#1970 this weekend or so i think!!

[lesbianraskolnikov]

Im a little fascinated by his hair color variation how people adapt that. My copy did say dark brown so i envision very dark brown but i guess that can be a bit of a range.

[librababe99]

Healing Touch

cw: MDNI, 18+, Smut, Fluff, Young!Charles Xavier, Fem!Reader word count: 2.7K Summary: In the mid-1970s, Charles Xavier is a man haunted by loss and burdened by the weight of his own mind. When you, a fellow mutant, offer him not only companionship but a love he never expected, the walls he has built around his heart begin to crumble.

A/N: Since I wrote for Erik I felt that writing for Charles balances everything out <3 Forgive me if mentioning the cuban missile crisis at the beginning throws off the timeline in anyway, we don't have to jump into technicalities...lol! Anyways, please feel free to comment, reblog or like this <3 happy reading!

(Marvel Masterlist)

The 1970s had a way of weaving magic into the air—rife with a rebellious freedom, spinning off the back of a decade of upheaval. Amidst the intoxicating haze of civil rights movements, psychedelic music, and ever-changing fashion, there was something magnetic about this era, as if the world were in the throes of rediscovering itself. And in that same time, tucked away in the heart of Westchester County, Charles Xavier was a man rediscovering himself too—one who had seen the world both at its brightest and at its darkest.

The Xavier Institute for Higher Learning had become more than just a school. With the Cuban Missile Crisis a decade behind them and the threat of mutants still very much real, Charles had been pulled into a storm that had rocked him to his core. The man who had once been so full of optimism and hope had become someone else—someone hardened by loss, crippled both physically and emotionally. He had found himself retreating from the world, isolating behind the walls of his mansion, letting the noise of the outside world fade into a dull, muted hum.

But then there was you.

You had come into Charles’s life by chance, a fellow mutant with abilities that he couldn’t help but be drawn to. He had noticed you first because of your power—something akin to empathy, the ability to feel and manipulate the emotions of others. It was subtle, nothing explosive like fire or ice, but it was potent in its own right. In some ways, Charles found it even more fascinating, for it spoke to the heart of what he had always believed—that mutants were more than just their powers; they were people with gifts, capable of great good or terrible destruction depending on how they wielded them.

But it wasn’t just your abilities that caught his attention. There was something about you that stirred something long-buried inside him. You were strong, yes, but kind too—empathetic not just because of your powers but because of who you were at your core. And in a world where Charles had grown tired of fighting, tired of losing, you had become a beacon of warmth in the cold. Your presence began to thaw the ice he had encased himself in, and though he resisted it at first, that pull between you was undeniable.

It was a Friday night, and the mansion was quiet, the students having all gone off for the weekend. The air outside was thick with the scent of rain, the clouds heavy and swollen, but inside, there was a warmth that clung to the air. You had found Charles in his study, a glass of scotch in hand, seated behind the large oak desk that had become almost a throne for him. He was disheveled, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, hair slightly out of place in a way that made him seem more human, less like the esteemed Professor Xavier he had always tried to be.

You knocked softly on the doorframe, leaning against it with a playful smile. "You look like you could use a break."

Charles glanced up from his drink, his eyes settling on you in that way that always sent a shiver down your spine. His eyes—those sharp, piercing blue eyes—were tired, but they softened when they met yours. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "A break from what, exactly?"

You shrugged, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward him. "From thinking. From brooding. From being Charles Xavier, mutant extraordinaire." You reached his desk and perched yourself on the edge of it, your knee brushing his thigh as you did so. His eyes flickered down to the point of contact, and you saw the briefest hitch in his breath.

“I don’t brood,” he replied, though the smile that followed betrayed his words.

“Oh, you most certainly do.” You leaned forward, teasingly close, just enough that he could feel your presence in the air between you. “You sit in this big, empty mansion, all alone, with your thoughts and your scotch, and you brood.”

Charles chuckled softly, though there was something in the sound that was darker, more resigned. “Maybe I do.” He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, his eyes distant for a moment. “There’s a lot to think about these days.”

You watched him for a moment, your gaze softening. Charles had always carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, even before the accident that had left him in a wheelchair. But now, that weight seemed heavier, as though the world had taken too much from him.

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his wrist, and the moment you touched him, you could feel it—a deep, aching sadness, buried beneath layers of composure and strength. It was like touching a wound that had never quite healed.

“I can feel it, you know,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Charles looked up at you, and for a moment, the walls he had built around himself seemed to crumble, leaving behind the man he had tried so hard to hide. “Feel what?” His voice was just as soft, but there was an edge to it, a vulnerability he rarely let anyone see.

You smiled gently, your fingers trailing up his arm, barely grazing his skin. “Everything. The pain, the loss, the weight of all of it. You’re carrying so much, Charles. You don’t have to carry it alone.”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly as he did. “And what if I don’t want you to feel it?”

“Then I won’t,” you whispered, your hand now resting against his chest, right over his heart. “But I want to help you carry it. I want to be there for you.”

Charles’s breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he seemed to struggle with something deep inside him, as though he were warring with himself. Then, slowly, he reached up, his hand covering yours as it rested on his chest. His touch was warm, gentle, and yet there was a tension in the way he held you, as though he were afraid to let go.

“I don’t deserve that,” he said, his voice barely audible.

Your heart clenched at his words, and without thinking, you leaned forward, closing the distance between you until your lips were inches from his. “You deserve so much more than you think, Charles.”

And then you kissed him.

It was soft at first, tentative, as though you were testing the waters, waiting to see if he would pull away. But he didn’t. Instead, his hand tightened around yours, and you felt him respond, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that surprised you both.

The kiss deepened, the years of longing, pain, and desire pouring into it with a ferocity that neither of you had expected. You could feel the way his body tensed beneath you, the way his breathing quickened as he lost himself in the moment.

Before you knew it, you were climbing into his lap, straddling him as your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more. Charles groaned against your lips, his hands sliding up your thighs, gripping your hips as though he were afraid you might disappear if he let go.

“Are you sure about this?” he murmured against your mouth, his voice thick with desire and hesitation.

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your forehead resting against his as you smiled softly. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

His response was a low, guttural sound that sent a thrill racing through you, and before you knew it, he was kissing you again, more desperate this time, as though he couldn’t get enough of you.

Your fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, and Charles let out a breathless laugh, the sound vibrating against your lips as you finally managed to push the fabric aside, revealing the hard planes of his chest. You ran your hands over his skin, feeling the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch.

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Charles let out a soft, disbelieving laugh, but there was a vulnerability in his eyes that broke your heart. “You’re the first person who’s ever said that to me.”

You smiled, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his neck. “Then they’re all fools.”

His hands were everywhere, exploring your body as though he couldn’t quite believe you were real. His touch was gentle at first, almost reverent, but there was a fire behind it, a need that he had kept buried for far too long.

When you finally peeled off your shirt, you heard him suck in a breath, his eyes darkening with desire as he took you in. “God, you’re—” His voice broke off, as though he couldn’t quite find the words, but you didn’t need him to.

You kissed him again, your hands sliding down his chest, feeling the way his body responded to you, the way he trembled beneath your touch. You could feel the tension between you building, the air thick with anticipation.

And then, slowly, you began to move against him, your hips grinding against his in a rhythm that had both of you gasping for breath. Charles’s hands gripped your hips, guiding you, matching your movements with a desperate need.

“Please,” he breathed, his voice ragged.

You didn’t need to ask what he wanted. You could feel it, the desire, the longing, the need for release that had been building between you for so long. You reached between your bodies, your fingers making quick work of the zipper of his pants.

When he finally slid into you, the sensation was overwhelming—an electric jolt that sent shockwaves through your entire body. Charles let out a broken gasp, his hands gripping

as he pulled you closer, his body trembling beneath yours. You could feel the tension in him, every muscle wound tight, as if he were barely holding himself together.

You both paused for a moment, the sheer intensity of the connection stealing the breath from your lungs. You hadn’t expected it to feel like this, like every nerve in your body had come alive, attuned to him and only him. Charles's forehead pressed against your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin as you both adjusted, savoring the feeling of being so intimately joined.

“God,” he whispered, almost reverently. “I’ve wanted this—wanted you—for so long.”

Your fingers slid up into his hair, cradling his head, and you pressed a soft kiss to the top of it, your heart swelling at the vulnerability in his voice. “Then take me, Charles. I’m yours.”

That was all the permission he needed.

With a low, guttural sound, Charles’s grip on your hips tightened, and he began to move beneath you, slow at first, a steady rhythm that made you gasp with every roll of his hips. He filled you so perfectly, each movement sending waves of pleasure through your body. You matched his pace, rocking against him, savoring the slow burn that built between you, the friction pulling you both closer to the edge with every passing second.

Charles’s hands roamed your body, sliding up your back, tracing the curve of your spine, then slipping lower, his fingers digging into your skin with barely restrained intensity. His lips found your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point, and you felt your breath hitch in your throat.

“Charles…” you gasped, your head tilting back as you gave him more access.

His lips parted against your skin, and you could feel the groan that rumbled in his chest. “I can feel you,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Every thought, every emotion—it’s overwhelming.”

You leaned back, meeting his gaze. His eyes were heavy-lidded, dark with need, but there was something else there too—something raw, something so deep and primal that it made your heart race.

“Don’t hide from me,” you whispered, your hands cradling his face. “Feel me. All of me.”

Charles’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, as if letting go of the barriers he had so carefully constructed. And then, all at once, it hit you—the full weight of his mind brushing against yours, the flood of emotions crashing over you like a tidal wave.

It wasn’t just desire you felt—though that was certainly there, sharp and electric, searing through your veins. It was everything. His longing, his fear, the deep well of sadness that had haunted him for so long, and underneath it all, a love so profound it left you breathless.

You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as the sensation of his mind intertwining with yours sent a jolt of pleasure through you, heightening everything. The room around you seemed to fade, the only thing that existed in that moment was him—his body, his mind, and the way he was utterly consuming you.

Charles groaned, his hips bucking up into you with a sudden intensity that made you cry out. “I’ve never felt anything like this,” he panted, his voice strained, as though he were on the edge of losing control.

You could barely form words, the pleasure building inside you almost unbearable. “Charles, please…”

He understood without needing to ask. His hands slid down to your hips again, guiding you faster now, his movements more urgent, more desperate. You could feel the tension in your body coiling tighter and tighter, like a spring wound too far, ready to snap.

And then, with one hard thrust, you shattered.

A wave of ecstasy washed over you, white-hot and all-consuming, leaving you trembling in its wake. You cried out his name, your body arching against his, and you could feel him lose himself in the moment too, his hands gripping you so tightly it almost hurt as he followed you over the edge.

For a moment, the world seemed to stop, the only sound in the room your ragged breaths and the thrum of your racing heartbeat. You slumped against Charles, your forehead resting against his shoulder as you both came down from the high.

His arms wrapped around you, holding you close, as though afraid to let go. You could still feel the echo of his mind against yours, the connection between you not quite severed, and it brought a sense of intimacy that was unlike anything you had ever known.

After a long moment, Charles broke the silence, his voice soft and hoarse. “I didn’t know it could feel like that.”

You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “Neither did I.”

He pulled back slightly to look at you, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. His eyes were still dark, but there was a softness to them now, a vulnerability that made your heart ache.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

You frowned slightly. “For what?”

“For reminding me what it’s like to feel something other than pain.” His voice was filled with a quiet reverence, as though he couldn’t quite believe it himself.

You leaned forward, pressing your lips to his in a slow, tender kiss. “You don’t have to do it alone anymore, Charles. I’m here.”

He smiled, a real, genuine smile that made your heart flutter. “I know.”

You shifted slightly, still straddling his lap, and Charles let out a soft groan. The movement stirred something in you both, a flicker of desire reigniting as your bodies remained entwined.

“You know,” you said playfully, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest, “we’ve got the whole mansion to ourselves tonight.”

Charles raised an eyebrow, his smile turning into something more mischievous. “Is that so?”

You leaned in, your lips brushing the shell of his ear as you whispered, “Maybe we should take advantage of that.”

His breath hitched, and you felt his hands tighten on your hips. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

You smiled against his skin, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. “Then I’ll make it a night you won’t forget.”

With that, you began to move again, slow and teasing, savoring every moment of the night ahead.

[elodee]

HERMIT A DAY MAY - DAY 18

JoeHillsTSD x Where the Sidewalk Ends

For Joe Hills I chose Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein!

I loved this book along with A Light in the Attic when I was a kid. It was one of my earliest exposures to poetry and since Joe is a poet himself, I thought this would suit them well!

In addition to doing a drawing for Joe, I also tried my hand at an original Joe Hills poem in the style of Silverstein. Writing poetry is pretty far outside of my usual wheelhouse, so I hope it turned out suitably Silverstein-esque! I'm proud of it regardless. :)

Here is the text of the poem:

-

JOE HILLS

A puppet is Juppet

A felt little guy

That felt is swell

And svelte

And blue as the sky.

But try as I might

I can't help but think

All that felt

Must swelt

In a Nashville July!

-

To learn more about Where the Sidewalk Ends and see my style references, continue below the cut!

(Happy Hermitcraft stream weekend! A fine weekend to donate to Gamer's Outreach)

Where the Sidewalk Ends is a 1970s book of poetry by Shel Silverstein. Each poem is accompanied by a whimsical ink drawing also done by Silverstein.

The poetry is fantastical and imaginative, often written from a child-like perspective. Though the poetry sometimes touches on darker themes, it does so from a thoughtful place and the collection is enjoyable for people of all ages.

Even if you aren't someone who likes poetry, I highly recommend picking up Where the Sidewalk Ends or A Light in the Attic. They are both wonderful.

Style references:

Every poem in the book has a cute drawing to accompany it. Here is the poem from the above image:

THE ACROBATS

I'll swing

By my ankles,

She'll cling

To your knees

As you hang

By your nose

From a high-up

Trapeze.

But just one thing, please,

As we float through the breeze-

Don't sneeze.

The illustrations for Where the Sidewalk Ends are whimsical with sparse, stippled shading and cartoonish characters

The lineart of these drawings is thick and a little messy but still easily readable even when the subject of the drawings is unusual (which is pretty much all of them)

[their-we-go]

50+ Queer Movie Recommendations

Hi! I'm Ray, and I love queer movies. Here are all of the ones that I've seen that I can think of, including some favourites and some not-so-favourites.

Please feel free to ask me about particular movies or to recommend new ones that aren't on here yet—I'd really love to hear your suggestions!

Comedies & Rom Coms

D.E.B.S (2004)

But I’m a Cheerleader (1999)

Big Eden (2000)

The Birdcage (1996)

Happiest Season (2020)

Imagine Me & You (2005)

Latter Days (2003)

In & Out (1997)

Booksmart (2019)

Victor/Victoria (1982)

The Watermelon Woman (1996)

Horror & Thrillers

Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975)

What Keeps You Alive (2018)

Fear Street Trilogy (2021)

Jennifer’s Body (2009)

The Handmaiden (2016)

Nightmare on Elm Street 2: Freddy’s Revenge (1985)

Rope (1948)

Arthouse Films

Mulholland Dr. (2001)

Tropical Malady (2004)

The Duke of Burgundy (2014)

Documentaries & Based on True Events

The Celluloid Closet (1996)

Disclosure (2020)

A Secret Love (2020)

Pride (2014)

Historical

Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019)

Carol (2015)

The Favourite (2018)

Desert Hearts (1985)

Maurice (1987)

Sci-Fi & Fantasy

Born in Flames (1983)

All of Us Strangers (2023)

Everything Everywhere All at Once (2022)

Coming of Age

The Way He Looks (2014)

The Half of It (2020)

Bottoms (2023)

Edge of Seventeen (1998)

Shelter (2007)

Boys (2014)

Do Revenge (2022)

Summer Storm (2004)

Handsome Devil (2016)

Beautiful Thing (1996)

Get Real (1998)

North Sea Texas (2011)

Heartstone (2016)

Drama

Denied (2004)

Moonlight (2016)

Call Me By Your Name (2017)

Brokeback Mountain (2005)

You & I (2014)

God’s Own Country (2017)

The Boys in the Band (1970)

Weekend (2011)

Thanks for reading, and happy watching!

[crepesuzette2023]

Hold up ,,, Mal called Paul his love in his diaries?

Yes. In his autobiography. He also analyzed their relationship in his diaries. For some context, here's a longer passage from Ken Womack's book, Living the Beatles Legend (Chapter 31).

As January 1970 came to close, Mal began drifting into an emotional slide that has been developing over the past several years. "Seem to be losing Paul," he wrote on January 27. "Really got a stick from him today. He let me down," and ominously added "Fixing a hole," "Pepper," and "directorship" to a growing list of disappointments. Apparently, the conversation had turned yet again to the issue of Mal's servile role in Paul's life, with the roadie believing that the association was bounded by friendship and love. "A servant serves," Mal wrote, "but he who serves is not always a servant," he added, echoing John's philosophy from December 1968. "Love is as sharp and piercing as a sword, "Mal reasoned, "but as the sword edge dulls — you sharpen it. So love's keenness needs honing — needs honesty." *

[...]

On February 11, Mal joined John and Yoko for a lip-synched performance of "Instant Karma!" on Top of the Pops, with the roadie, clad in beige suit and a light-green tie, playing the tambourine. By this juncture, Mal's long-standing relationship with Paul was in freefall. A few days earlier, he have been awakened by a 1 p.m. telephone call from the Beatle. It went "something like this," he wrote in his diary:

Mal: yeah? Paul: I've got time at EMI over the weekend. Would like you to pick up some gear from the house. Mal: Great, man. That's lovely. Session at EMI?! Paul: Yes, but I don't want anyone there to make me tea. I have the family – wife and kids there. Mal: [thinking to himself] Goes my poor head, "Why????" **

By the next week, Mal found himself behind the wheel of the Apple van, moving Paul's gear from EMI Studios to Morgan Studios, another Northwest London facility where Paul could work incognito. At one point, Neil cornered Mal about Paul surreptitious recording sessions, demanding to know more. "Where's Paul?" he asked, to which Mal tersely replied, "Not telling you."

In other instances, Mal ordered a Mellotron for Paul, while keeping him fully stocked with plectrums and other gear. In late February, Paul asked Mal to move everything back to EMI, where he was set to record "Maybe I'm Amazed" in Studio 2. For Mal, everything came to a head at 7 Cavendish Ave., when "my long love, Paul, to whom I have devoted so many years of loyalty, turned around to me and said, I don't need you anymore, Mal." *** *, ** : Evans, "Diaries." [1963—1974.] 10 vols. Malcolm Frederick Evans Archives. Entries from Jan 27 & Feb 5, 1970.

***: Evans, Mal, 'Living the Beatles Legend: Or 200 Miles to Go.' Unpublished MS, 1976. Malcolm Frederick Evans Archives.

[soleilnewspaper]

Broken promises

Series masterlist

Summary: Regulus reminds you of a promise you made to him in childhood and how you have broken it. You return from a weekend trip to find Remus in the hospital wing. Sirius knows he can’t hide Remus’s condition for you any longer.

Pairing: platonic Regulus x fem!reader, poly!wolfstar x fem!reader

Warnings: Angst, fighting with friends, feeling inadequate, cliffhanger, talks of blood and bruises (from the full moon)

Word count: 1.9k

AN: I’m terribly ill and doc ordered me to say in bed, so sleep and write is all I have done today lol. Sorry it’s a little short. Thank you for your time :)

December 24th, 1970

Number 12 Grimmauld Place, North West of London, hidden from the eyes of muggles. The Black family took pride in the fact that they were hosting the Yule Eve dinner party. They were Pureblood royalty after all.

The house was decorated in festive decorations for the upcoming Yule celebrations custom of the sacred 28 society. The food alone could surely feed an entire orphanage.

A young Regulus, at a mere nine years old yet dressed far better than most adults. The scratchy material of his dress robes had been bothering him from the moment his mother had forced him into them. His black locs were combed back with magical gel to ensure he remained perfect for the night.

Clasped his small hand, you ran along with him. The frills from your pink dress made it difficult to much. It overwhelmed your body. You thought you looked like a large ball of cotton candy. Which your mother had scolded you for even thinking such a thing.

Trails of pristine white ribbons once worn in your hair now lay tossed on the freshly polished floors of the manor. Your house elf had been ordered by your mother to ‘tame’ your hair earlier that night. Hours of work had been in vain as your locs had bounced back only moments ago. Sliver jewerly adorned your neck sparkling in the candle lit hallway.

Kreacher had turned a blind eye to your ‘escape’ from the dinner. Neither of your mothers had noticed your absence yet. Something which both Regulus and you were beyond grateful for. Merlin knows what your punishment would be for daring to participate in such childish behaviour. For, being a pureblood meant you never were a child. You were simply an investment.

Regulus was the spare, the second choice, a precautionary measure that his parents had taken should Sirius prove to not be eligible. You, on the other hand, were born a girl. Which meant you were to be married off the moment you were of legal age. Although you had heard the stories of girls who had been forced to marry long before that. Your potential husband would be most likely related to you in some way.

Your mother would often gossip about how the Black Family ‘kept things in the family’ in reference to how cousins married each other frequently. However, truth be told, all pureblood were related in some way or other. Pureblood had been facing excitation for centuries. In order to keep their lines ‘pure’ they needed to dip their toes into the pool of incest. The sacred 28 all crossed over if you were to look close enough. Which is why you thought your mother to be a hypocrite.

Regulus pulled you into a nock in the attic. Whilst you were still in a fit of giggles.

“My lady.” Regulus pretended to bow, taking an old feathered hat on and then off his head.

“Why thank you, kind sir.” You responded through a set of giggles. Giving him a curtse in return, just as your mother had taught you.

Regulus took your hand and guided you to sit down with him on the floor, placing his suit jacket down to avoid you getting your dress dirty. You picked up the ends of your dress to try make it easier on you to sit down. A proof sound was heard the second you touched the floor. As you quite literally fell on your ass from the sheer size of the dress. Your mother was a beautiful woman but her style was eccentric to say the least. She had dressed your sister and brother in a similar fashion, both of who were being good children and still in the dining hall.

“Will you consider promising me something, Y/N?” The boy’s language was far better than most adults you knew. Pureblood society doing of course. You were both already fluent in Latin and Greek while Regulus knew French as well. It being his family’s main language after all.

“Whatever do you mean, Reggie?” You asked in the same tone. Frowning your small brows in confusion.

“Would it be to much to ask, if you could promise to be mine forever.” His statement confused you at first causing him to explain further. “We both know our mothers will marry us off one of these days, but please choose me, your friend first.”

“As long as you promise to choose me always and forever.” You smiled back at him.

“Best friends before lovers?” Regulus asked you unsure of himself.

“I would rather have live a life with no love, than live one without you as my friend.” You took ahold of his hand gently.

“I do not wish to condemn you to a love of loneliness, Y/N.” He dropped his hand from yours, fearing he was asking you too much with your friendship.

“Reggie, with you by my side, I could never be lonely.” That had earned you a smile from him, a one larger than you had ever seen before.

Present time

Regulus Arcturus Black would never be your lover. No, your bond proceeded that of romantic expectations. Your bond would always be platonic, but it would be the deepest bond you would ever have. For your souls wore bind together in no way a lover could understand. Even if it was a childish desire to ask for your loyalty forever. To chose him over everyone else in the world. You knew, that in truth, there was only one person he had asked you to never choose over him. His brother. Which is exactly what you had done. The one thing he had begged of you all those years ago, you had done without hesitation. Breaking his trust doesn’t even cover the cost your newfound relationship had taken to your oldest one.

He was not angry nor was he upset with you. Regulus felt hurt, betrayed even. In all his life, he had lived with the expectation that he would always be second best. Only this past summer had his parents began to pay attention to him after Sirius had left home. Officially disowning their eldest, made Regulus their heir. He was only valued once Sirius was gone. For once in his life, people had began to look at him instead. It had been a long time coming, since the moment Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor. The light slowly began to shift to the younger brother. Yet, never completely, not until now. Within the span of a few weeks he had become the star of the family. A fact which had only served to make him bitter because he knew the care of his family was conditional. For they had hardly offered him a look before he was proved to be their last hope of salvation.

The worse part was Sirius believed Regulus was the first choice. When in fact he had never been someone’s first choice in anything. That is excluding you. Regulus had always been your first choice. It was something which he had come to held dearly in the span of his fifteen years of life.

Despite being a few months younger than Sirius, and almost a whole year older than Regulus. You had chosen to be his friend. As children, your mother urged you to make connection with Sirius, but you never did. Regulus was who you chose to spend your time with. Up until Hogwarts neither one of you had any real friends besides each other. Barty did not run in the same circles as the two of you before Hogwarts. The rosier twins didn’t form a friendship with you until Regulus’s first year at Hogwarts which had been their first too.

He had only asked one thing of you, and you could not give him that. You now understood his anger. Yet you still felt defensive as you were in a vulnerable state.

“You do not get to held a childish promise over my head!” You yelled, your voice reaching across the common room.

“It is not about the promise, Y/N.” Regulus stated with lips pulled into a thin unreadable expression.

“Then what is it about, Regulus?” Anger severed through your throat as you spoke.

“Rage does not consume me for the mere fact of your entanglement in a romantic relationship. As one of your closest friends, I comprehend that it is beyond my jurisdiction to dictate the auspices under which you choose to allocate your precious hours. Yet, I implored solely that you not date my own brother.” Regulus paced around the room, his hand running through hair multiple times before he turned to face you directly.

“For it is your preference that leans towards him, and no longer me. He is accustomed to being selected first and foremost in all things. I am not. Barty, Evan, Pandora and you were mine; untill you chose me over me. The one thing you promised, swore, you would never do.” Regulus voice no longer held anger, it was filled with hurt. He pointed a a finger towards your chest to further his point. Breathless as he spoke.

“Reg…” You moved towards him but he flinched away from your touch. “My relationship with him does not change the friendship I have with you.”

“Liar.”

“You say that, yet you continue to be with him. To chose him.” Regulus walked away from you but you followed without hesitation.

“You are being over dramatic.”

“Am I, so am I to just discard the only person who truly understands me. In order to allow you to satisfy your desires.” Regulus used the boot of his shoe to kick the table lightly.

“You do not mean that.” Tears were beginning to form in your eyes.

“What other choice have you given me?” Regulus breathed out barely forming words.

“I never intended to lose you, Reg.”

“Oh, well then everything is sorted. Is it not. Far be it that I have feelings and reactions to your actions.”

“Please, stop, I beg of you.” Your voice was pleading with him now.

“Would you do one decency?”

“Anything.”

“Tell me why did it have to be him.” You heard the crack in his voice as he spoke. Arms at his side and legs planted on the floor.

You squeezed your eyes shut at his question. Knowing whatever your answer would only serve to hurt him further.

“I fell for him. I tried not to. Believe me I did, but I cannot ignore my feelings anymore. Please forgive me.”

“Forgiveness does not come easy, Y/N.” Regulus eyes roared with anger, but you knew there still lay hurt behind them. “But I don’t want to lose you.”

“Does that mean…” The steps you took towards him were careful and precise to not spook him with your actions.

“I would could never live without your friendship. It pains me so, but I know I have to forgive you, but do not ask me to forgive him.”

Tears pooled in your eyes as the words left his cold lips. Before another moment could pass, you wrapped your arms around his torso. To your surprise he accepted your affection. He had never been one to allow affectionate gestures, it simply was not his way of expressing himself. Yet, in the rare moments when he allowed himself to let another in, his warmth would be unlimited.

“Can I assume I have my best friend back?” Your voice was muffled by Regulus’ green Qudditch jersey.

He pulled away from the hug but kept physical contact with you by placing both of his hands on your sides.

“You never lost me.”

Sounds of students began to fill the common room as they returned from the pitch and great hall. Undoubtedly complaining and/or talking about the lack of victory Slytherin had acquired in today’s events.

“One last thing, Y/N.” Regulus spoke in a hushed tone to avoid being interrupted or ease dropped on.

“Anything.”

“If my brother hurts you, there’s not a place in the world he’d be able to hide from me. Blood may be thicker than water, but my loyalty for you will always outweigh my loyalty for him. Never doubt that for a moment.”

“I appreciate it, but that’s not necessarily-“

“Believe me when I say, negotiation is not an option here. You will lose this argument.” Regulus’s dark eyes were completely serious and his face showed no signs of amusement.

“Is your plan to treat me like a child of divorce?”

“Mmm, we’ll work on the arrangements later.” Regulus smiled at you, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You know you will always be my best friend, right?” You asked taking his hand in yours.

“Don’t tell Barty that, he might kill me.” Regulus leaned into you.

“Well we would’t want that, now would we.”

The life of a pureblood had taught you many things. None of which had seamed to prove helpful in any way shape or form for your current situation.

While you might have seamed to patch things up with Regulus for the most part. Although you still were treading in dangerous waters. At least you could sleep soundly knowing he was willing to come around to the idea. In time, of course.

Yet, you still faced another dilemma; your relationship. Secrets were being kept from you, that was obvious enough, but what the secret was remained a mystery to you.

It didn’t help that Sirius and Remus seamed to have no intention of letting you in on it anytime soon. Taking into consideration how much history the two had, you continued to feel out of place in your own relationship, and feared for how much long you could take it.

For the past three days, you had to be condemned to visiting your oh so loving family. Torture did not even begin to cover it. Though you knew there were pureblood children in worst situations. The Blacks were a prime example. Leading you to appreciate your dysfunctional family because at least they had never used an unforgivable curse on you. To say the bar was low would be an understatement.

So as you walked through the castle walls having returned from your trip. Your mind began to wonder. However, your moment of peace was short lived as you passed the Hospital Wing.

You couldn’t see much but you could see Sirius who was walking towards the door. Through a series of lies, excuses and distractions, the boys had managed to occlude you from Remus’s condition. Yet, your weekend away just so happened to be a full moon. A particularly horrific one in fact. No chance were they going to be able to hide it from you now.

Sirius’s sliver eyes were accompanied by purple eye bags from staying up all night with Remus. Hair fell in disarray and tangles were visible in his usual elegant locs. He appeared gaunt, almost as if the life had been drained out of him.

Upon seeing you, a serge of panic ripped through his entire being.

“Oh Salvar.” You rushed towards him in panic searching his face for signs of injury. It only worked to make him feel more guilty than he already was.

“S’m nothin’.” Tiredness and worry were evident in his voice.

“Sirius, do not take me for a fool.”

“I’m not, honestly, just-“ Whilst barely finding the energy to form words, you interrupted him with rage already approaching.

“What’ll be this time, huh?” Hands fell from his face leaving a cold chill. You crossed your arms in front of your chest, you were beyond rage, you were done.

“It’s not like that, baby.” His voice begged for sympathy but you refused to show the effort he had on you.

“Where’s Remus?”

Sirius’s eyes widen at the thought of you seeing Remus in his current state. You stepped forward to enter the hospital wing causing him to plant himself in front of you. Using his height to block your view. Your flight or fight activated. Making use of the large space of the room you tricked him by making him believe you were headed one way and then pushed past him in the other.

As soon as you had escaped his gasp, Sirius ran after you in panic. However, with our tired he was, he didn’t have the strength to carry through.

Remus lay curled up on the hospital bed. Bandages surrounded his body in multiple places. Most seamed clean but others had large red stains from blood. Bruises and cuts decorated his body like Christmas lights. The beautiful brown eyes that you had come to cherish so dearly had taken on a dull hue. With dark circles surround them and bloodshot eyes. His hair stuck up in all different directions filled with dirt and a sneer of blood.

A whine escaped the thin werewolf when he turned on his side to see who had entered. His eyes struggled to focus for a few moments to depict your figure, but when he did, he swore he felt just like he did before people knew about his secret. Ashamed, scared, horrified all mixed into self loathing.

“Remus?” You managed to choke out through the tears that had began to form in your eyes upon seeing him.

“Hey, dovie.”

Taglist: @maraudersforlife2005 @xlxnq

[seat-safety-switch]

In the criminal justice system, the people are represented by two separate yet equally important groups: the people who repair fences, and the people who let them fall apart. These are their stories.

When I moved into my house, the fence was in good condition. In case you're from a country that hadn't invented them yet, "fences" are an artificial construct of humanity meant to delineate the boundaries of property between two or more identical suburban houses. And, being part of your property, they are part of how you are perceived.

Here's the problem: fences are made out of flawed, human construction. Mine was (I think) made out of wood. When that wood rotted, the planks fell out, and maybe a couple posts stayed behind. Suddenly, passersby could see into my property, and see that I was not in fact a Good Person who was Trying Hard To Fit In. Not like themselves, who agonized over every missing flake of Home Depot Eggshell Blue on their own fences after a long, hard winter.

As things degraded further, with neighbourhood children wandering, confused, into my yard after not seeing any fence keeping them from doing so, by-law enforcement was summoned. The belief was that they would punish me for going against the grain, for letting my fence fall apart.

Unfortunately for them, my attorney, who spends most of his spare time writing erotic fan-fiction about our city's specific property-standards bylaws (don't ask to see them, they're really bad, and the main character is an obvious self-insert) was on the case. He actually made one of the bylaw managers quit rather than spend another hour on the phone with him. After all that stress, it turns out that while you can't have a bad-looking fence, you don't actually have to have a fence at all.

One delightful weekend of sledgehammers removed the last of the rotten planks and split posts, and my yard was now full of free-range 1970s shitbox Chryslers. A glorious moment for civilization.

Unfortunately, it didn't take long for me to realize exactly why fences are valuable: they keep the undesirable element out of your yard.

Only a few days after my triumph over the decline of mind-your-own-fucking-businessism, I noticed something strange in my yard. Tucked in amongst where I would normally have terrible cars, someone had parked a fully-intact Ford Galaxie, presumably thinking I wouldn't even notice. As if I could not give special attention to a vehicle that still has its hood and its trunk!

The haters won in the end: I was forced to go to Home Depot, that knurled-wood nest of knavery, and purchase the shittiest chain-link fence kit that I could find. No cost was too great to keep the Fordites away from my homestead, with their firestarting dodgy electrics and perfect paint.

[junipers-archive]

Meeting The Parent

Word Count: 1k

Includes: Fluff, fluff, meeting Spencers mom in person for the first time!! (short sweet and hints toward marriage at the end :)

It had taken a lot of convincing, and maybe some reassurance on both of your parts, but you'd gotten Spencer to allow you on one of his less-than-often visits to his mom. You'd made the arrangements to take the small road trip with him this weekend and were prepared for the very worst or the very best outcome of the visit.

As of current you were awaitng the 'signal' Spencer had told you he'd give once he explained to his mom that you were here with him. You understood of course how very cautious he was to let people meet her and how protective he was about those he loved.

Hell, you were one of those people, and you loved being one.

Once you got tired of shifting your wait from foot to foot akwardly however, and as nurses passed you by, you decided to move closer to at least look like you were trying to find someone. Instead you got a few cut words from their conversation. His mom's voice being the first heard,

"You're dating her?"

"y-yea mom I'm dating her" he sounded dissapointed.

"why didn't you tell me?! You know you can tell me anything Spencer!" panic rose in you then, you'd been dating for quite substantial amount of time now, why hadn't he even mentioned it?

"I did tell you, you just forgot- Will-Will you just speak to her? Shes here with me, y/n?"

That was your cue, and no one had to know how fast you'd scrambled to meet them in the corner of the nursing home where they sat or how you attempted to slow your pace and heart as you got closer.

"Spencer go get me some water" Her voice wasn't completely monotone but it wasn't cheerful either, reminiscent of a protective mother more like.

"A nurse can get you water-"

"You're my son" She looked to him then "please, get me some water."

Spencer looked between the two of you then and you wondered whether or not he was asking permission from you or her about how to handle this situation. Nevertheless he gave an apologetic smile to you and waded off to find a nurse and get some water.

Thats when you started talking to her.

"Do you love him?" okay so no small talk.

"We love each other." you reply as smoothly as possible earning a nod of approval from her.

"He's special, my Spencer, very special. " At this point shes not even looking at you but has taken to staring wistfully out the window nearby instead. A golden shadow is lighting up the room as the sun sets and you take a seat across from her.

"He is." you agree, following her gaze mainly just to distract yourself.

"How long have you been together?" she looks down to figit with her fingers "I-uh- he talks alot about you and he probably has already told me but-"

"Almost a year in a few weeks."you smile to yourself then thinking of how happy you are to be with him at all.

"So you know him...you really know him don't you?"

"I like to think I do"

"Favorite movie." Its more of a command then a question, and you realize she's commanding you to tell her his favorite movie.

But you could play this game. You could play it all day.

"Le cercle Rouge (1970) but, if we're talking more movie night picking Spence i'd say The Godfather Part II (1974)."

She smiles slightly at this. "Book."

"The illustrated Man by Bradbury is one of his favorites but he's never been able to choose between that or The Narrative Of John Smith by Doyle."

She doesn't even flinch. "Play."

You sigh at that one, knowing she won't stop till he's back, or maybe not even then. "Well..."

You swear it takes him ages to get water and by the time he's back you're seated across from her taking most of her questions in stride. But its the last question right before he gets back that catches you slightly off-guard.

"Do you think you could love him more than I do?"

"I already do." your voice is even, and you're being completely honest with both yourself and her but your own reply surprises you and all it does for her is earn a scoff.

"Impossible" she's staring right at you now, smiling.

You smile back, "I beg to differ." And now he's back.

The subject changes drastically as Spencer asks her questions about how she's being treated, like the perfect son he is. But besides that you talk about the BAU and some of the recent cases, she surprises you when she's able to follow his brain's trace of mind better than most, perhaps better than you.

But after about an hour or two the conversation comes to a lull.

When you're both ready to leave you smile politely and say goodbye, leaving Spencer to say his goodbyes in private.

And despite your better judgement you need to hear what she thought, you need to know if you're good enough for him. So you go behind the same wall you'd been hiding behind in the beginning of the visit and listen, pretending to be on your phone.

"I-It was really nice seeing you, i'll come back tomorrow morning before we leave-"

"Y/n."

He clears his throat then, "yea, uh what-what about her?"

"You better marry that girl Spencer, and you better do it before I die-"

His voice goes up an octave,"Mom stop you're healthy-"

"I'm just saying, she's perfect for you and if you don't marry her before I uh...kick the bucket, I will haunt you for eternity!"

They both laugh then and you can hear the smile in his voice as he replies "Don't worry I wouldn't dream of letting her go."

And despite yourself, once more better judgement, you begin to grin as you head to the car and once you see Spencer in sight start to hint towards how fond you are of marriage.

[sissylittlefeather]

Sorry this took so long...

It Feels So Right (how can it be wrong?): Part 3

A/N: Again, I apologize that this took a million years. I didn't intend for this to end up with 4 parts, but here we are. So this is not the last part, but I think y'all will enjoy this one. 😏

Need to catch up? Masterlist HERE.

Warnings: 18+ absolutely minors DNI, kissing, cussing, oral sex (69, m & f receiving), p in v penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie

Word count: ~2.5k

Elvis and Austin look at each other and bust out laughing. When they stop, Austin sighs and Elvis clicks his tongue. Elvis speaks first.

"Man, she's somethin' else."

"You got that right."

"I guess we better figure it out."

"I guess so..."

******

The arrangement that they come up with is every other weekend and weeknights by your request. You laugh a little at first at the "custody" arrangement they've developed, but to your surprise, it seems to work out pretty well. Shockingly, you don't find yourself missing one or the other. You also don't find yourself preferring one or the other and that worries you. How long can this continue? And what if you want to choose Elvis?

Austin picks up on your concern and tries to address it one night after a movie.

"Baby, you seem conflicted?"

"No, I'm fine." You lie, snuggling into his shoulder as you walk back to his place.

"You're wondering what happens if you decide you want Elvis."

"How did you-"

"I've been thinking about it a lot."

"And?"

"And I don't know. It's not like you could be with him permanently. Not in my body."

"Yeah..." You look down at your feet. You really don't have a choice. It's Austin. Elvis can't possibly be a real option.

"Hey." Austin turns and tips your chin up to him. "Let's just go to Graceland this weekend. We'll figure it out later."

You nod and continue to make your way back to his place. This weekend, the production company is flying both of you to Memphis. They want to do a photoshoot of Austin at Graceland and he made sure you have a ticket. You're excited, but nervous. The longer this goes on, you wish you could see and feel Elvis on his own without Austin, but you also know this probably isn't possible.

Elvis has been trying really hard not to watch your dates with Austin. He wants to give you space, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't worry about the two of you falling in love and leaving him alone again. He knows he's at a significant disadvantage, being dead, but some part of him still holds onto some kind of vague hope that you'll pick him, even though he has no idea how that would work.

When you land in Memphis, he watches from afar as Austin takes your hand in his and leads you to the car. Maybe he should just let you two be together.

******

You stand in front of Graceland in awe. It's even more beautiful than you imagined. Austin sees Elvis on the porch and nods to him gently.

"Are you ready for your tour?" Austin turns to the people who are ready to lead him through the house.

"Actually I'd like to go in alone."

"Alone?"

"Well, me and her. But I want to try to connect with Elvis's spirit. Can I?" They look between each other trying to decide if that would be okay.

"Don't go upstairs."

"I would never." The powers that be nod to him, agreeing that he can go inside with you alone. He's been nothing but respectful of Elvis's legacy. There's no reason not to trust him in the house. They open the front door and Elvis slips inside as the two of you walk into the foyer. As the door closes behind you, you look around the house. When you get to the dining room, you gasp and put your hand on your heart.

You can see him.

"Elvis?!" He looks at you and then at Austin, who puts his hand on the small of your back.

"Can you see him?"

"Yes! I can!" Elvis looks between you excitedly.

"You can see me?"

"And hear you! Why do you look like it's 1970?" Elvis walks over to you and looks down into your eyes.

"Why not? I can pick how I look. I picked this. You want me to change? I can."

"No! This is perfect." He reaches out like he's going to touch your face and then stops. You close your eyes, begging God to be able to feel his touch. He lifts his hand again and gently lays his palm on your cheek. You gasp.

"I can feel you! How-?"

"I don't know and I don't care." He leans in and presses his lips to yours. He might as well be alive with how real he feels to you right now.

Austin looks up at the ceiling as Elvis kisses you sweetly at first and then with more passion. For the first time, he knows what it must feel like for Elvis to watch you be with him. It's not good, that's for sure.

Elvis wraps his arms around you and pulls your body in close to his. The kiss deepens, his tongue slipping into your mouth. You feel his growing erection as he rolls his hips and presses it against you.

"You... do you think we could...?"

"I don't see why not. You can see me and hear me and feel me... would make sense that you would be able to feel... all of me..." His eyes sparkle with excitement and a kind of hunger. The thought of making love to you in his own body is intoxicating.

Austin clears his throat to remind you of his presence. You both turn to look at him surprised he's still there.

"I can't leave without her, so I guess I'll just..." He looks around awkwardly like he's trying to find a place to go so he can leave the two of you alone. Elvis turns back to you, but speaks to Austin.

"We'll go downstairs. You stay here." Austin nods and swallows the lump in his throat as Elvis takes your hand and guides you down the mirror staircase. You both step over the ropes into the tv room and settle on the blue couch facing each other. He reaches out and runs his fingertips down your cheek gently.

"Doll, this is... I can feel the warmth of your skin. I don't know how this is possible, but I really don't care."

"Me neither... I just-" He cuts you off by kissing you again passionately. His kisses a trail down your cheek to your neck and you moan softly. He whispers against your skin.

"I don't know how long you'll be able to see me. I don't want to waste it."

"Me neither..." You crawl onto his lap, straddling him and his hands go to your hips. He rolls them forward against himself where he's fully hard now. When he looks down, he can see your panties as they peek out from under the skirt that you've pushed up to sit on him. He groans and moves his thumb to your center, feeling how wet you are.

"Doll, you sure you wanna try this?"

"Absolutely."

"Just, my body is different than Austin's."

"I know. That's why I want to do this. I want to feel you. Not him. At least once before-" You stop yourself before the lump in your throat turns to full-on tears. He puts his big, warm hand on the side of your face and you lean into his touch.

"Baby, let's not think about the future. Let's just focus on what we have right now. It's just you and me." You nod and he pulls you into another kiss. His lips are so soft and his tongue is so skilled. You can't help but wonder what it would feel like to have his mouth in other places. He kisses you with every ounce of passion in his body, so desperately glad to be able to do it. You back off of him and stand up, pulling your shirt over your head. He watches in awe as you strip off the rest of your clothes, adjusting his pants.

"You should just take them off." You whisper seductively.

"Oh, doll, I don't know..." He suddenly gets very self-conscious thinking about how he looks naked compared to Austin. You pull on his hands until he's standing in front of you. He's dying to reach out and touch every inch of you, but for some reason he doesn't feel like he can. You put one hand on the side of his face and the other on his belt.

"Elvis. I want to see you. You. I want to feel you. Please." He nods slowly and lets you undo his belt. Then, you unbutton his black and white flowered shirt, letting it fall to the floor. You press your lips to his chest, leaving soft kisses on his skin. Your hands go to the zipper on his pants and he puts one hand on yours.

"Doll. I look... different..." You smile and look up at him.

"Elvis, I know you're uncut. It doesn't bother me. In fact, I've been with both and I prefer it this way." He raises his eyebrows quickly.

"You h-have? You do?" You nod. It's not a lie. Your ex from college was uncut and you genuinely enjoyed it. He's so shocked by what you're saying that he forgets to be jealous about the fact that he's not the first man you've ever been with. Besides, he knows you've been with Austin anyway. He moves his hand from yours and lets you unzip his pants and push them down his legs. His cock bounces free as he kicks off his shoes and the rest of his pants. Now, he's as naked as you are and you stand facing each other but not quite touching.

You run your fingertips down the trail of hair that leads from his chest down to his dick and then take him in your hand. He whimpers with the sensation of your touch. You move your hand gently back and forth and he bites his bottom lip.

"Doll, I haven't been touched like this in... so long..."

"Does it feel better in your own body?"

"Yes. Fuck, yes it does." You go to get on your knees in front of him and he stops you. "No, honey, come here."

He lays down on the couch and then tries to guide your hips to his face, but you turn yourself.

"Doll, what're you..." You put a knee on either side of his face and then lean forward and pull his cock into your mouth. "Fuck. Okay."

He wraps his arms around your thighs and pulls your pussy to his lips, burying his tongue in your slit. You moan on his dick and he grunts into you. He drags his tongue to your clit and licks over and across it fervently. You slam your hand on the couch and push him as deep in your throat as he'll go. His hips buck up into your mouth and he thrusts into you as he moves his mouth on you. You'd scream in pleasure, but your lips are stuffed full of his cock and all you can do is whimper. He reaches one hand down to grab your breast, gently squeezing and running his thumb over your nipple. You hold his dick with one hand and drag your tongue in a circle on the tip and taste the salty precum that's leaking from him.

"Honey, I wanna make you cum, but I can't focus with what you're doin'. Stop for a bit."

"But daddy, I-"

"No buts, baby. But keep callin' me daddy." You smile and pull off of him, laying your head on his thigh. He goes back to licking your pussy like his life depends on it and your orgasm starts to build in your hips.

"Fuck, daddy, it's so good." You feel him smile against you as he sucks on your clit. He pushes his tongue into your slit again, sliding it in and out for a while as you get so close to cumming that it almost hurts. Then, he moves back to your clit and lets his tongue flick it softly as you whimper and start to shake.

"You wanna cum in daddy's mouth, baby?"

"Fuck, yes I do... oh God..." He dives in fully and moves his tongue against you quickly and deeply. Your orgasm slams into you from every direction, running like lightning in your veins and knocking out the hearing in your left ear. He continues to lap at you as you climax, feeling your clit soften on his tongue as he licks it. "Yes, Elvis!"

Hearing his name on your lips like this makes his cock bounce. As much as he likes to eat you, he's dying to feel you wrapped around him. Seemingly reading his mind, you sit up on his chest catching your breath for a bit before you slide even further down his body and sink onto his cock. He groans as he fills you up and you move on him, pushing him deeper and deeper. He uses both hands to massage your ass as you bounce on him. Then, he surprises even himself and spanks you swiftly and sharply. You yelp and he immediately pulls both hands back.

"I'm sorry!" You stand up off of him and he sighs. Then you turn around, straddle him again, and sit on his dick, letting it slide up inside you again. You grab his face between your thumb and forefinger and make sure he's looking at you.

"Don't you dare apologize. Did you like it, daddy?"

"Yes."

"So did I." You lean forward and kiss him hard. He grabs your hips and starts to thrust into you from underneath. You moan softly as he pounds you, his rhythm becoming more erratic.

"Honey, I'm gonna cum soon."

"Good. Cum for baby, daddy." He groans again with how dirty you sound. You've never been like this with Austin's body. Something about him turns you on more than you thought possible. Maybe it's just that you've dreamed about this for so long, so many nights spent with a vibrator or your own fingers against your clit as you whisper his name into the night like a prayer. Whatever it is, he's not complaining. He slams into you more and more powerfully until he just can't stand it anymore.

"Baby, I've gotta cum... oh God, fuck!" He shudders and crashes into you one last time as you feel him throb inside you, shooting you full of his release. Something happens when he cums, but he can't quite put his finger on what it is. Still, he feels different in some way, more alive, more real. His heart beats stronger and his breath comes quicker. You hold him inside you until his body relaxes, leaning forward to press sweet kisses to his chest and neck.

When you sit up, he holds the side of your face in his hand and looks up into your eyes.

"I want you to pick me."

"Elvis... I don't know how-"

"I love you." Your mouth pops open and you're not sure what to say. Well, you know exactly what to say, but it doesn't seem like there's any point to it. Surely, when you leave here, you won't be able to see him anymore and then what? You can't pick him. You know it and he knows it. Still, you hear yourself whisper to him.

"I love you too."

******

Until the end...

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@atleastpleasetelephone @returntopresley @msamarican @ruyaas-world @ccab @elvisfatass @elvisalltheway101 @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @deniseinmn @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb @everythingelvispresley

[bambi-kinos]

What do you think of Paul and John 's relationship in 1980? Personally, I think they had at least some sort of consensus of the relationship (I mean, a formal romantic relationship) in 1980, and I don't think Paul started thinking about the nature of the relationship after John's death, i think they both took it seriously in the'70s and decided that what they wanted from each other. It wasn't the Beatles anymore, it was John and Paul, but John's death stopped it.

I don't know what to make of John and Paul in 1980 to be perfectly honest. There's a lot of rumors and conjecture swirling around it like the Crazy Days and Nights post. A lot of the interpretations around 1980 are based in wishful thinking because no one wants to believe that John died without some sort of plan in mind with regards to Paul. The fact of the matter is that there's too much we don't know.

What we do know from the 1970s is that John and Paul's relationship really split down the middle and they didn't want anything to do with each other. They did still care about each other but they had pissed each other off too much. Paul did start reaching out in the mid-70s trying to talk to John but John, and especially Yoko, didn't want this contact. That's why John turned him away from the door when Paul tried to show up (alone!) with his guitar. John regretted that later but I don't think it's wrong to see their relationship as very dead in the water.

And the truth is that Paul didn't actually pursue John that much contrary to some bitching that took place last year in the fandom. Paul's heaviest overtures to John were when he was out of Yoko's immediate presence during the Lost Weekend and then when John went back, Paul kept him at a distance again. The communication eventually became infrequent phone calls (since many were blocked by Yoko on purpose) and that often turned into them shouting at each other. Paul eventually stopped calling John frequently and when he did he was careful to keep their conversations very light and stilted. Otherwise John would just get angry at him. Paul had other things going on in his life, he had to raise his children, be a husband, keep making music, and arrange tours.

I can imagine that John and Paul hooked up occasionally through out the 1970s but the truth is that when John said "leave me alone" Paul did.

I don't think John's last interviews wouldn't be so laden with regret towards Paul if they had something planned in the background.

Paul never forgave John for leaving The Beatles or for giving his life up to Yoko. He did want John back in his life and away from her once Paul realized what she was doing to him, but I don't believe that he was willing to stick his neck out again for John's sake. He didn't know what he was going to get in response. I would think that's why they booked the studio in January 1981, to see if they could operate with one another on neutral ground. But that was a test balloon.

It's possible they did have something happening in the background but John seems too torn up about Paul in 1980 for me to really believe that. He was actively trying to leave Yoko but I think he would have been in the wind a bit if he had, Paul wasn't riding to his rescue this time. And he was right not to.

We just don't know enough to make any firm pronouncements about 1980. Whatever John wanted from Paul it was vague and undefined because they were rebuilding their relationship from rubble. Paul was wary around John and trying to figure out if he could really trust him this time.

Idk I just don't get the "we are together again" vibes from everything that was happening in the Dakota at the time.

[mrs-stans]

Sebastian Stan Scolds “Hypocrite” Trump at ‘The Apprentice’ U.K. Premiere: “Do You Really Trust This Person to Lead a Country?”

Stan, who portrays Donald Trump in Ali Abbasi's new movie, was asked whether this film debuting so close to the U.S. election could sway voters: "He's been trying to censor this movie, and at the same time, he claims he acknowledges free speech. I can't think of anything more hypocritical."

BY LILY FORD

Sebastian Stan has branded former U.S. president Donald Trump a hypocrite who has attempted to “censor” his new movie, The Apprentice.

The Marvel actor spoke at the BFI London Film Festival premiere of Ali Abbasi’s movie about Trump’s rise to power in 1970s and ’80s New York — in which he stars as the real estate mogul-turned-Republican politician — with the teachings of mentor Roy Cohn (played by Jeremy Strong) guiding him on his ascension.

The cast and crew, including Stan, Strong, Abbasi and screenwriter Gabriel Sherman, appeared on the red carpet at the BFI’s Royal Festival Hall in the U.K. capital.

When asked whether this film debuting so close to the U.S. election could sway voters, Stan told The Hollywood Reporter: “I don’t know, but what I do hope is that people, regardless of their opinion, are curious enough to try to dig deeper. Because I think we’re living in a world where it’s so easy to be handed an opinion everywhere you turn. And I know a lot of people love social media, and that’s where they go for information and for things. You’re being told what to think. You’re being told what to do.”

But, the Marvel star continued, “If you have any inkling of interest, go and really ask yourself: ‘Who is this man? Do you really know? Do you really trust this person to lead a country?’ He’s been trying to censor this movie, and at the same time, he claims that he acknowledges free speech … I can’t think of anything more hypocritical. So at the end of the day, it’s about him as a character. Forget the politics and just go in there and use your instinct and ask yourself: Do you trust this man? That’s what the movie is about.”

The feature film opened in roughly 1,700 theaters across the U.S. last weekend after its debut in Cannes and pulled in an anemic $1.6 million in its first weekend. Trump lashed out against the film after the numbers came in.

“A FAKE and CLASSLESS Movie written about me, called, The Apprentice (Do they even have the right to use that name without approval?), will hopefully “bomb.” It’s a cheap, defamatory and politically disgusting hatchet job, put out right before the 2024 Presidential Election, to try and hurt the Greatest Political Movement in the History of our Country,” Trump wrote in a post on Truth Social.

Sherman told THR: “It’s not surprising [that Trump lashed out]… You’ve seen the film, the first lesson that Roy Cohn teaches him is: attack, attack, attack. So Trump hasn’t seen the movie, but he’s clearly following the rules that are in the movie.”

Sherman also said part of the inspiration for this film was to show Trump as carrying on Cohn’s legacy, as sources who worked on the 2016 Trump campaign told him the businessman was just “using Roy’s lessons.”

The Apprentice received rave reviews and an 8-minute standing ovation after its Cannes Film Festival premiere in May.

[its-warm-in-here]

Grilled Cheese

In which V and Johnny grill a cheese. 1970 words!

“Grilled cheese.” 

This does not pull V from her feed. She ignores the engram, a practice she was getting pretty good at, and scrolls through the net. Silverhand was getting... a bit too familiar in her skull. Lingering where he wasn’t wanted, interjecting nasty comments about, pretty much, everything. Now, he’s lounged out on her mattress just around the corner, one leg hanging off the bed, fingers tapping to some unheard beat against the plastic frame. V turns the K-Techno song up a notch and clicks to the next page on the feed. Oooh, Panam and Mitch will be in town this weekend, good to know. 

After a moment, he speaks again. “Think you can manage that?” 

Huffing, she pulled away from the net, spinning the chair around, and peered out into the little apartment.  “Manage what?” 

“A grilled cheese,” Johnny asks again, more to the ceiling, than to her. “Even a gonk like you has a hot plate. Bread’s still a thing in NC?”

That makes her short circuit. Who the hell needed a hot plate anymore? She’d just stocked up the vendor in her apartment, there were sandwiches included in her latest package, why the hell would she need a hot plate? And where the hell would she even keep it? The little apartment in Watson wasn’t outfitted with a counter, let alone a kitchen.  “Yeah, it is. But, uh, no. I don’t.” 

Johnny leans around the little wall separating them in disbelief, before glitching in and out of existence to dwell mournfully in the doorway to her computer space. “There’s more use to a hot plate than just cooking V. Its an essential part of any grifter’s apartment. What, next you’ll tell me you don’t have a pan either? Feed me any more of that ‘sashimi’ crap and I’ll puke.” 

Her mouth goes dry. Sure, some folks in Night City knew how to cook. V would kill for a pot of Mama Wells’ pozole, and the jambalaya that River and his sister had served was preem. But cooking was reserved for those in luxury or for those too impoverished to afford the instant foods that Night City had on offer. V was neither. 

Reading her face (and mind), Johnny hung his head, “Sad, V.”

Scowling, she turns back to the screen, “Like you’ve ever cooked a single thing in your fucking life. Probably had your groupies do it. Entitled prick like you probably threw a fit if they got you wheat bread instead of rye.”  V says the words like she knows what they mean. Most of the bread Night City had on offer was the foamy tasting white stuff that either went stale immediately after opening or it lasted wayyy past the expiration date making one wonder if the bread had taken on some form of sentients before it was tossed into the bin. 

“Maybe,” he admits, disappearing from view, then glitching back so he’s partway between V and her screen, “It came with the lifestyle. But even I could handle myself with something this basic. Bread, a smear of butter and slices of pepperjack and sharp cheddar? Cooked over high heat, till the bread’s charred and cheese is molten like a volcano. Hell, mouth’s drooling just thinking about it.” 

And it is. V can't even recall when, if ever, she’d ever had a grilled cheese sandwich, but Johnny sure the hell can. She can almost taste the savory crunch, the stretch of melted cheese on the back of her tongue. Johnny’s mouth turns up at the memory. “You’re not letting this go, are you?” 

He shakes his head, grin taking hold, “It's not like I'm even asking for a smoke this time.” Johnny leans against her desk, getting in close and making her optics fragment. “Come on, V. What do you say?”

---

It's raining in Night City when she finally decides to track this down. The electrically charged sky was grey, blotting out holograms that hung in the air and for once the stench of Dogtown didn't reach her nose. On her way back from a gig from Mr. Hands, V spots a pawn shop sporting a slew of old tech. Most of its junk: tape decks, out of date processing units, instruments that needed to be tuned up, but there's a handful of kitchen gadgets. Finding a glass hot plate with the proper hook up wasn’t too hard and there was even a frying pan for a reasonable price. She hits up Tom’s Diner to bum the rest of the supplies. The ingredients are hardly anything  but he had several types of cheese on hand, so it’ll have to do. 

Shaking the water from her jacket, V shrugs it off, draping it at the entrance of her little apartment, before setting the hot plate up on her coffee table and setting it to medium heat. She then turns to the mirror, stripping off her waterlogged eyeliner before returning to the couch. Johnny was already in his normal spot, one leg crossed over the other, brown eyes hidden behind aviators to hide the judgment in his stare. It didn't work. “Couldn't even spring for the good shit?”

“It's grilled cheese. Not yellowfin tuna,” she fires back, smearing the butter on the almost stale bread. “Now walk me through this.” 

“Never had to cook for yourself?” Johnny muses, leaning forward to observe her amature technique of peeling neon orange cheese from the sleeve of plastic. 

V scowles at him and plops the bread onto the pan with a sizzle. “If I burn this shit, it’ll be your fault.” At that, Johnny scoots closer so he’s leaning over her shoulder. The engram isn't really there, but the hoops her brain jumps through to make sense of another being residing in it certainly makes him feel real. She can feel the air move to make space for the rockerboy, the brush of his chrome shoulder against hers.

“Put three slices on,” he insists, making her unwrap another. “Now the other one.” Following his instructions, she places the other buttered piece atop the cheese.

“Think I'm good to flip it?”

“Don’t rush it,” Johnny says. It shouldn't be this easy to slip into domesticity with the engram, but it feels natural. Like they fit together. He nods at her, she jiggles the pan, freeing the crisped bread from the non-stick surface then uses a wrist flick to knock the sandwich into the air. It hangs there for a moment and for a split second, a burst of panic shoots through her at the thought that it couldn't complete the turn and come crashing back down into a sloppy, burney mess. But the sandwich lands with a satisfying plop. The cooked side is a crispy golden and cheese is starting to melt out the sides. 

“Smells great.” 

There's a swell of pride in her chest at his words. “Don’t say anything till I’m done. Could still burn it.” 

“It’s better burned. Gives it some flavor. Kicks it up a notch.” 

Neither speaks for a moment, she doesn't even bother turning the TV on. Instead opting to observe the bread, just in case it burst into flames. There is a little smoke from the cheese melting but it's not ruined yet. She moved the pan again, making sure it does not stick. V knew very little about cooking, but if this came out alright, maybe it was something she could actually get good at. Using a fork, she lifts to check. 

“Well? Does the curtain match the drapes?” He is always so crass. 

V makes a face. “That does not even make sense. But, yeah, its done.” She slides the bread onto a paper plate before finally relaxing back. The  sandwich is too hot yet and V flicks on the tv. Zoning out. There’s nothing on TV, but it's kind of nice. Just chilling at home, no pressing missions, just waiting on a call from Reed. She curls her legs under her and leans her cheek against the low back of the couch. If Johnny had any real mass to him, she’d be resting against his shoulder. He’s stretched out, one arm slung over the couch, a boot resting on her coffee table as he has a pre-emptive ghost cigarette. There’s no real smoke, but the memory of the nicotine stings her nose. 

After a moment, she slides the paper plate closer, testing the heat with her fingers before biting down into the cheap meal. The bread is crunchy, the char covering any staleness, and the cheese has a salty, funky, melty flavor. Not too bad for her first pass. She hums, satisfied. 

“Any good?” Johnny presses. 

It’ll be a good few minutes before her brain relays the taste to him. She nods, wishing she could just pass him the sandwich. “Not half bad.” She takes another bite, the smell of charred sandwich mixing with the acrid smell of his cigarette. “Ask nicely and maybe I’ll make another some time.” Johnny lets a single laugh resonate in his chest. Damn, she loved that sound. Not that she’d ever tell Johnny that. 

Hell, he probably already knew. 

V is about half way through the meal and Johnny is done with his cigarette, but the smoke smell continues to hang in the air. If anything, it's getting worse. There's a haze. V glances again at the engram, nope, he hadn't lit up another. So where was---?

Above, the holo screens flash red and an alarm blares through the apartment. “FIRE. IMMEDIATELY EXIT THE APARTMENT. FIRE.” The screens show a dramatized version of her little apartment with directions on how to exit with little anime chickens on fire darting around the edges. 

She crushed her palms over her ears, eyes wildly darting around the apartment before landing on the smoldering pan on the still very hot hotplate. The residue of melted cheese and breadcrumbs had transformed into a ball of carbon and smoke, the little plastic fort she’s used in improvised spatula had begun to liquify and seal onto the pan, setting off the oversensitive fire system. “Shit, shit, shit!” Leaping to action, V grabs the pan by the handle, drops it into the bathroom sink and turns on the water. It vaporizes to steam the moment it hits the pan, ruining it, but the water stops it from smoking. If she didn't get this smoke out now, the sprinkler system would trip any second. She punches the button to open the windows and, using the pillow from her bed, she stands on her tiptoes and waves it back and forth, forcing the air to circulate. Johnny’s laughter cuts through the alarms, as he watches her scramble.  Scorn zips through her, but she does not have time to express her contempt. The air is moving through the apartment though, and after minutes of waving her arms like a gonk, the alarm finally turns off and her screens return to their stream of content. She drops back onto the couch, groaning and drapes her forearm over her eyes. V sinks low, catching her breath. 

“Smooth one, V.” 

Before he can add any more to that sentence, she cuts him off with her middle finger. “Not another fucking word, Silverhand.” He keeps his mouth shut and she risks glancing at him. If Johnny didn't look stoic or broody, he was smug. And this is the smuggest she’d ever seen the rockerboy. “What?”

Johnny’s brown eyes go between her and the half eaten grilled cheese on the table. “Gonna finish that?” 

V growles, grabs the sandwich and throws it at him. The bread phases right through, probably making a mess of her couch. He flips her off in turn, laughs then glitches away to some spot at the edge of her brain and out of sight. 

Asshole.  

[male-body-swap-lover]

Becoming the Old Man Next Door

Carter Austin was annoyed that he had to be home for his parents 30th wedding anniversary. The model was only in town for one night, and even that was too much. He hated Fairview and missed the fast life of New York. The 28-year-old was one of the hottest models on the scene and couldn’t believe he was wasting his weekend in his childhood bedroom.

Hon, we are so excited that you are home. We’ve missed you.

You know how busy I’ve been mom. I’m one of the hottest models. I’m constantly booked.

I know. We told Mr. Jarvis that you were coming home and he was so excited to see you.

Mom, I’m 28. I don’t want to go see our old neighbor.

Oh, just do it Carter. It’ll make him happy. He’s lonely. His wife has been dead for 20 years and he has no children. Just do it.

Fine.

I went next door and rang the doorbell. Mr. Jarvis answered the door. I forgot how fat he was.

Austin my boy. So good to see you. Come in come in. Sit down. I’ll get you a drink.

As I sat in his living room, I looked around at his depressing life. The room seemed straight out of the 1970’s, and it reeked of tobacco. 15 minutes. That’s all I need.

Here’s a coke. So, tell me about New York.

It’s fun. I travel the world. I’m one of the top models out there.

I know. I’ve followed you. You are quite the good-looking young men. I bet ladies throw themselves at you.

I get my fair number of women. And men. I don’t discriminate.

I wish I had your life. My life was always boring. And it’s been worse ever since Marian died. I live a lonely life.

Well not everyone can have my life. This coke tastes weird.

That’s because it’s not coke at all. It’s a special potion. You see Carter, I’m tired of being an old man who never did anything with his life. I want a life in the fast lane. So, I am going to steal yours.

What. That’s not possible

I stand up and try to move, but I can’t. It’s like I am frozen in place.

Carter, look in the mirror. Can’t you see the changes have already begun.

As I stared into the mirror, I could see the wrinkles start appearing on my face. Suddenly I started breathing heavier as I felt myself get older. I ran my hands through my hair and it came out in chunks in my hand. I tried to run, to get out, but couldn’t move. My skin was aging. I could feel my youth leaving my body. Passing 30. All of my hair fell out. Passing 40. Stubble appeared on my face. Then it stopped. I looked in the mirror. Damn. I’m fucking old, but I’m fucking hot.

Haha old man. I’m still fucking hot. Look at me. Your plan failed.

You aren’t very smart are ya Carter. That was just step one.

Step one! I turned to him and saw that somehow his hair had grown back in and he looked middle aged. It’s like my hair and age went to him!

Yes, there are three steps. Let’s start step number two.

With that he clapped his hands and suddenly I felt bloated. My stomach was starting to rumble. I looked in the mirror and my face was bubbling. Suddenly it felt like I was blowing up like a balloon. 10, 20, 50, 100, 150, 200 pounds of fat just suddenly appeared on my body. For some reason as I grew, my clothes grew with me.

I was a whale. No one would ever recognize me. It was absolutely disgusting. I used to make fun of people who looked like this. Now I was one of them. I turned and looked at my captor. He looked good. He was so skinny. It’s like all of his weight transferred to my body! He was hot! I was so jealous. Wait he said this was step two, what was step three going to be?!

Damn, I never even looked this good when I used to be in my 40’s. This is amazing. I bet you are wondering about step three. Well, I suppose it’s time to start the final step. Get ready to say goodbye to any remaining part of your old life.

A wave suddenly washed over me. I could feel the life force draining from my body. My facial hair was turning white. My back pain was killing me. I could feel pain everywhere in my body. Arthritis. But I’m only 28. What is happening. I didn’t even think this was possible.

I’m Marvin Jarvis. Wait what! No I’m not Marvin… I’m um….i’m um. What is going on. It’s like I am losing my memories.

What are you doing to me. Why can’t I remember my name. Why do I think I’m you.

Because, Marvin, that’s part of step three. I become you and you become me. We might not look exactly the same, but the world will change to suit us. Why don’t you look at your license.

I could barely reach my wallet. I pulled out my driver’s license. It still said Carter Austin, and then it changed. Marvin Jarvis. 81 years old. 375 pounds. I looked at the photo and then at my reflection in the mirror. There was the same old man. Me!

You’ll never get away with this.

I already have. Your old memories will continue to slip away until you become Marvin Jarvis. Meanwhile, I’ll get your memories and live out my life again. A world-famous model. Carter Austin. My life is set.

Suddenly my mom entered the house.

Hello Marvin. I just came to get Carter. Dinner is ready.

I wanted to scream out. To tell my mom what happened. All that came out was “Of course Karen. It was lovely seeing Carter again. What a fine man he has become.”

Mom, I am just going to hug Mr. Jarvis goodbye and then I’ll be home.

Okay. See you soon honey. Goodbye Marvin.

The new Carter came and hugged me. Good luck Mr. Jarvis. You’ll need it. Don’t forget to take your heart pills, and back pills, and all the other pills. Don’t drive at night. Also, your social security check barely covers basic living expenses. Haha. Better get one last look at me. This is the last time you’ll see me. I’m never coming back to this hodunk town.

I started crying as the new Carter Austin left. He may not have looked exactly like me, but what does it matter. The world believes he is Carter and I am Marvin.

I sat down because my knees were giving out. I tried to remember everything about my old life, but I could feel it slipping away. I’m trapped. There is nothing I can do. You know what sounds good right now. A good pipe. I wonder if NCIS is on. 6:30pm. Almost time for bed. Well, maybe being an old man isn’t going to be so bad after all.

[miirohs]

skz as marching band members

cw: n/a an: can you hear my inner band kid coming out after the absolute banger this comeback was? i may not be in band but colorguard is pretty damn close- also the reader a colorguard member! shoutout to nyx, ily boo!

bang chan:

hes a drum major. 100%

he also is band captain bc he's just that bitch

co-arranges musics with the band director and everyone knows when the time he's gonna pull out the 1970s/80s/90s music

use to be a clarinet, but definitely plays in some games if another drum major is conducting for him

an absolute beast when he's conducting, never misses a beat

he's always open to discovering new music bc he loves to arrange songs he enjoys

he's a strickler and needs shit to be on time because he needs to keep a consistent schedule lest he forget to do something

with his partner:

i mean he's definitely the type to try and help with counts (even if your counts are different than the rest of the band)

if he had a dime for every time he got yelled at because he was busy watching your section he'd have a lot of dimes

he likes to say its because your flags are bright and distracting but lets be fr he was watching you

definitely copies the stand dances when he's conducting and makes the rest of the band laugh when he messes up.

typa guy to ask you for a kiss for luck right before the halftime because in his words, "you're his lucky charm"

lee minho:

hes the cheer captain, four time state champion and a menace

probably did band for like half a year and then quit

runs the cheer team practices like its a fucking military camp, everyone fears and loves him

hes grown to have a reputation because once a girl quit due to the pressure and he basically followed her around school for a whole week and she ended up switching schools

deviously talking shit about some of the band and all the football team all the goddamn time, loves loves loves to start beef and then walk away

he also does choreography work with the guard sometimes because he likes seeing the pretty flags

with his partner:

at some point he drags the whole team to your comps just to see y'all, he loves seeing you specifically put all his work in action

always offering helpful advice on how to fix body angles, posture, etc

since he's a performer himself, he get how easy it is to burn out so sometimes he'll bring you to his own practices and show you things he's choreographed himself

seonghwa is considering locking you away after the sheer amount of times you've gone "mysteriously" missing during the end of practice

Always cheers extra loud for you in the stands, just to see your smile

seo changbin:

he's literally so bass/sousaphone coded

him and wooyoung (sax) and yeonjun (flute) have definitely tried to play each others instruments at at least one point

probably switches between the two every year, well versed in how to play both

definitely plays bass outside of band, is hella good at it too

people find him intimidating but in all honesty he's a sweetheart who would help you no matter what

probably one of the dudes that marches with way more energy than the rest of his section combined- literally during weekend practices he's smiling and laughing at 9 in the morning while everyone sluggishly retrieves their instruments

he's also a part of the stage crew and moves and paints a lot of their equipment

with his partner:

he'd definitely try to teach you how to play the bass and he'd be so proud when you manage to play like one chord

calls his friends over and everything and is like "look they did it!"

in return you've definitely taught him stand dances and bro is killing it- you keep trying to convince him to join but he's loyal

whenever you're performing near him, he has the stupidest heart-struck eyes and is always watching you

loves when you do rifle work because he thinks it looks sick as hell

he wouldn't try it though because he's scared that he'll hit himself and he still doesn't know how you do it

he'll give you little winks if you're close by

hwang hyunjin:

hes a piccolo through and through

he's got both the drama and the sass all the flute section is carrying

he always has his piccolo on him, so he's ready to give the performance of a lifetime whenever needed

he's big big friends with the guard and cheer team, they have their own dedicated groupchat and everything

also the costume manager, he has literally been badgering chan to update the uniforms like forever, sometimes he adds his own little spins to the costumes and also does repairs on them

with his partner:

he admires the guard (you) from afar for sure

he carries your stuff for you because he's such a gentleman (also the piccolo is pocket sized and chan has been getting on his ass about treating the instrument right but to him nothing matters more than treating you right)

definitely joins you and seonghwa when you're gossiping about

sometimes he plays and you'll just do a random saber combo to it and he'll cheer for you

sometimes he likes to take a spin on it (and immediately regret when it smacks his fingers really bad)

whenever you get a boo-boo he always kisses it better, swears his kisses will immediately heal your bruises

han jisung:

he's a trumpet (which is oddly fitting for him)

plays sad music even when it doesn't call for it

always doing the sad trombone thing on trumpet and the trombones are salty that he kinda stole their thunder with that

he's known in the low brass section for being able to play almost any brass instrument with the littlest instruction

chan basically refuses to let him make the switch to sax because he knows what'll happen if he does (he thinks han'll go crazy)

he loves a good challenge, will trumpet-off with other people and play songs on his instruments against other sections

with his partner:

he probably plays show tunes and stuff while you dance with him- loves to call you his showgirl

he's always vibing to your little thumps when you toss and throw, wishes that he could do it too

tries to teach you how to play but that does not end well

he's clingy, he'll do anything to stay with you a little longer

sometimes he even asks you to help find his music for him in an attempt to distract you (its in his bag and he'll magically remember after you give him a hug or some form of physical affection)

lee felix:

probably picked the flute cause it looks pretty aesthetic lets be fr

everyone in band comes to him for marching advice because he makes it look fun and easy

always giving it 100% even if no one can hear him- he makes sure he's heard

even though he joined as a hobby, he's killing it and he plays outside of band as well

always doing musical challenges on tik tok, especially when he should be practicing in sectionals

his favorite thing to play on the flute are disney songs, but he also plays a shit ton of different genres and posts them to tik tok, bringing some semblance of fame to their little high school band

with his partner:

he 100% plays little snippets of song you like because everything sounds good on flute (trust me)

will convince you to do tik toks with him even if you aren't a fan

sometimes you let him try the flag or saber in exchange for his flute so you can try it

he admits that the only reason he leaves his flute to you whenever he goes is so that he can sit nearby and listen to you try to play it (and fail)

he would most definitely be a natural at flag but tries not to do as well so you can shine when your time comes

lets you lean back against him in the stands

kim seungmin:

he's percussion. he's literally a percussion in my heart.

he definitely plays the drums around chan because he thinks its funny to annoy him by drumming off count

no one has ever survived a drum comp with this man fr

sometimes he hums along to his drumming

also taps his thighs/air when he doesn't have something in his hands

he has good rhythm so chan usually has him set the pace to which they go on the field to

he's competitive as hell, he knows hes also better than everyone else and he shows it

with his partner:

he loves guard but he refuses to be put next to them on the drill because he suffered an injury at your hands once

he loves to show off he can play the drums and him and his section do little drumming sessions sometimes while you do saber warmups

he distracts both you and himself a lot when it comes to joint practices so seonghwa and chan have tried to move them (to no avail)

he'll sit outside with you when you guys practice sometimes (as support he says, but seonghwa doesn't believe him)

he's always giving you little nods of approval, doesn't outright show it but he'll take your hands and give you a little kiss when no ones looking

he doesn't want his section to know he's soft for you

yang jeongin:

he's front ensemble/pit, i hope we all agree on him being on the synths and marimba

he's a vital part of the band for sure even if he never seems to get credit but he honestly could care less

has been running synths since he joined, originally wanted to do the sousaphone but he wasn't built enough for it

also the front ensemble section leader, he's very efficient in managing the pit

but he's also clumsy as hell and will sometimes zone out and drops the mallet on the marimba or just entirely forgets wtf he's suppose to be doing on the synths

more than once he's nearly caught these hands from chan bc in chans words, "those were expensive"

with his partner:

whenever he sees you on the sidelines, he's always ginning because out of the corner of his eye he can see you jamming out to the music

everyone teases him (especially binnie) because he zones out watching you and drops the mallet on his foot

follows your every move carefully (and like minho), and he'll always give you advice, but he sugar coats it very much because he loves you and doesn't want to hurt your feelings

loves loves loves when you send him little videos of your progress

loves it even more when you question him about his work, it makes him feel so important pls ask him how he does shit hes dying for it

brushes against you when walking out to the fields during games- he just wants to let you know hes there

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 8/13/2024

i think i'm going to take a break from scifi written by men for a bit

listening

Ahmed Malek's Les Vacances de L'inspecteur Tahar, from the 1972 film of the same name.

if i can be really really real for a minute here the only thing i've listened to more than twice this week is GUESS by charli xcx but i don't want to have the same tuesdaysong twice in a row. this would make for an annoying end of year playlist.

i got an ad for a collected set of Ahmed Malek's Algerian jazz music on instagram. a session musician in Algiers, he made his name as a soundtrack composer with this comedic detective movie and was in demand for the rest of his life-- he's still really beloved in the African jazz scene, his works are super collectible, and his daughter gifted all his masters to a tiny record company so they could rerelease and preserve them.

it sounds exactly how you think a 70s cop movie should sound. impeccable example of the genre. instantly evocative. i wonder if it influenced the wider cop drama soundscape or if it's just an early example?

-

reading

many books disappointed me a great deal this week.

thank you philip.

the only comic i did like was Marauders (2019-2022), trying to get a little bit more into the xmen since my bestie has decided we're watching all their movies. this is really fun bc i knew who kitty pryde was, and she's a privateer captain who looks beat to shit the whole book. extremely fun and gay and swashbuckling, i placed holds for the other volumes already.

the two rogue and gambit books assumed i knew more about those characters than i already did, and had a heavy reliance on flashbacks and references to other issues.

the magic order was insufferable and did not stick its landing. made me worry about the characters and then feel really fucking stupid for worrying about the characters. i don't know why i keep trying mark millar books and thinking i will like them.

HOTELITOR had a very fun concept (mech hotel), but was a little more middle-grade than i was expecting, even from a teen book. very calarts visual style. very power of friendship will undo an evil corporation, which, i wish.

this little mermaid manga was not for me. and that's fine. most manga isn't for me.

we have to take a brief detour into how i store my books (poorly). these big middle shelves hold an unsorted mass, mostly of stuff i'm not sure i want to keep. i'm trying to be more thoughtful about which books i keep bc realistically i do not reread very often (if at all) and i am running out of space. as much as i love weird little scifi and fantasy paperbacks it would be cool if they all fit on one shelf.

here are four books i rapidly cycled through this weekend that are going to be donated.

Michael Moorcock's The Black Corridor, 1969, about a man slowly going insane in a spaceship fleeing a politically violent Earth with his friends and relations in cryosleep. not a very beloved Moorcock book among the Moorcock fans. this has a heavy focus on the rise of British fascism and i'm not now, nor will i ever be, in the mood for this. a shame bc this slim hardcover has proportions that were very nice to hold.

Thomas Burnett Swan's Where is the Bird of Fire?, 1970, three not quite short stories but not quite novellas about mythical creatures at the founding of Rome, Xerxes the Great's empire, and Britain near the fall of Rome. states very clearly exactly what it is on the tin and delivers it, unfortunately i don’t like any of the flavors on offer. every single one of these has the half-coy kind of sex scene common in historical fiction, where in order to represent the past accurately and with full verisimilitude we Must convey that they fucked nasty and had fun doing it. many times. unfortunately a middle aged man wrote these and our erotic sensibilities are Very far apart.

Glen Cook's Cold Copper Tears, 1988, a noirish urban fantasy. there are fourteen books in this series so clearly people like them. i found a lot of the Noir Similes a little tortured. "but kay isn't that the point--" yes but these annoyed me. also there's a rape joke i didn't enjoy on the fourth fucking page. i have very few hard outs in fiction and one of them is on-screen or on-page sexual assault or rape jokes in chapter one. i am slightly less likely to drop a book if it has rape jokes in chapters that are not the first but like. it’s still almost a flat line at 100%.

and the only one i got two-thirds of the way through, and which i partially liveblogged here,

Eric Kotani and John Maddox Robert's Between the Stars, 1988, the third in their Island Worlds series. it stands alone fairly well, which is impressive.

this book is good at differentiating a very large, very clannish cast, which is a hard thing to do in a political opera. people are often differentiated by little physical movement quirks, which a spy later uses to identify someone. it’s a lovely bit of business and definitely the authors’ strong points.

also props for two of the most capable people, an ill-liked matriarch/scientific genius and a femme fatale Russian, for being two of the most interesting characters with the most screen time, both on their own and in other character’s thoughts. unfortunately, with such a large cast and so many factions, the action is often split and meandering. racist in the very specific orientalist way cyberpunk eighties fiction often is, but uncommonly, they remembered Turkey existed and included in the orientalism?

severely suffered from a second act where it tripped over its own feet a lot instead of continued forward motion, quite honestly i got bored and tired of being hit over the head with various points. a very whedonesque quality of needing to comment on the political implication of something the instant after it happens.

this is not a subtle book, and it smacks less of an urgency to get a point across in as few words as possible and more an uncertainty in the authors of getting their point across at all. this is confusing to me bc this was their fourth book together and the third in this series. have some more confidence in your writing abilities. like, if you've already established your baddie as a fascist torturer who literally owns slaves and plans on taking over earth, you don't need to have him also say "Hitler was much-maligned" at a dinner party he's holding in a room full of hunting trophies where the only things on the table are red wine and whole game birds. you've more than established him as evil. the whole book is like this. it's exhausting.

not a book for me! many such cases!

-

watching

my brother was really singing the praises of vampire hunter d's animation and i was like, postapoc roaming vampire bounty hunter? say less! im already getting in!

i watched the 1980s version with some bemusement until he was like "why did you watch that and not the 2000 version." well that would have been so cool of you to be more specific, my boy!!! vampire hunter d (1985, dir. Toyoo Ashida) was still fun but clearly had way less of a budget than Vampire Hunter D Bloodlust (2000, dir. Yoshiaki Kawajiri)

i enjoyed bloodlust a little more bc it had a postapoc style i enjoyed a little more: showed me big manta rays that hide under the sand, big ruined radio dishes, and lots of beautifully ruined skyscrapers and fucked up highway overpasses. every time you see me post about a BIG!!! FUCKING!!! DISH!!! you should hear this schoolchildren "YAAAAAY!" sample from Jet Set Radio

-

playing

nothing much to report, a lot of grindy genshin impact shit as i try to clear all my map markers before the new nation drops at the end of the month.

-

making

the girls have three litter boxes available to them (laundry room/spare bathroom/utility closet), all in the correct and recommended locations, all with good sightlines and escape routes and all out of the main hustle and bustle of the apartment, all open top, all with the same kind of litter and the same kind of litter mat. they only use the one in my laundry room. since phil has had free roam of the house she has not used the one in the office bathroom. i asked my vet about this and sent her pictures to make sure i was doing everything right and the diagnosis was "yeah that's a little weird of them". can we spread the wear and tear out a little more, girls? so i don't have to deep clean the same litterbox every week?

[presleyhearted]

Kismet, Kismet✨🤍| Part 1

pairing : 1970s!e x Asian!OC summary : Angel Song grew up in a strict, Korean household. Molding her into the perfect 'good girl.' Through a strange case of serendipity, she finds herself face to face with Elvis Presley, the one person who just might threaten to shatter the glass of her good girl act. chapter warnings: age gap, profanity. genre: fluff, angst, (future smut)

author's note : hi! this was originally a one-shot in my mind, but when I started writing I realized the story is longer than that. So, a full-length fic. I noticed the lack of Asian-centred characters in the fandom, so here we go. I have so much planned for this, already daydreaming about future scenes. Each part will have warnings, so please refer to those before reading. This series will contain 18+ and mature themes, even if this part one does not. So, please be wary of that if you are a minor, do not interact. enjoy reading! - Rose 💋

Las Vegas, 1972

She shouldn't be here tonight.

The piles upon piles of paper that occupied back at her dorm room would agree. A rather stark contrast to the blinding lights, numerous glamoured clothing, and excited chatter that filled the spacious room she was currently in. Two different ways one could spend their Thursday night. Not even the carefree reputation of a weekend could ease the guilt of temporarily abandoning academic commitments.

My goodness, it's Thursday night Angel thought to herself, as she couldn't help but fiddle with her fingers, trying and failing desperately to relax in the seat. An action that does not go unnoticed by Felicity, her carefree roommate.

"Are you on your period?" Felicity asked her, nonchalantly. Thankfully, she says this in a quieter voice. Angel knows that there is no embarrassment in the natural cycle of womanhood. But it is still a topic that can only be discussed in hushed whispers between women.

Angel shook her head, "No. Why?"

"It's just, you keep fidgeting in your seat." Felicity pointed out.

"I can't help thinking about that paper for-"

Felicity quickly shushed her and took hold of her arms, "Oh my god, Angel. No. No talk about assignments, essays, or professors. We are sat front row about to see thee Elvis Presley in front of our very eyes!" She said, in a matter-of-fact, way and gesturing her hands dramatically to the stage.

"I know, but-"

"No buts! Our boring life as college students can wait, but this is once in a blue moon." Felicity persisted, her voice drifting off into a dreamy sigh.

Although, Angel instinctively was about to reply back something along the lines of academic responsibility needing to triumph seeing a star's live performance - her roommate's words processed longer in her mind. Felicity tends to be bolder and acts quickly without thinking most of the time. A habit that doesn't exactly align with safety, but does very much so with trouble. Angel was quite the opposite and is the one who persistently cautions her roommate's spontaneous pursuits.

But Angel does know that spontaneity can result in good things. She can act at least recognize that. Which is why, she held back her tongue before replying to Felicity, because well - this is one of those good things.

Very good things. Angel's thoughts echoed.

A reminder more so. A reminder of the time when she first heard him sing and see him perform. Just one year before her senior year of high school, she stumbled upon his performance on the television screen in her parents' living room. The '68 comeback special. His all-black leather outfit, tanned skin, jet-black hair, and not to mention the crooked grin that he so consistently displayed to his audience. His voice - a beautiful, rich, and deep timbre that captured anyone who listened. Angel did. Certainly. Not to mention the way he moved on stage - he was practically swimming with charisma and sexual appeal.

But of course, her eyes were only captivated by his performance for a short while before her mother waltzed in and abruptly turned the television set off. Hands-on her hips, a deep set frown on her lips, as she looked at her teenage daughter in bewilderment. A type of bewilderment that made whatever magical word Angel was so captured in - burst and disappear. Her mother wasted no time in questioning her, heck, Angel could still remember the words to this very day: 'What on earth do you think you are doing watching such vulgar movements? You are poisoning your mind!' Her mother's words half English, and half in Korean.

In which, Angel remembers replying back, in defense 'But Eomma (Mom) it's only dancing!' A reply that ended up with a lecture from her mother about the dangers of viewing such a performance. The dangers of Elvis Presley, and how he corrupts their generation to pursue wrongful actions. Angel could not simply understand the issue in the matter, but she knew better than to say more.

So, that was that. Her father caught the news from her mother, which turned into another discussion. But despite all of that, Angel desperately, found herself wishing to hear his voice again. There was something naturally comforting, and something true when he sang. So she bought his records, in secret, and played them whenever her parents were not in the house.

But thinking back to that day that she first saw his performance, as she lay back on her bed and stared up at the ceiling - there was one word that jumped from the confines of Angel's mind.

Daring.

Elvis Presley was absolutely daring.

Angel found herself shaking her head, and a smile pulling on her lips at the memory of her past self. And so, although college is important, she knew Felicity had a point. It would be foolish to brush past an opportunity to see him perform live. To satisfy the part of her that became a fan on that day years ago. After all, college is every day, but Elvis Presley? it would only be once. She will see him perform once, and go home, and she knows that her future self would be glad that she created such a memory. A memory that she will surely cherish forever.

So, without that in mind, she looks to Felicity, "Okay. You do have a point."

Felicity claps excitedly and smiles in triumph, "Oh, this will change our lives forever. I just know."

The showroom was quickly filled with hundreds upon hundreds of excited audience members. It ranged from regular, avid fans to top A-list actors and actresses occupying the seats of the spacious area. Angel couldn't help but sneak a glance at the clock that was just to the right wall. ten minutes. Elvis Presley will be out on stage in just ten minutes.

The actual realisation finally hit her. Earlier all that occupied her mind were her worries between the battle of having fun, or turning back and burying her nose in the papers at her desk. But now, now that she has accepted that it did not hurt to let this opportunity happen, the wave of what will actually happen any moment now gripped her mind.

Elvis Presley will perform and he will be right in front of me. Her heartbeat couldn't help but quicken at the thought of it - the pure excitement and rush, hitting her all at once.

Being overwhelmed by listening to his records was one thing. But seeing him right in front of her? In, what, she glanced at the time - eight minutes - overwhelmed wouldn't even begin to describe what she would feel. Felicity chatted away with her prediction on what songs he would play and apparent rumours about potential medleys. But Angel was drowning out the words, not quite hearing it, her excitement was filling up her body quicker and quicker. Shit.

She needed a drink, and she needed one fast. Luckily, servers were plentiful, walking around with circular trays as they placed various beverages and food onto tables. She managed to get a glass of water, muttered a thanks, and drank it. Felt the cool liquid against her tongue. Better. She's calmer now.

But heard her stomach rumbling, her cheeks hot in embarrassment. Right. She didn't eat before they left the dorms, because well, her cheerful red-headed roommate thought it was the best to surprise her with tickets at the last minute. Angel simply didn't have time to process everything, before she found herself walking into the infamous International Hotel.

"- I still think Gregory Peck is leagues better than Cary Grant," Felicity said, drifting the conversation to some Hollywood actors who were rumored to be attending tonight.

Now that her body is much more relaxed, Angel felt good that she was able to properly engage in a conversation with her roommate. But yes. she was still hungry.

Angel shrugged, "Both are good. But I can't say that I've seen all the pictures that Cary Grant was in, so I couldn't make a fair judgment." She replied, every assessor and the analytical tendency jumping out of her, all second nature.

Felicity simply shook her head, "Very well, then, Attorney Song." She teased, as she smirked.

Angel laughed, "Oh, shut it."

At the corner of her eye, she saw a server that was about to pass their table. Angel quickly planned that she would stand up, which she did, and turn around and browse the food options that the server held. The turning around and standing did certainly go to plan, however, the latter most certainly did not.

In fact, what did end up happening is the abrupt movement from Angel caused the glass of beverage on the tray to lose balance and slam right into her. Spilling her dress. The server's eyes widened, as he profusely apologized, Angel was quick to tell him that it was not his fault and most certainly hers due to her clumsiness. Felicity gasped and handed Angel the few paper towels that were on their table, but despite this, the stain was still very noticeable.

"Oh, great," Angel groaned.

Then she remembered. She remembered how she always brought spare clothes with her in case of anything. A situation precisely like this. With that, she bids Felicity a temporary goodbye, in which the redhead reminds her to hurry as the show is about to start.

five minutes. The clock read as she ran past it, through the doors, and into the hallway of the first floor of the hotel.

Angel sighed in relief at the sight of the female restrooms and was about to push the door open when she noticed a sign - 'out of order, please use the next available restroom. we are sorry for the inconvenience.' Shit.

"Hi, excuse me," She said at the receptionist sat behind the desk.

The lady nodded for her to continue, "Yes, Ma'am. How can I help?"

"I saw the restroom is out of service. Are there other restrooms located on this floor?"

The lady sighed, "There are no other restrooms on this floor, Ma'am. The next one is located on the third floor."

Third floor. She glanced at the clock - three minutes.

Shit. There is no way that she will make it, well at least not to see Elvis' first walk onto the stage.

She nodded, "Alright, thank you for your help."

Angel then makes a run for it to the elevators. She pressed a button and well, it is definitely taking its time, as she found herself tapping her feet impatiently on the carpeted flooring.

She surveys her surroundings, there is the option of taking the stairs, but that will just make her sweaty. An image that Angel definitely does not want to add to the already spilled drink on her dress. She bites her lip anxiously and stops her eyes at a door in a corner. There is no room number, only the sign saying 'supply closet.'

Aha, perfect.

She quickly looks around, making sure that no one is around to see her. Once she is satisfied that the coast is clear, Angel quickly runs to the supply closet, swings the door open and locks the door. She breathes out a sigh of relief and mutters to herself, "Thank the Lord."

She mentally thanks her past self for choosing a dress that was easy to remove, as she begins to pull down the sleeves of her dress, and pull down the top part.

The supply closet was exactly what is sounded like - towels and various cleaning supplies filled four shelves. The space was tiny, but that didn't matter, just enough space for one person to quickly change into clean clothes and make a swift exit. A good plan before any member of the cleaning staff encounters her.

Because yes, this is most definitely not a changing room.

But then again, nothing is quite going to plan this evening. So, well, it should not be a surprise for Angel to discover that yet another part of her plans has been thrown out of the window.

A clearing of a throat made her jump, Angel's eyes widened as she quickly grabbed onto the top of her dress to cover herself, and pulled her sleeves back up. She turned around, "What th-"

Her words get caught in her throat, she spun around expecting a complete stranger and was ready to hit them with her bag. But she paused her movements, for it was not a stranger that was before her. Yes, she did not know him personally, but my goodness she knew him in a way. Tanned skin, effortlessly cool black hair, fancy jumpsuit adorned with glittering stones, and the few rings that occupied his fingers.

Elvis Presley.

He was sat down with his back against the wall.

His azure blue eyes held contact with her brown ones, with both of his hands up as if in surrender. He vigorously shook his head, "I-I-I. . .honey, I swear to ya. I-I wasn't," He stammered. A bright bloom in his cheeks.

She immediately knew what he was trying to say, albeit a stuttering explanation from him.

"I didn't look at nothin', " Elvis ran a hand through his hair, seemingly stressed out about the situation.

Angel raised an eyebrow and Elvis nodded.

She then most certainly realized that he was waiting for her to say something. Anything.

Angel took a deep breath and tried to find the words herself, "You. . how. . . but it's just. . . fuck." She ended up cursing under her breath, completely mentally kicking herself for not being able to articulate one simple sentence.

cute. Elvis thought.

Elvis felt himself smile but fortunately controlled himself enough not to continue to do so. Thinking to himself that a smile won't help her right now.

Angel held her head in her hands, muttered a few words to herself that Elvis realized must be in a different language, and then looked back at him.

"Okay. I- uhm, I believe you. It's just. . . what is actually happening?" Angel asked, seemingly been able to calm down her racing heartbeat but her brain not yet fully comprehending the situation.

The complete impossibility of it.

Elvis nodded and gestured to the floor, "Why don't ya sit down, honey. I'll tell ya."

There. That southern drawl, a tone that sent a shiver down her spine. But she was quick to snap herself out of it.

"I uhm, I need to change." She gestured to the spill on her dress.

" I won't look. " Elvis held his hands up in defense and immediately turned around to face the wall. Angel bit her lip a little apprehensively, but then thought to herself that there is quite literally no other way around this. So, she turned around and began to change. The space in the closet was not very generous, if Angel were to step backward just a step - the back of her legs would surely be hitting Elvis' head.

Angel tried to calm her breathing.

I am getting changed when Elvis Presley is right behind me. What in the world.

She changed into a regular mod dress and turned back around. Just in time to see that there was a clock on the wall, right above where Elvis sat. The countdown is over. It was done approximately ten minutes ago, but there were two things that Angel was certain of;

One; the countdown for Elvis to appear on stage has long been finished.

Two; Although the countdown was over, the one that it was for was not present on stage and instead he was - right here. Sat down, turned around, in a cleaning supply closet and Angel is about to find out why.