kai wastes no time to take a seat. Inhaling and exhaling deeply. Her gaze averts upward from her thick thighs to the mirror positioned beside their king sized bed, scanning her facial features before analyzing Infinite’s vomit stain amongst her shirt.

Motherhood hasn’t exactly been a walk in the park but nobody ever said it would be. In fact, some of her homegirls whom also has children warned her how much things were going to become different.

She couldn’t do the things she used to. Unlike Sincere.

Sincere is Sincere. He leaves as he pleases to go do god knows what with Tommy and his crew. Returns home when he feels like it, drunk or high— most of the time both like tonight. Though, she’s thankful that he actually comes home and safely.

“She sound asleep.” The male enters their bedroom, wasting no time to place his gun that was rested on his waistband amongst their dresser.

Sincere is a street dude, always has been before they’d even met. Kai accepted him for who he was but now that they have a child, multiple changes were to begin.

When he’s met with silence, he turns to face his lady of two years whom held an unreadable expression upon her facial features. “You good?”

“No. No, I’m not good, Sincere.” Her tone of voice remaining calm yet she’s highly upset and pissed off. “Some shit is becoming tiring and played out.”

Sighing heavily, the male’s head slightly falls to the side in exhaustion. “What you talkin’ bout, Kai?” Aware that she’s about to be on some bullshit. Despite him having a long day, he always made it his mission to return home every night and listen to whatever his woman had to say.

Even if it seems as if she’s bugging out or just talking to talk half the time.

“You running with Tommy ‘nem. Coming home all crazy hours of the night after doing god knows what which I’m sure isn’t as important as our daughter.”

No doubt, Tommy is a bad influence. Kai is very aware of that but Sincere is a grown man. It’s his choice to run with the people he chooses to.

“I need you here more. I can’t take care of Infinite by myself.” She continues.

“Kai, I’m doing the best I can. What I’m doing is putting food on the table and keeping a roof over our heads. I can’t take care of you and Infinite with no bread. You know that.”

“I’m not trying to hear it no more, aight?” He kisses his teeth in response before the young woman speaks yet again. “We got enough money saved up to do whatever. But this shit is not the answer.”

“Yo, shorty. I’m deep in this shit. I’m good at it. It’s putting money in my pocket—”

“Fuck the money.” Kai stands to her feet, sauntering towards the male. “None of this matters if you’re taken away from us.” Fear enters her tone.

Truthfully, she worried every time Sincere stepped foot out of the door. Concerned about his well being, concerned that one day he wouldn’t make it back in one piece as he promised.

Sincere’s face instantly softens.

“I understand Tommy is your boy but he doesn’t have what you have, a family. You got a child to live for. You can’t afford to be taken from us. Don’t you understand that?”

“You always think we gon’ get knocked or somethin’. We careful with our shit. Pigs can’t catch us even if they think they can.”

Scoffing, she crosses her arms, “That’s always what people believe before they get caught. Y’all ain’t fucking untouchable, Sincere. If Tommy goes down— trust, you’re going down with him.” Her voice raising an octave. “You wanna know what’s worse than getting locked up? Being killed.” Both of their brown orbs piercing into one another’s. “What you gonna do then?”

Silence clouds the couple for a moment. His pools of brown breaking their eye contact to analyze their family portrait that sat upon the nightstand. “Fuck…” He murmurs to himself. She’s right and he couldn’t argue with the truth.

“You know, I been thinking ‘bout doing somethin’ different— changing my life around. Actually doing something with my life but then… I think about where I come from. The shit I did. Who I am. I realized some shit ain’t realistic. Maybe I’m built for this shit. Maybe I’m cut out to just be a street nigga.”

“No. Don’t think of yourself that way. You did what you had to do, baby. But now, you can get out. We have more than enough money saved up. We could go legit. We have a way out.” The woman connects their hands, gaze upward toward her lover.

His forehead pressing against hers, “You think so?” Raspiness seeping from his Northern Dialect. Tone holding uncertainty.

“I know so.” She reassures him. “You ain’t gotta depend on Tommy to provide for us no more. Sincere, you are so smart. You can be any-fucking-thing you want to be if you just apply yourself. I know that you can do it ‘cause I believe in you even when you don’t believe in yourself.”

Sincere isn’t too sure about giving up his lifestyle especially when he’d practically been doing it his whole life. He loved the fast money. He loved the hustle. He loves the game.

He’s good at what he does. It’s putting food on the table, clothes on their backs including designer, a roof over their heads and so forth. They were able to afford the luxuries of these things because of his ‘profession’.

“I feel what you sayin’, shorty. I really do. But what I do is the only thing I’m really thriving in right now. What I’m gon’ do? Start over? It’s a little too late for that. We already got a seed to look after that gotta be provided for.”

Lifting her head, she takes his chin within her reach, their pools of brown connecting. “It is never too late to start over.”

“I need you. Infinite needs you. Fuck the material shit, forget the money— all that aside, she needs her father.” Kai’s hand returns to her side, not believing what she’s bound to say next. “It’s either us… or the game. You can’t have both.” Her gaze trailing behind his being, a framed picture of the couple which hung above their television in her peripheral.

A wide, bright smile sat upon her gorgeous canvas while staring into the lens of the camera. Meanwhile, Sincere’s face happened to be buried deep into the crook of her neck. His arms hugging the woman from behind given that she was seated amongst his lap.

Both of his hands upon her protruding belly, hers on top of his. She was eight months pregnant with Infinite and bound to pop any second.

Briefly, Kai thought back to that time. Remembering how excited they were for a child together, although she wasn’t planned.

“I got family down south. Me and Infinite can stay with them—”

“Aight, aight.” Inhaling and exhaling deeply, Sincere pulls his woman to his chest. “I’m not losing y’all.” Kai manages to fight her tears, shutting her eyes as she listens to his heartbeat. She grows comfortable in his arms, melting at his touch.

Sincere knows the risk of what he does. Although, he loves the game— he’s well aware that the game doesn’t love him back. He came to his senses. Eventually, it was time to change his lifestyle for the sake of his family.

Though, she’d given him a choice. It really wasn’t much of a choice because he would choose his family over anything every time. He refuses to lose them to something he doesn’t envision himself doing at fifty years old.

“I love you.” He leaves a trail of kisses starting at her forehead to her lips. “You love me?” Brown orbs piercing into hers.

“Yes, I love you so much.” She grins.

“Im’ma do whatever to make sure you and Infinite happy. Believe that, aight?”

Without another word, the woman sends him a nod. Gazing up at him lovingly as he takes the messy bun out of her head, her long thick locs falling to her sides before he wastes no time to massage her scalp.

“Mm.” She moans softly. “I needed that so much.”

“Yeah, I know.” He chuckles lightly, noticing the stain on her shirt. “What’s that?”

With a slight laugh, Kai replies, “Infinite spit up on me earlier. I didn’t exactly have much time to change. Your child was whooping my ass today.” Earning a head shake, Sincere helps her pull off the dirty shirt.

“I can tell when I came in. But daddy came and saved the day, right?” A smirk upon his lips.

“I guess so.” She fights her smile with a playful eye roll, top row of pearly whites digging into her bottom lip as Sincere began to plant sensual kisses amongst her chest.

Smoothly, he unsnaps her bra and tosses it across the room. It wouldn’t be long before he lifts the woman into his arms. A tight grip underneath her thick thighs while carrying her to the bed with ease.

Laying her upon her back, the young man climbs between her legs. His pools of brown flowing deeply into hers passionately, lovingly. “I love you.” He tells her truthfully and he means it.

“I love you more.” A heartwarming smile amongst her beautifully natural canvas. She loves him with every fiber of her being. She couldn’t fathom the thought of losing him to the streets so if it would take her leaving with their child for him to get his act straight, then so be it.

Soft hands caressing his face while staring upward at him, watching his every move from the moment he stripped her out of her panties and sweats.

There she lays, completely bare and unafraid. Ready for him to have her however he desires.

Sincere wastes no time to dive into her ocean, tongue driving into the places that left Kai’s mouth agape. Her head falls backward against the pillow, massaging his smooth waves.

He sucked, licked, kissed her wetness. Euphoria leaking into her veins as the stress instantaneously seeps out of her body. “Fuck…”

Sweet nectar drips into his mouth, humming low groans while his tongue practically made love to her paradise. Sincere loves the taste Kai possesses. Her reaction happens to be his favorite as well.

The young woman’s hips softly grinds against his canvas. A plethora of soft moans passing her soft, plump lips. Free dainty hand gripping her large breasts.

His gaze averts upward yet again after shutting his eyelids briefly, mesmerized by her natural beauty. “You so fuckin’ beautiful.” Leaning into Kai’s face, their lips connect into a passionate and hungry union. She’s met with the opportunity of tasting herself.

He strips out of every single article of clothing with the help of Kai. In an instant, Sincere wastes no time to lift his woman’s knees upon her shoulders and insert his hardened member inside of her warm walls.

They both sigh pleasurably at the feel of one another. His hips begin to jolt against hers, both hands gripping the back of both of her brown thighs. “Shit,” The male curses aloud as her tightness traps him, squeezing around his phallus ever so tightly.

Kai’s wetness curating a soundtrack within each deep thrust. Sincere grew lost into her body, literally.

His lips fall slightly agape, low bedroom eyes peering downward towards the moaning woman underneath his being. Kai’s eyelids closed in pure bliss, sensually dragging her natural nail beds down the smooth caramel skin of Sincere’s bare chest. Her hands pauses at his hips, garnering a loose yet tight grip while pumping hers back into his.

Brain slipping into a dazed state of lust and desperation, yearning for him to not stop. Yearning for him to give her more and more and more.

“Ah, fuck, fuck,” High-pitched tone of voice whimpers into the steamy atmosphere.

The pace of his hips began to increase much to her pleasure, consistently deepening into every inch of her hot soaking cavern. The more he pounds into her wanting crevice, the more he taps her spot. “Shit, Sincere!” She sinks onto cloud nine, beginning to experience orgasms at an instant yet exhausting rate. Her juices squirting out of her similar to a water fountain.

Their sheets were an absolute mess. The headboard banging against the wall violently. Neither of the two cared, too lost into one another.

“Oh—” The young woman falls silent, mouth hanging open due to the fact she couldn’t make anymore sudden sounds for a moment. The pleasure began to grow unbearable, so overwhelming. “Hm, yes..” Eyelashes batting upward at the sexual deviant on top of her sweaty body, humming aloud.

“You feel so fuckin’ good, mama.” His raspiness enters her eardrums, tongue dragging across his lips. His gaze watching her large breasts bounce alongside each stroke.

A fucked out expression amongst her canvas. Eyebrows furrowing together, moans pouring from her agape plump lips. “S-so good… I’m gonna cum, fuck,” Her reaction earns a loud groan.

“Fuck, Kai.”

The passion between the couple began to grow stronger, intensifying each second. Her soaking cavern left the couple more than aroused, given that they enjoyed the sounds. In fact, Sincere loves it.

In the heat of the moment, breathing heavily, he says, “Let’s have another baby, shorty.”

His low lust-filled pools of brown peering down into hers, watching her sexily licks her lips. By this time, Sincere pinned her hands above her head, staring deep into her beautiful doe brown eyes.

The moment Sincere set his eyes upon Kai for the very first time, he knew he had to make her his. That’s exactly what he did and amongst their short time together, he wanted to marry her and have a family after just months of the two being together.

Also, that’s what he did. To be honest, he had her on lock when they first met.

Years later, here they were, married and possessed a little family. Despite, Infinite only being seven months, he desired to grow their family.

His orgasm quickly approaching, waiting for the okay from his wife underneath his frame. He so desperately desired to put another one of his seeds inside of her, longing for another beautiful creation and version of them.

“Okay, baby…” She whispers, a weak yet sincere grin falling upon her lips.

The second the male receives her consent, he sends her a smirk before grabbing a hold of her right leg and tightening it around his waist. His thrusts becoming deeper, desperate yet passionate than before.

Their tongue’s swirling in one another’s mouths, sucking in one another’s breath. Heat surrounding their steamy bodies as Sincere made love to his woman, the lady of his life.

Kai began to fall deeper in love with her lover as if she wasn’t already in love before. She fell vulnerable in his arms. His dick would always tap that emotion that left tears cascading along her mahogany cheeks. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” She’s completely drunk off of his dick, loving the feeling of how much his thick girth stretched her out.

His length driving deeper slowly drives her up the wall, eventually sending her into overdrive. Her hands caresses his chest, moaning loudly as her mind goes blank— completely focused on how good she’s being fucked at the moment.

The sex was mind blowing, so mind blowing that she starts to cry out for the most high while in the midst of crying out Sincere’s name.

Their bodies start to shake in unison and suddenly their lips disconnect, Kai again shouts, “Sincere!” into the humid atmosphere, heart racing.

Both of their eyebrows furrowing together at the same time, his eyelids shutting tightly, “Ah, fuck…” Within seconds, he releases his seed inside of the woman. “Shit.” Grip amongst her neck tightening, making sure every single drop isn’t wasted.

The couple reached their climax, breathing heavily. Kai observes him closely, tongue dragging across her lips, before softly inquiring, “You really wanna have another baby… or?” She began, hands caressing the smooth caramel skin of his back. “were you just in the moment?” She wanted to make sure he was serious about his sudden decision.

“Yeah.” He removes himself from on top of the woman, lying beside her and placing an arm around her neck. “I think it’s ‘bout time we had another little one. Y’know?”

“Yeah.” The woman gaze averts upward in his direction lovingly, intertwining their fingers. After what they’d just did, she couldn’t speak much nor protest.

“You were right and I been doing a lot of thinking for a hot minute. I’m leaving the game, for good. It’s just gon’ be me, you, the kids from here on out. I got y’all to live for and to think about. Fuck all that other noise.”

Smiling gently, “I’m glad you came to your senses.” Time after time, Kai would try to talk sense into him. It’s a pleasure to see that the talks were actually paying off.

He plants a kiss upon her forehead before sighing in exhaustion yet satisfaction, head resting on the headboard, “Damn, you wore a nigga out.”

In response, Kai giggles similar to a schoolgirl before climbing onto his lap.

[wrongcaitlyn]

Hello! just wanted to say that i really don’t mean to make you uncomfortable at all with this ask since i know you’re sex repulsed ace but i swear i don’t mean it in that way. as in in the sex way. it’s more as in the overcoming religious trauma and being proud of ones sexuality way!

picture this : nico di angelo. he’s at the Grammys. he’s just released guilty as sin? and everyone’s going absolutely bonkers bannanas. he’s walking the little carpet (added detail he is wearing the dress taylor wore at the show announcing ttpd). he sees a reporter and smiles at them and there recording and being like “omg nico is love your new song aaaa!” and nico just deadpan stares at them as he slowly walks by and lifts up the slit in his dress just a tiny bit and boom tattoo that says mine. ON HIS UPPER THIGH?!? 😨😨😨😨 he sets his dress back down winks and walks away like nothing ever happened. the reporter ( a gen z) puts it on tiktok with the caption “NICO WTF?!” CROWD GOES WILLLDDDD PEOPLE ARE GOING INSANE NICO THAT NICO HAS A TATTOO AND ITS ESPECIALLY MINE ON HIS UPPER THIGH LIKE IN THE SONG WHEN DID HE GET THIS WHAT THE FUCK?!?!? and everyone assumes it’s just so sexual when in reality it’s sexual in the way that the guilty as sin bridge is sexual. yes it’s based around sexuality but more the acceptance that he is allowed to feel those feelings towards someone especially another man. it’s a celebration of how far he’s come from that little scared christian boy who thought he was dirty and wrong to now and something that he can look down at and be happy from how far he’s come. (also nico had to train will for a few days so that his barely legible doctors handwriting at least looked nice enough to be readable) (also will made the haha so many couples break up after they get tattoos comment when nico was getting it and he was like “will if you ever even try to leave me the entire universe will be destroyed and that includes you” and he’s like “well i wouldn’t leave you anyways but remind me from time to time it’s funny.” “yeppers peppers” (also hc that nico says incredibly silly phrases cause he picked some of them up from will but some of them are his)

anyways sorry about this very specific scenario! you do not have to respond to this if you don’t want to since there isn’t much to say and i know you must be busy with a ton of asks haha. just wanted to share one of the scenes i imagine happening in tyt in the FARRR future! Might low key write a fic about it if i ever figure out how to write if that would be okay with you!

have a good day! :)

KSDJFSD NO BC ppl's reactions to his tattoos (though, tbf, they're mostly grief-related tattoos) has been something i've been thinking about for agesss and will probably include at some point.

so many little details in this that i LOVEEJSDF nico training will's doctor handwriting😭😭 i actually plan to add a tattoo at some point of will + all of the rest of nico's found family drawing stars and then having like a collection of them on his chest, which i will definitely be including at some point, and i can just imagine nico trying to teach will how to draw a star (he draws them like taylor swift's "stars, do u like dem" drawing)

but on to the main point: i absolutely love this idea! though i'm not planning on guilty as sin actually being a song that nico releases (unfortunately ://) he will 100% be making moves with his music that displays his growth as a person and his increased comfort with himself in all forms!!

the silly phrases hc is wonderful. CANON NOW. i also especially like nico also looking up like old-timey phrases and then just using them for no reason other than to confuse his friends

AND THE CIWYW NECKLACE!!!! will already has nico's ring on his necklace, but i think nico would 100% get either a necklace with a sun on it to represent will (maybe personalized to have the same design that he has as his tattoo) or his initials, or both. the ciwyw necklace will always be peak romance though <33

i would 100% support writing the fic!! go for it!! even if it may not be compliant with the.. idk if it's called the canon of this fic, but you get what i mean, i'd just love any kind of work related to the au, so definitely let me know if you ever end up writing it!!! thank you for this!

[once-i-stay-in-neverland]

Stray Kids Survival Show Reaction:

I'm currently watching the Stray Kids survival show for the first time and I've been noting down my thoughts while watching, so I decided I might as well share my live commentary on here as well:

Episode 1:

- Chaeryeong my love, my humble queen, skz fangirling for her was so cute

- Yeji and Ryujin already being heartthrobs before debut

- interesting how they only showcased the Itzy girlies individually of the girls team

- obviously grateful that skz got to debut through this show, but also grateful the girls team didn't debut bc I would've missed Lia

- Changbin and Seungmin were already such solid performers predebut it's insane

- OMG Jeongin was tiny, I 100% get the baby bread thing now

- Jisung somehow looked older predebut than he does now

- Hyunjin's predebut visuals!!! sir?!! leave some of those good looks for the rest of us

- wtf how does Felix look like he's 12 years old but has the same voice he has now??? my brain can't match his voice to his face, this is crazy

- videos of Chan as a teen are so cute, I can't-

- I do admire Chan's leader qualities which already show themselves really strongly here. He was 20, I believe, which isn't super crazy, he obviously will have had lots of experience by nature of having been a trainee for 7 years, but it's still an insane amount pressure

- Chan with Twice is so cute, my heart!!! Sana teasing him!! OMG!!

- Lily??!! OMG!! I love how instantly recognizable she is from her voice colour

- the girl team slayed, holy shit, my queen Chaeryeong loml

- from the showcase alone, I'd say 3racha + Seungmin were really their pillars they could rely on for live vocals/rap, apart from maybe Chan and Hyunjin they're all lacking in stage presence still tho

- Ryujin's resting pouty face, I love her

- Jeongin is so baby!!!

- Changbin 100% deserved that shoutout from JYP, I mean you wouldn't have guessed he's a trainee from how he looked on that stage, damn

- lmao not Minho keeping his clothes in bundles, what is wrong with this man

- the entire maknae line were such cuties back then omg

Episode 2:

- Chan being really harsh in dance practice bc it's important they get this right, and Minho stepping in to show Jeongin the dance in detail; it's like he observed the scene and saw that Jeongin felt a bit intimidated so he gave him some confidence by going through it with him

- Minho cheering everyone on before their performance, he's like the heart of the group atp, he keeps the cool for everyone, while Chan handles all the outward responsibilities, they really are like mom and dad

- 3racha + Seungmin again with their insane predebut live vocals

- Hyunjin's flow was a bit sloppy and Minho, Woojin and Jeongin sounded a bit out of breath (honestly didn't expect that from Minho)

- Han Jisung the ace of aces

- I sometimes see people make fun of Hellevator for its line distribution but it made sense for that context, Jisung was their most solid live performer and he could hit the high notes, so he should get the most lines

Episode 3:

- NOOOOO leave Minho to singing, don't make him rap, he's a singer and he has a beautiful voice, he's just not as stable yet

- Jisung holding Minho's hand while Changbin is supporting him during his rap is beautiful

- Minbin are truly the cutest, like for the song they chose, Changbin was like "this would suit Minho" and then later said "this song is mine, I'll do it with you" and an unsaid "I'll get you through this evaluation"

- the "there's no vocal" in relation to Minho, Changbin and Felix hurt my heart, let Minho sing!!!

- Seungmin's voice!! I am deceased

- the way Changbin is teaching Minho to rap, my heart

- Minho, Changbin and Felix are such a fun trio

- the Changlix kiss was too cute

Episode 4:

- apart from Chan everyone is super awkward at giving feedback which is so valid, but I'm impressed by Jisung who wasn't as harsh as Chan but at least tried even though he is one of the younger members

- my heart is bleeding for Minho who's like "I'm one of the older members, I should be helping the younger members, but instead they've helped me a lot" and Changbin who immediately takes the blame when Minho isn't rapping well enough and the fact that their entire performance is a mess bc the rap members are singing and the vocal member is rapping (although Changbin sings well enough tbf)

- leader Chan! the way he's serious and not afraid to tell the others off is honestly very impressive

- Minho's softspoken voice is just so nice to listen to

- Seungmin is so insane, I could listen to this man sing all day

- Felix is on the verge of tears, nooo :((

- when Minho cries, I cry, I'm so sad, and Changbin blaming himself again makes it worse

- Jisung has such a big heart, the way he talks about Jeongin and talks to Jeongin

- Han Jisung, the man you are

- it's really unfair, Minho's a dancer!! which he never got to show off at this point (which is their own fault for sure, but he was way too focused on the fact that JYP wanted him to rap)

- if anything, JYP's evaluation that Minho would hold them back is just wrong, he's no Changbin or Jisung who were already well-rounded performers at this point, but he is a solid dancer, he led the dance practice in episode 1 really well and he is the heart of the group. while Chan is responsible for making sure they debut and they're all doing good work, Minho is responsible for everyone's emotional well-being. it's honestly super interesting to me that Woojin, who is actually the oldest, doesn't take on any real older member role

- something I realized as well this episode is the leader qualities all of 3racha possess, they really took charge for these subunit performances

- as much as I love Changbin, I feel like Minho would've benefitted more from a collaboration with Chan for this evaluation. it would've removed this barrier that Minho built between him and Changbin because Changbin is younger and he felt like guilty having to rely on someone younger than him and Chan's tough love teaching style might've also spoken to Minho more than Changbin's much nicer method.

[dreamii-krybaby]

Season 1 trailer analysis,Along side Doll,Uzi,Nori,N and Mystery WD speculations:

Part 2

Note: parts of this were written before and after EP3! So some of my speculation changed! I’ll leave a tiny edit when my thoughts have changed! I’ll post soon my breakdown on EP3,which is highly connected to this post

Ok so something that I want to brought your attention to is Uzi’s string theory showed at the end of EP2.

Entire board

First thing we notice is the insane amount of AS symbols,this clearly shows Uzi developing an obsession with the AS. We can also see drawings,notes written by Uzi and newspapers.

Speaking of newspaper,they offer a lot.

The first one unfortunately no one was able to figure out what is saying but the next ones some were able to figure out.

This one contains the headline:

“STRANGE DRONES FOUND”

Now a lot of people think this has to do with the AS,which could be true but am leaning more of the discovery of the DDs that arrived at copper 9, AKA when J,V,N first landed on the exoplanet.

The reason why I think this is the case because it uses “DRONES” not “DRONE”.

It’s plural.

Now yes this could mean the AS manifested in multiple WDs but I personally think it leans more at the arrival of the DDs.

The second one is blurry as fuck but thankfully other people could figure it out, the headline say:

“GRAVITATIONAL FORCES DETECTED- SITE 48”

Gravitational forces you say,huh? Now this could perfectly be another way of saying telekinesis

And since we saw Doll,a WD with the AS who has telekinetic abilities. Could she had been the one behind the forces detected at site 48? We can’t discard anything.

Or could it be a random WD with the AS? Maybe one from a different colony?

Or what of there was a third option?

Ladies and Gentlemen and Non-Binary hoes:

Nori Doorman!

The is no doubt Nori is related to the SA and the DDs,Nori could have gotten infected,but since we don’t know a lot about her,or the details or her death or the timeline of events between;

Uzis creation,Noris death,the AS and the DDs.

Its a bit confusing to make a clear picture of what’s going on.

Regardless her scene in EP2 makes me think it’s implied she has the AS and perhaps even passed it down to her daughter.

As you can see one of her eyes glitches to the AS symbol but also does the visor screen of baby Uzi

[Edit after EP3: I now think Yeva was the one behind the G. Forces at site 48,since her ID card had the number “048” and am convinced that Nori passed the AS to Uzi. Same could be said about the idea of Yeva also passing it down to Doll. EP3 also answered my question on how Nori got infected,she was probably researching the AS or they experimented the AS on her or maybe a bit of both]

Another thing to mention is Nori’s scar? This was pointed out by @enigmaticmoonshine

Og post below:

Also another thing to mention,Nori was carrying baby Uzi,right? Well a detail I noticed is that baby uzi had the “UNTRAINED NEUTRAL NETWORK” sign on it,I think baby drones carry this when they are recently created,we also saw this sign in the pilot on another baby drone.

Despite this in Uzi’s family pic,found in Khan’s office,we can see baby Uzi,tho it’s unclear if she still had the sign ,as this can indicate if Nori was alive some time after Uzi was recently created (that can give us more or less a point in the timeline) but I can’t make it out since Khan is covering baby Uzi with his hand. Also Khan looks slightly younger as you can see less wrinkles.

Edit: After looking closely,yeah in the pick baby Uzi still has the sign,so unfortunately this doesn’t help a lot with the timeline. Also I might be wrong about the sign. Baby drone could carry it for the rest of their lives until they reach a certain age to pass their AI to a WDs body.

Edit: hey so there is this theory I found that says that Khan may be hiding a scar or wound under his sweater,as he is the only WD wearing one,and since Nori has a crack on her body,could this be connected? Could it be a scar Khan gained from a struggle between Nori? Or the DD that killed Nori? I didn’t know if to include this since unfortunately I cannot find the creator of this theory,and I wanna bring this theory up again in my future analyses. So if anyone knows the creator,let me know pls

Some people have mentioned that Nori could be this lil fella; The Mystery WD (but for now I’ll nickname her “R”,based on a theory made by @echologname )

I personally don’t think she is Nori or Doll,as they don’t seem to resemble her in my opinion

Also Doll is a highschooler (I speculate she and the other students are around 16-18 Y.O.) But nothing is confirmed) and the DD’s trio is heavily implied to be adults or straight up confirmed in Ns case (gonna talk about that in another post) after they arrived at Copper-9

And plus R doesn’t resemble a lot to Doll,as for Nori?Yeah the age can match up but not so much by physical appearance in my opinion

I actually did some drawings based on how she possibly looks! All of this is based off that one scene of her lol

What I could gather for her posible character desing is that:

1: She has silver hair like J,N and V

2: she has pastel yellow P. Color

3: Her hair is parted to the right

4: she has 2 bangs ending with ties (tho in my drawing instead of ties they are bows)

5: she has a tight low ponytail

6: She has a big bow on her left side,resembling that to Tessa’s (James’s Daughter) look,since Tessa also wore a big bow on her left side.

So remember how I mentioned her P. Color is pastel yellow? The same as the DDs P. Color?

And did you notice how in J’s,V’s and N’s past as WDs had a white P. Color???

DO

YOU

SEE

THE

CONNECTION

PEOPLE?!?!?

THE AS,THE DDs,THE ALPHABET TRIO,THIS MYSTERY HOE,THE COLORS

Also look at Ns reaction upon her arrival,he is terrified of her.

I personally think R could be the AS origin,since it’s implied that Tessa saved her from a dump and brought her to the mansion,and there is theory going around; that James could be the head of the company (bc James starts with “J” and you know,the company is called JCJenson) tho despite I think this is plausible,I feel like he could simply be an important unit to the company,not necessarily being the head of it. Or he became the head of the company way later.

I feel like after R was brought,something horrible definitely happened,because of R,the AS was discovered and thats how the DDs came to be.

[Edit after EP3: its practically impossible for Doll to be R,and also the episodes just makes my idea of R being some sort of “patient 0”. Or the idea I had of the people experimenting on WDs and the AS makes me go brrr]

Also am I the only one who got sus vibes from N in EP2? The guy acted if he knew more than he lets on,like when Uzi asked him how he regrew his head back in the pilot,but he simply brushed it off. How he just vanished in the middle of the fight against Eldritch J

And going back to Nori for a lil bit,do you guys remember what the AS said using Nori’s hologram?

“It hurts our feelings you don’t remember us”

Of course this line could be directed to Uzi to toy with her feelings,kinda saying like “Its hurts me that you don’t remember me,your own mother” Or the AS could be saying it as in “It hurts that you didn’t realize we are a part of you now” (or perhaps the AS was in Uzi since she was an infant)

[Edit after EP3: again am 99.9% sure Uzi’s AS had it since she was created,since Nori passed it down to her]

But of courses my stupid brain also realized this could be directed to N, you know going like “like we are literally inside of you dumbass” or like “Don’t you remember our existence? Your past?”

A lil funny idea I had what if R is the AS??? Like the program talking and controlling Eldritch J? But thats just a crack idea

I also have more ideas going on about N,J,Eldritch J and Nori but that will be for my EP3 post! (Tho its about the whole possibility of N being the one killed Nori,but honestly even am not the biggest fan of that theory)

Anyways byeeeee

[shirajellyfish]

i am doing the sky cotl crying and faint expressions at you, how did you write such good fake coding stuff for 'i see you, sundrop!'

i am ✨struggling✨ for a y/n fic i'm writing OTL

(Eyeballs emoji. I want to read your fic.)

Mostly making up stuff with confidence, to be honest.

This is gonna be long, so I'll put the details under the cut. No spoilers, just a long post!

You only need a little tiny bit of tech knowledge to start making stuff up, and since Security Breach is set in a future with advanced technology it's easy to say "Well this isn't how things go irl, but maybe in the future it could work."

Use what you know! I love video game glitches and learning how they work, which made writing the "broken down bus" explanation easy and fun to write. Take what technical knowledge you do have and make up things you can see fitting in with what you know.

You'll also notice that I avoided things I don't know anything about. I don't know how to code, so there isn't really anything about the process or details of creating coding in my fic. It's usually glossed over, not described in detail.

Anything code-like in my fic is generally technician commands, which only have to sound technical. Since they're made for humans to enter and not for computers to follow line for line, they can be a little off from how actual coding works. You don't need to go over details you don't know about, if you don't want to.

And if you do want to despite not having the knowledge, there's always research! I didn't know how anti static mats work, so I googled it! (And then had to simplify that down for the fic, because some of the finer details were sorta boring and would have broken the flow of the scene. No one has called me out on it yet haha.) I also did a LOT of googling about electricity in the Live Wire chapter, and about batteries for Truce.

I didn't exactly understand everything I researched, it can get very complicated fast. But! As long as I understood enough of the surface level stuff, I could make up things based on that. Do it confidently enough and most people won't notice. I got a lot of really funny comments from people assuming I must have a lot of advanced tech knowledge, not realizing I was just making things up confidently.

Most importantly, write what is fun. The fastest way to get stuck is to try writing something that bores you. If it's unrealistic but FUN, write it anyway. As long as you stay consistent, it will make sense within your story. If it's realistic but boring, cut it! Leave it out entirely, or have another character handle it offscreen. Readers can feel your passion, if you're having fun writing it they'll have fun reading it.

The amount and type of technical stuff in your fic should depend entirely on what and how much technical stuff you personally enjoy writing. Really, that applies to every element. Make what you want, the way you want it.

I believe in you! Sundrop believes in you! Have fun!

[clarajohnson]

the magicians s2e11

julia wanting to steal a kid's teeth but she promises she'd leave money she's the cutest oh my god

queen of the great worms, what if i need to borrow it super briefly

i think the underworld is very fun i always enjoy it in the magicians. well. Until I Don't.

some all time sleeves from margo

god literally every time i see idri i get mad which is not his fault but it does happen he is SUCH AN OBSTACLE !!!!!!!!!!

sphincter magic... we all need a healthy pelvic floor......... the chemistry jesus christ the chemistry

I FORGOT ABOUT SYLVIA oh what a gift this rewatch is

poor abigail being turned into a rat :-(

jeanbag chair yayyyyyyyyyyyy!

kady and penny the actual love story of the magicians

the senator plot is so fucking funny to me why did they think they had time for this

bowling incident my beloved. actually you know what entire bowling scene my beloved. richard my beloved. free trader beowulf my beloved. so many beloveds.

julia! i-- i got a strike! DWEEB !!!!!

whimsical is the mark of the stupid and the arrogant to attack what you can't comprehend. no i'm sorry you guys are whimsical as shit.

PENNY AND ZELDA PLEASEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

oh no, security!

oh senator john mulaney you scare me to look at too closely

oh my god i just remembered the alice's shade thing

shadeless julia is still so kind and wonderful which i think is a very important thing. i don't know what they mean for a shade to be, soul or something else, but i like seeing what julia is without hers.

WE WERE SO STUPID TO LOVE YOU !!!!!!!!

even when margo is just facing the consequences of actions she definitely took i'm like aw margo :-(

sylvia i am enchanted by you please say everything immediately

"truthied" one of those tiny worldbuilding details that scratches my brain so right

did not at all remember eliot putting her in the fucking dungeon oh my god? "make sure she gets the best room and see that she gets her coconut oil" WHAT IF I CRIED

qualice really not my favorite thing in this show but there is really something about the way his entire face crumples and softens any time he sees any version of her it's kind of insane

also forgot about reynard's awful misogynistic beef with olu like sure i'm not a big fan of her but you are a fucking creep little fox man

my god i remember NOTHING of this show even eliot getting booted from fillory was gone from my brain

free will, i exercise that shit

"i'm going to be back here for good one day and i am going to find you" is kind of unexpectedly destroying me this time oh christ on a cracker

[trollsdrabblesandrewrites]

Interlude Post: Broppy

Was originally gonna post about individual characters after the tribes were done, but since it's Broppy day I'll post about how I reworked tiny kinks in the story as well as added onto the ship!

Backstory Additions

I will explain Branch (and BroZone's) backstory in detail, but for today I'll leave it at Branch and Poppy met when they were trollings! From an early age Poppy would always invite Branch to morning songs and couldn't understand why he didn't want to sing or dance, but never found the right words to ask. Additionally she would also follow him to where he wanted to build his bunker when they were tweens which he let her as long as she promised to never bring anyone there which she agreed to. She would sometimes help him with chores which he would "begrudgingly" agree. She also learned from early on he doesn't like overwhelming physical contact, but is fine with minor instances of it (He becomes fine with more contact as they grow up and he becomes more comfortable around her).

First Movie Changes

In my AU/rewrite she respects his decisions but still makes him invitations (He doesn't smash them, and still keeps them, and she totally doesn't make them as an extra excuse to see him). He's still a bit bitey verbally due to the fact he grew up bantering with her a lot (Which she egged on by bantering back). As follows in canon in the second and third movies he's less mean, and he realizes his comments towards her were rude (Even if she didn't take it that way). The two still have the banter they have through the movie and running jokes (Guess we were both right, solid burn [returned], etc). Furthermore she respects the space of his bunker, and when Pop Village (then Troll Village) hides in his bunker it's due to a collaborative effort, and he was under the impression the entire village (likely including him) would be moving asap and Poppy would not be going to Bergen Town. The villagers still disrespect his possessions, but Peppy tries to keep them under control. When Poppy asks Branch to go with her to save everyone from the Bergens just like in canon he refuses to go, and the reasoning being he wants to prevent her from going, but just like in canon she goes anyway knowing he'd come with, this is due to the fact he genuinely cares about other trolls (And her, but neither of them will admit it yet).

Extra little scenes

Trolls 1

He's a very schedule oriented troll meaning he keeps a very close eye on his calendar, this also means he's very aware of the date of his grandma's death coming up. He's always extra down those days, and those are the days Poppy sets aside her duties to spend time with him.

Branch is alright with Poppy humming around him as long as it's in an area he can tell has no chance of having a Bergen hear them (ex: wide open field)

Though not as prevalent as the example, just like in Trolls 3 Poppy gets a little defensive when someone is mean or rude to Branch and he doesn't defend himself. There's likely times here and there when Branch was having a bad day and someone makes a rude comment towards him earning a hard stare from Poppy.

Some trolls think Branch "rubs off on Poppy with a bad way", however the capacity to be a bit more harsh with others was always something she had, she just was anxious about letting it off before. She realized at some point part of being a good queen is knowing when to put your foot down.

Trolls 1 to 2

Post Trolls 1 Branch helps Poppy with her queenly duties and making sure the trolls stay safe as the world still has aggressive creatures.

On the flip side, Poppy helps Branch become more tolerant of bergens (and eventually try to become as comfortable with them as he can), especially with Bridget (Who is very understanding of Branch's situation) Poppy learns Branch is in fact very versed in choreography

Branch makes an effort to befriend the Snack Pack and they begin to respect him for his knowledge (and make jokes about him being king, leaving him and Poppy flustered)

Lots of totally joking flirting they dont have a crush on each other guys what do you mean.

She just makes him special invitiations to keep up the tradition, totally not still another excuse to see him.

Trolls 2 to 3

Dating arc

Branch always went with Poppy for meetings with the other leaders. He was never given an official role nor were any statements made, just "I'm going to see the Funk trolls this weekend!" "Alright, I'll pack some supplies!"

More trolls began to move in and out of Pop Village (AU). During this big change Poppy called upon Branch to help make suitable living situations for them and make Pop Village more accessible to other types of trolls.

They both get redesigns (No images of this yet, but one day!)

[troutfur]

OH! I finally thought of a possible pfurr poly dynamic scene for you, if I'm understanding your nestmate dynamics:

Graypool/Oakheart/Crookedstar post Willowbreeze's passing. The family trying to raise Silver without her mom around.

!!!!!!!

ANOTHER ONE OF THE ONES I AM THINKING OF CONSTANTLY!

I am still in the process of figuring out how to do it exactly what I want with because I want to eventually do a CrookedBlue with it but there are still some details to iron out, so take this one that approaches more canon than what I'd like my take on it to be. Helps that earlier this year I read Bluestar's Prophecy finally and I gave Crookedstar's Promise a reread.

Also Mistyfoot PoV because ??????

(Wanna submit your own prompt for a one-scene ficlet? Check out my guidelines and go right ahead. I have enough to last me all November but I'm always on the lookout for more so I can have more leeway in accepting or rejecting. Plus, right now I'm in the mood for pfurr dynamic-centric fics so if you submit a prompt including the concept I'm more likely to pick yours!)

“Mistyfoot?” Silverkit asked. “Are we eerpf?”

The blue molly felt a knot forming in her throat at the question. She knew she’d have to explain this to her baby sister eventually, having taken the initiative to take care of her while her pipfurs ran the clan and her wipfurr was taking a break to stretch her legs. But she was still processing Willowbreeze’s death herself. How could she even begin to explain this to her?

“No, minnow,” she replied, rasping at her forehead. “My wi is your pip, which means we’re myempf.” That’s short for myempfurr, which in their language that means something similar but not quite like half-sibling.

As she let herself be groomed, Silverkit gave a pensive noise before she decided to pipe up once again. “But Oakheart told me he couldn’t have kits? How can he be my wi?”

She was certain Crookedstar hadn’t told her the same thing, he couldn’t have, so the fact Silverkit immediately concluded Mistyfoot was wrong just confirmed how distant her pipfurr had become. But she had to keep up appearances, for Silverkit’s sake. “No, minnow,” Mistyfoot said. “Oakheart is my pip too.”

“Does that mean Willowbreeze is my pip then?” Silverkit asked.

Mistyfoot nodded, leaving the kit with a pensive look once again. In her head she uttered a prayer to StarClan, asking them that she be satisfied with her--.

“Why does she stay with me in the nursery if she’s not my wi?” Silverkit interrupted her.

“Wellllll,” Mistyfoot began. “She’s just not... here with us. So Willowbreeze is filling in.”

“Is she on patrol?” Silverkit asked.

“No Minnow,” Mistyfoot replied, bracing herself and trying to come up with a gentle way to explain the truth.

“So she is on a quest!” Silverkit excitedly declared. “That explains why she has not come yet!”

Mistyfoot shook her head. “I’m afraid it’s not that either...”

“Well, where is she?” Silverkit demanded, a frustration having begun to grow in her shrill kit voice. “And when is she coming back?”

“She’s not really coming back, minnow,” Mistyfoot finally said. “She may come back to visit from time to time but it’s never going to be the same.”

“Why?” Silverkit demanded. “She must do it, she is my wi!” As the tiny kit saw Mistyfoot’s expression grow longing and mournful she noticed the atmosphere shifting. “Is it because she does not love me?”

“No, no, no, no, minnow, never think that,” Mistyfoot soothed. “It’s just that StarClan called for her to join their ranks and she couldn’t deny them. So now she looks at you from above.”

Silverkit whined. “That’s not fair! She’s my wi! She should be in the nursery taking care of me!”

Mistyfoot shared the sentiment entirely. “I’m sure she is in her own way. For now you should focus on growing big and strong so one day you can be a warrior she can be proud of. Maybe when you visit the Moonstone you can see her in your dreams.”

“I will,” Silverkit resolved.

[handoverthekawaii]

We Go Together | Homelander x You | Chapter 7

Taglist: @hom3landr

Homelander’s mid-meal departure leaves you feeling down in the dumps. He can’t control his schedule, and you know that — there’s no way to predict when lives will be in danger or disaster will strike.

But, selfishly, you’re sad that the two of you didn’t have time to enjoy a simple meal together, uninterrupted by the demands of the outside world. After dinner, you had planned to pull out a fleece blanket, turn on American Idol, and… well, there’s no sense in wondering where the night may have gone from there, since it’s not going to happen now.

You have no idea whether to expect Homelander back later, but you imagine that either way you’ll see him again soon. Since he didn’t get a chance to finish his dinner, you pack it in some Tupperware to give to him next time you see him.

You load the dishwasher, tidy up the kitchen, and then go change into your pajamas. Once you finish your nighttime beauty routine, you decide to watch a bit of television and (hopefully) take your mind off your disappointment.

But nothing is ever that simple, is it? You’re flipping channels when you run across the VNN nightly news, and — of course — they are covering Homelander’s response to some car chase in California.

Live footage from a helicopter high above the chaos dominates your television screen. An armored truck, probably clocking over 125 mph, darts among other cars on the congested interstate.

A train of police cars is in hot pursuit, sirens flashing, more seeming to join the chase with every passing mile. As you watch, one cruiser darts across the median and attempts to ram the truck, but the vehicle swerves away at the last moment and continues its wild ride.

“— just getting word that The Homelander has arrived at the scene and is preparing to engage,” says an offscreen anchor.

The camera feed dutifully zooms in on a tiny speck accelerating through the horde of police cars and closing in on the truck. It’s hard to see him clearly, but you can pick out Homelander’s American flag cape whipping in the wind.

You can also see the metal side of the armored truck, which has been defaced with a scrawl of dripping, red spray paint. Have you done your part? It reads.

What the hell does that even mean? you think to yourself, but there’s no time to dwell on the details as high-intensity action erupts on your screen. You see Homelander rip off the truck’s driver door — starbursts of gunfire in the cabin and a flash of red light — the vehicle swerving to one side and slamming into a guardrail before coming to an eventual stop.

And just like that, the crisis is averted as suddenly as it began. A swarm of law enforcement vehicles surrounds the truck, bathing the wreckage in strobing red and blue police lights. Through the aerial helicopter feed, you see Homelander emerge from the twisted metal, unflappable as ever, and throw a thumbs-up sign.

The camera cuts back to the VNN Newsroom, and you release a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Seeing a Supe save the day on TV is one thing, but watching a Supe that you know (and, let’s be honest, like) save the day is an entirely different, much more stressful experience.

You begin to zone out as the VNN anchors discuss the circumstances surrounding the chase. Your eyelids flutter and your head begins to droop, when suddenly you hear:

“We’re learning now that The Homelander ‘saved the day’ for a busload of beauty queens!”

The fuck? you think, refocusing your attention on the screen as the newscaster continues,

“The contestants for this year’s Miss Evangelical — sponsored by VET — would have been late for tonight’s Godly Swimsuit Competition if not for The Homelander’s intervention! Our field reporter has the story as the ladies show America’s hero their appreciation…” [continued on AO3]

[dramioneficrecommendations]

I posted 2,753 times in 2022

86 posts created (3%)

2,667 posts reblogged (97%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@dramioneficrecommendations

@lepra-art

@enselius

@catmintandthyme

@ivmaruva

I tagged 2,600 of my posts in 2022

Only 6% of my posts had no tags

#dramione - 2,387 posts

#ppl! reblog fanarts! - 1,517 posts

#fanart - 1,345 posts

#text - 629 posts

#edit - 237 posts

#draco malfoy - 50 posts

#hermione granger - 49 posts

#gif - 41 posts

#enim enim - 39 posts

#harry potter - 27 posts

Longest Tag: 80 characters

#this blog has been slowly morphing into my complaining about everything dramione

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

After Gerhard Freidl, I’ve found another Draco fancast I don’t see often enough in manips and aesthetics.

See the full post

238 notes - Posted February 9, 2022

#4

Best Dramione Fics You’ve Read in 2022

It’s that time of the year again!

What are the best Dramione fics you’ve read in 2022? 

I’d love to compile a list of your recs and put it in one post. I’d be super grateful if you could leave your suggestions in the comments down below and provide links to your fav fics as well as their titles and authors. ❤️❤️💚💚

2021 list

2020 list

2019 list

251 notes - Posted December 2, 2022

#3

After Gerhard Freidl and Clark Bockelman, it’s time for one of the most popular Draco fancasts: Jeremy Dufour. He’s bloody gorgeous, one of the most beautiful men I’ve seen in my life (I look at his face and see nothing that could be improved), so definitely no canon Draco material, but who cares? A girl can dream, right? Let her have her fantasies.

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279 notes - Posted November 19, 2022

#2

Do you ever get into plotting your non-existent fic or novel so much you can’t fall asleep? Thinking about my (probably) never-to-be-written stories before sleep is my daily routine, and more often than not, I get so invested into replaying my favourite scenes in my head and adding new details (angsty details, I must add) to my ideas that I just lie awake for hours even though I have to get up early in the morning.

344 notes - Posted November 23, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Best Draco/Hermione Fics Dramione Shippers Read in 2021

A few weeks ago, I asked you what were the best Dramione fics you’d read in 2021. Here’s the long list of your excellent, marvellous, fantastic recs (in alphabetical order):

A House in the Country by BoredRavenvlaw620: “That’s it, just no. I’ve done my duty to the Wizarding world. I gave up my childhood, I gave up my dreams, and for what… a tiny cubicle in which I put the Ministry stamp on endless permits. No more. I quit. Effective immediately. I think you’ll find I have ample vacation saved up. I’ll owl human resources on where they can send my check.”She spent her childhood fighting a war she didn't start. Now life is passing her by. What will she find when she makes choices not based off expectation? T, 12 Chapters, 25,871 Words

A Week to Atone (a Hogwarts-era series) by real_jane: Hermione gives Draco a week to atone for all the hurt he caused her for the last seven years. Atonement only scratches the surface of what he does for her. 7 Works, 28,040 Words

A Well-Behaved Woman by femme_ecrivain: Astoria Greengrass can’t remember a time when she didn’t know she would one day be a Malfoy. Her entire life has been focused on one thing only: becoming the perfect wife to the scion of Wizarding society’s most prominent Pureblood family. Not even a war can get in the way of that goal—but her fiancé’s feelings for Hermione Granger just might. On the evening of her engagement ball Astoria’s world is rocked to its foundations and she finds herself facing some difficult decisions. But if there’s one thing she’s learned from Hermione (and Draco) it’s that well-behaved women rarely make history. And sometimes the drastic choice is the only one to make. T, 3 Chapters, 12,229 Words

A Woman of Independent Means by PacificRimbaud: In London, 1851, Draco Malfoy, Earl of Wiltshire, has been tasked with gifting the British Museum with a bequest from his grandfather's estate. Simple enough, but for the mysterious contents of the gift, and the museum staff assigned to receive it. M, 1 Chapter, 5,023 Words

Adrift by In_Dreams: Life is closing in on all sides and Draco Malfoy is drowning in expectations. Something has to give. A chance encounter with Hermione Granger infuses his life with something new―but she doesn’t even remember her own name. E, 45 Chapters, 177,855 Words

An Apparition Condition by ChaosAndCrumpets: Every time Hermione Granger is in close proximity to Draco Malfoy, she is seized by a sudden urge to flee his presence. What on earth could be the reason for that? E, 4 Chapters, 9,538 Words

Anchors In A Storm by inadaze22: Draco’s current mistake—well, it wasn’t simply one, but three—was a chain of seemingly unconnected events that, when spliced together just so, made one hell of a shit storm. E, 9 Chapters, 30,442 Words

And She Was Golden by another_lonely_writer: Their eyes meet just for a fraction of a moment and that's all it takes. All his boxes and walls come crashing down. He’s always been weak in the face of her reality- no matter how furiously he would deny it. Breathe in. Draco Malfoy unravels. Breathe out. E, WIP

Apple Pies and Other Amends by ToEatAPeach: It’s not until she’s brought a basil and strawberry sponge cake to Neville Longbottom and his new girlfriend, Hannah Abbott, a dozen rhubarb hand-pies to Luna and Xenophilius Lovegood, and another basket of ganache-covered muffins to Dean and Seamus, that Hermione admits to herself what she’s actually doing: she’s making a thing of this. It’s a veritable PTSD tour. With pastries. And hand-skimmed clotted cream. And she has no idea why she’s doing it, but it’s becoming very apparent that she is.Sometimes you're sad. Sometimes you need dessert. And sometimes, it's a little of both. M, 29 Chapters, 76,720 Words

Be My Baby by OneEqualTemper: Draco’s first marriage ended almost exactly a year after it started. His second lasted only six months. When he comes to the aid of Hermione, a girl 20 years his junior, he thinks he’s finally found a girl who wants the same things as him: Comfort, safety and a Daddy to cuddle at the end of the day. E, WIP

Beginning and End by mightbewriting: Years. Broken into months into weeks into days—into hours, minutes, seconds—into moments. Simple at one end, complex at the other. In Draco’s experience, moments, even when simple, had a habit of becoming irretrievable. Moments grew, stretched, multiplied into ages and eras that defined whole stretches of measurable time. Draco regretted several moments in his life, some within his control, some without: all of them irretrievable in nature. At a certain point, wedged between ‘what-ifs’ of his own devising, he’d stopped trying to keep track of those regrettable moments: now and then, pushing and pulling, coming and going, beginning and end. Moments were only moments for just as long. After that, he had no control. A Draco POV prequel to Wait and Hope. E, 48 Chapters, 241,981 Words

Bells on a Hill by HeyJude19: Left by his fiancée a month before the ceremony, Draco never got his dream wedding, so agreeing to assist Granger with her own wedding planning to distract himself from his broken engagement seems like a great idea—though Draco probably shouldn’t fall in love with the bride-to-be. Based very (very) loosely on The Wedding Singer. T, 7 Chapters, 32,228 Words

Bending Light by scullymurphy: Draco Malfoy was in exile, though they called it protection. It was the summer after sixth year and he'd taken Dumbledore's offer, defected to the other side and been sent away to a small town in Italy for his troubles. No magic, few rules, and not a lot to do -- until Hermione Granger arrived. What do you do when you're thrown into exile with the last person you wanted? You live like there's no tomorrow... M, 29 Chapters, 146,899 Words

Between Certifiable and Bliss by HeyJude19: Strange things, dreams. How much credence should we give to where our subconscious takes us?There were many things Draco did not need in his Sixth Year. He did not need Theodore Nott implanting strange dreams in his head, for one.In the ensuing years, he did not need to constantly remember that blissful, impossible dream. He further did not need Potter bursting into his mostly turned-around life to embroil him in a conspiracy at Azkaban. And he definitely did not need to embark on a clandestine investigation into prisoner mistreatment with Hermione Granger. E, 19 Chapters, 97,712 Words

Bits of Rock and Dust by PurpleSugarQuills: Draco Malfoy doesn’t even like Hermione Granger. Her winning him over had nothing to do with dinners by candlelight, gifts of priceless heirloom jewelry, or whispered affections. She just kept barreling into his office again and again. If he thought about it—which he had, often—there wasn’t ever a chance he’d fall for anyone else. T, 1 Chapter, 4,484 Words

black lines and little white lies by godgavemelou: Draco’s large hand drifts by his collar, long fingers fiddling with the hem as he continues to look back at her. Her eyes shift to look where his hand sits, mesmerized by the size of his hands, the color of his skin, the silver ring that sits on his fourth finger. She’s pretty sure she isn’t even breathing. The entire bar moves around them as they stand frozen in time, completely enraptured in the moment. OR Draco has a new tattoo and Hermione has made it her mission to find out what it is E, 1 Chapter, 6,812 Words

Bring Him to His Knees by Musyc: Draco is on the case of a murderer, but to investigate, he needs a fake relationship - and a kink club play partner. When Hermione volunteers to take the role, both do their best to maintain the lie without letting each other know the truth: neither of them are acting. E, 31 Chapters, 246,196 Words

call it what you want by HawthorneWhisperer: “I need you to have sex with me.” Draco stared at her, sure he had misheard. “Pardon?” Hermione looked up at the ceiling, taking a deep breath. “I have it on good— I have heard— oh bloody hell,” she muttered. “I’m bad in bed. I need practice.” His lungs had entirely stopped working. “Practice,” he repeated dully. “Yes, practice.” “At sex.” “At sex.” “And you came to me why?” “Because what else are we going to do here this month?” M, 14 Chapters, 35,965 Words

Cambridge Blue by CharliPetidei: Hermione Granger's love of stories through the years has led her to an English degree at the University of Cambridge, where a love story of her own awaits between its ornate spires and cobbled streets. Winner of Admin's Choice, and Runner-Up for Fan Favourite, Best Romance, and Best Use of Prompt in Dramione Fanfiction Forum's Sounds Like Dramione comp 2021. E, 8 Chapters, 18,622 Words

Carpathian by niffizzle: The sprawling mountains of the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary offered a perfect chance for renewed self-discovery. Lush landscapes. Majestic beasts. It was intended to be Hermione’s escape. Except, she hadn’t been alone in that plan.Four years had passed since she last saw him, and to her knowledge, no one else in Britain had either. Rumours had sprouted like plants under a Herbivicus Charm after he failed to return for the second half of their final year at Hogwarts. Even Hermione hadn’t been able to resist the question in nearly every student’s mind: Where had Draco Malfoy gone?Apparently, she now had the answer. E, WIP

Choice and Chance by ChaosAndCrumpets: An accident in the Department of Mysteries leaves Hermione Granger stranded in a world not quite her own, her only companion the unknowable Draco Malfoy. Together, they learn who they truly are by virtue of who they could have been. M, 30 Chapters, 116,968 Words

Come Let Us Adore Him by ikindaneedahero: Hermione Granger scoured the subreddits, perused the checklists, and read virtually everything possible on how to be an all star Congressional intern and staffer. She had her job responsibilities well in hand, but instructions on how to handle the attention of an upstart Congressman Draco Malfoy were nowhere to be found. US politics AU: Congressional staffer Hermione, Congressman Draco WIP

Coming Down by nikitajobson, raven_maiden: He knows her, now, in ways no one ever has. He knows the things she’ll say, the things she’ll hide. The things only her body will tell him in a quiet room, when she drowns her sorrows in the feel of him. * Of all the things Hermione thought she'd learn at Hogwarts her eighth year, Draco Malfoy is by far the most unexpected. An art-fic collab with Nikita Jobson. E, 1 Chapter, 4,429 Words

Commonalities of the Coldest Kind by ChaosAndCrumpets: When Draco Malfoy is infected with a terrible Muggle plague*, the only person brave enough to risk death to care for him is his colleague Hermione Granger.*DISCLAIMER: Draco has a cold. M, 5 Chapters, 12,087 Words

Compassion for the Condemned by Ghastly_lemons: The Ministry holding cells were, Draco supposed, like the Cloudhopper training broom he’d had as a child to the Nimbus 2001 of the Azkaban cells. They were clammy and cold, but not glacial. Dingy, but not filthy. Stifling, but not suffocating. Meagre, but not barren. Callous, but not cruel. Depressing, but not nightmarish. - Draco Malfoy has resigned himself to his inevitable fate in the wake of the war; a cell in Azkaban, likely for the remainder of his life. He sees no point in fighting it, but an unlikely someone has decided for fight for him. M, WIP

Contradictions by ambpersand: When Hermione Granger is presented with a problem, she turns to research. Information, hypotheses, and experiments... These are all things she knows and loves, so it should come as no surprise that when she finds herself with a problem in the bedroom, she knows exactly how to find a solution. And it just so happens that the solution is in the arms of a strong and confident stranger, with hands and lips that know just how to drive her body wild. The only problem? They belong to Draco Malfoy, the one person she should never trust. E, WIP

Damn Your Love, Damn Your Lies by AdAsttra: Draco's a Veela, Hermione is his mate. The only problem is that he hates her. E, WIP

Different People by nevertoosweets: Draco had gotten it wrong. He’d thought that they had been working towards something new. He’d hoped, for a brief moment, that there’d be something worth coming back to England for, but they weren’t different people, after all, no matter how changed he felt.Some things aren’t able to be glossed over or set aside. Scars, for example. Hadn’t scars been the thing that started it all? And now it’s ended with two different scars on opposite arms of two very different people and he didn’t know why he'd thought that’d be something either of them could ever ignore.Both scars had only ever caused her pain. M, WIP

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2,240 notes - Posted January 1, 2022

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