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lustnhim · 12 days ago

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“goo goo muck.” — vamp! elvis x reader

note: happy halloween y'all! / warning: elvis is a…vampire! religious themes, mentions of the occult, death, violence, blood and biting (obvi), dub-con, p in v sex, no protection, fingering, mirror sex (you can see elvis though!). / summary: his bloodlust is getting harder to control, especially when he sees you late one night.

October 31st, 1970.

“Well when the sun goes down and the moon comes up.”

Vampires. Such a childish thing to believe in Dracula and Nosferatu, even that Vampira gal, foolish and inaccurate depictions. Hellish, bloodthirsty creatures, kings and queens of the night, seductive and sinful. How perfect that Elvis Presley was a vampire.

Halloween was a day that went by with little recognition, Elvis had never celebrated it when he was a kid course’ if any kids decided to make their way to Graceland he’d give em’ candy and had taken Lisa trick or treating a few times before the divorce- but other than that nothing. It was a particularly lonely day, nothing going on, no plans, but he had hoped for that. Certain days were better than others, he could contain his thirst for long periods of time- raw meat did him wonders, but every now and then he’d get that feeling that he couldn’t quite push away- that urge to just pull someone off the street and drink them dry. He hated it with every ounce of his being, he knew that if he were to die, a fate worse than eternal damnation would follow him- still, he prayed to God every night for forgiveness, begging for any kind of comfort from his savior.

As the hours ticked by and the night grew darker, Elvis found himself restless. The hunger gnawed at him, a constant reminder of his cursed existence. He paced the halls of Graceland, his footsteps echoing through the empty rooms when a loud ringing filled his ears, the phone. Picking it up he cleared his throat, “Hello?”-- “EP! It’s Red, you oughta come out tonight with us, you can’t stay cooped up in there forever!” Red complained, before Elvis could even say anything more. “I ain’t feelin’ too well tonight-” Elvis started before being interrupted, “C’mon! Look, we’ll be down at the bar on Elm- me and the rest of the boys. It ain’t as fun without you.” Red said, the sound of loud drunken laughter coming from the background as Elvis let out a groan, his arm clutching his stomach gently as he looked outside, the sky deep shades of blue and purple, “Fine. I’ll be down in a few.” Elvis hung up the phone with a sigh, his stomach churning with the familiar pangs of hunger. He knew he should stay home, lock himself away until the cravings passed. But Red's insistence wore him down, and the prospect of a night out with his old friends was too tempting to resist.

He threw on a long black and red jacket and headed out into the cool October night. The streets were alive with Halloween revelers, their costumes a riot of colors and creativity. Elvis walked briskly, trying to hurry and get down there- which took a bit longer than usual since the amount of people on the street stopping and getting what they could from him. He regretted this immensely. He could smell it, hear the sound of their hearts beating in his ears- his stomach growling widely. Eventually he made it to the bar and was immediately engulfed in a cloud of cigarette smoke and the clamor of raucous laughter. Red and the boys were already several drinks deep, their faces flushed and eyes glossy. They greeted Elvis with hoots and hollers, slapping him on the back and pressing bottles of beer into his hands to which he only took one, he didn’t like drinking too much. Elvis forced a smile and took a seat at the table, his eyes scanning the room. That's when he saw you, sitting alone at the bar, nursing a whiskey sour. He could smell you. So strong. A deep floral scent, your heartbeat steady, he could even hear the blood coursing through your veins. Elvis' mouth watered, and he felt his fangs elongate in his mouth, pricking his tongue gently. Shit. He usually could control when and where they came out, but not right now, he couldn’t- “Whatcha’ lookin at EP?” Red asked, and Elvis jerked his head forward but he knew Red had seen him staring. “Ohh, I see. Go talk to her man, get some.” He nudged and Elvis’ jaw clenched, his gaze lingered on you, his eyes darkening with hunger and desire. He could see the way your pulse raced beneath your delicate skin, the way your breath quickened as he stared. He felt an overwhelming urge to reach out and touch you, to feel the warmth of your flesh beneath his fingers. But he hesitated, knowing the danger he posed to you. Instead, he downed his beer in one long gulp, hoping the alcohol might dull his senses and quiet his thirst. "Think I'll take a walk, clear my head," he muttered, rising from his seat. Red and the boys nodded, too caught up in their own drunken revelry to pay him much mind. Elvis made his way towards the exit, his steps purposeful and determined. He knew he should leave, put as much distance between himself and temptation as possible. But his feet carried him past the bar and straight to you instead. You could feel eyes on you and when you heard footsteps coming towards you you turned around to see him behind you. “Nice Elvis costume.” You smiled, studying the man that had approached you. Elvis laughed nervously, careful to try not to reveal too much of his mouth. “Ain’t a costume darlin’...” He shook his head, trying to ignore the way your hair fell, your pretty neck on full display. Letting out a choked sound you looked over him a few more times, “Holy shit.” You muttered under your breath but of course, Elvis heard it. “Mind if I sit with ya, honey?” He asks, knowing that he shouldn’t, knowing that the feeling in his stomach is only growing more noticeable and how horridly his fangs were pressing into his tongue. “Yeah, of course– Sorry, I just..” You stammered, wholeheartedly shocked that he would talk to you- or the fact that he was even out of the house, you hadn’t seen much of him in the papers since his divorce but he seemed to be doing fine despite looking a bit…tired? His eyes twinkled behind his sunglasses as they raked over you, drinking every bit of you in.

He sat down, moving gracefully. A smile plastered on his face as he motioned for the waiter to bring him a drink. “Lone on halloween?” He asks, making you snap back into what’s happening. “Huh? Oh, yeah- unfortunately.” You respond, moving your glass around in your hand, the ice clinking gently. Elvis' eyes gleamed in the dim light of the bar, his gaze intense and unwavering as he studied your face. "Well, that's a shame. A pretty little thing like you shouldn't be all alone on a night like this." He leaned in closer, his warmth radiating through the cool air between you. His voice was low and honeyed, sending a shiver down your spine despite the chill of the October night. You swallowed hard, suddenly acutely aware of how close he was, of the way his fingers tapped against the table. "I-I'm not usually alone, just this year it worked out that way..." You stuttered, trying to ignore the way your pulse raced at his proximity, at the way his eyes seemed to bore into your very soul, and he- he was hungry. It was getting much worse, your heartbeat was loud enough for him to hear it, and your smell. God. He couldn't get enough of it. Elvis breathed deeply, inhaling the intoxicating aroma of your blood singing in his veins. ‘Holy hell, what am I doing?’ he thought, desperately trying to control his raging thirst. His eyes flicked to your neck, transfixed by the pulsing rush of blood just beneath the surface. “Well that’s no good…I’m be more than happy ta’ give you some company. “ He smiles and you really can’t believe your ears. “I-I’d really like that ...thank you Mr.Presley.” You respond, dumbfounded. Elvis struggles not to smirk too wide, his fangs pressing into his tongue. His stomach growls unreasonably loud and he clears his throat, finding it impossible to ignore any longer. Maybe if he can just find someone real quick...”Scuse’ me honey…I’ll be right back.” Elvis got up abruptly, looking around the bar before making his way to the bathroom, leaving you at the table to babysit the drinks.

Elvis swung open the bathroom door, lunging himself at the sink and splashing a bit of water on his face before opening his mouth. His fangs had caused his mouth to bleed, the taste of iron filling his mouth, only aiding to his hunger. “Goddammit.” he whispered under his breath as the door flung open, a young man in a cheap werewolf costume stumbling in, his body swaying as he maneuvered his way to the sink beside Elvis. Elvis' fingers dug into the porcelain sink, his nails scraping against the smooth surface. He could see the way the man's blood vessels pulsed just beneath the surface of his skin. The man stumbled, his hand coming up to grip the edge of the sink as he swayed on his feet, his werewolf mask slipping slightly to reveal a pair of bloodshot eyes. Elvis' fangs ached, his gums throbbing with the need to sink them into warm, pulsing flesh. The man laughed, a slurred, drunken sound that sent shivers down Elvis' spine. "Man... you're freakin' the hell outta me!" The man stammered, his voice muffled by his mask. He reached up, tugging the mask off to reveal a face flushed with alcohol and sweat, his eyes wild and slightly crazed. Elvis swallowed hard, his throat clicking as he tried to force down the rising tide of thirst that threatened to consume him. “S-sorry my boy.” Elvis said, and the man almost fell down- Elvis caught him and helped him stand a little better but the man was obviously too drunk to even know where he was. “Here man, lets…lets sit ya’ down for a moment.” Elvis said, sitting down the man on the floor, he looked over to the bathroom door and thanked God there was a lock on it. Turning it he looked back at the man who was still giggling idiotically. “Man- You look stupid with those fuckin’ teeth in!” The man exclaimed and Elvis let out a low growl. God, this guy was insufferable. “Yeah, well I can get em’ to go away soon.” He said and the man shook his head letting out small hics before Elvis took a deep breath. Fuck, this guy didn’t smell half as good as you had, a pitiful drink this guy was gonna be. Elvis's nostrils flared as he leaned closer to the drunk man, inhaling deeply. The scent of cheap beer and cigarettes assaulted his senses, far less enticing than the sweet, floral aroma of the woman waiting for him back at the bar. But desperation was setting in, his hunger becoming more insistent with each passing second. "Shhh, it's alright son..." Elvis murmured, his hand coming to rest on the man's shoulder, feeling the prominent pulse point beneath his fingers. "Just relax now." The man's eyes were glazed and unfocused, too inebriated to comprehend the danger he was in. "Wh-what are you... ohh fuck..." He slurred, his words trailing off as Elvis's fingers dug into his shoulders, pinning him against the wall. Elvis's breathing became shallower, his chest constricting as the thirst raged within him.

With a low growl, he buried his face in the crook of the man's neck, his sharp teeth grazing the smooth skin. The drunk man let out a strangled gasp, his eyes widening in fear and confusion. "Wait... what... stop..." He choked out, struggling weakly against Elvis's iron grip. But it was no use. Elvis was far too strong, driven by a primal instinct that superseded all reason. With a swift, violent motion, he sank his fangs deep into the man's throat, piercing the delicate skin and plunging into the warm, pulsing blood beneath. The man screamed, a high-pitched, agonized sound that was cut short by the rush of blood filling his mouth. Elvis drank greedily, the coppery taste of the man's essence flooding his senses and momentarily quenching the fires of his thirst. The drunk man's struggles grew weaker, his body going limp in Elvis’ arms slowly draining him. Elvis had gotten good at this, drinking enough to keep him satisfied but not enough to kill them– do doubt the guy would be sick n’ sore but not dead. Elvis drank until there was nothing left, until the man's heartbeat faded to a distant, barely audible rhythm. Then, with a shudder, he pulled away, licking the crimson stain from his lips. The bathroom was eerily silent, the only sound the slow, rasping breathing of the dying man at his feet. Elvis stood up on shaky legs, his vision swimming as he stumbled towards the sink. He splashed cold water on his face, trying to clear the haze of bloodlust that clouded his mind. "Dear God..." He whispered, his voice trembling with a mix of horror and satisfaction. "Forgive me..." But even as he uttered the prayer, Elvis knew that there was no true repentance, no absolution for the monster he had become. He looked at the man, at the bruises forming around his neck, the eyes staring accusingly at him and he walked over to the man, placing a hand on his head and prayed that he would make a quick recovery.

The blood had left, but that pestilent feeling was still there- it always would be. With a shake of his head, he threw away the remnants of his impromptu bathroom sink cleanup and stepped back into the bar, his eyes immediately finding you still sitting at the table. God, you’re so beautiful he thought as he felt his eyes widen at the sight. His lips spread into a grin and he shook his head slightly, making his way back over to you- you had waited for him. “Sorry bout’ that, honey.” He says, sitting back down, noticing that you had already drunk your drink. “You wantin’ another?” He asks, pointing at your empty glass. “Ah, no I’m all good now– Actually, I think you should finish your drink and you give me that company you so kindly offered earlier.” Bold. He could tell that you were nervous, your heart was beating so fast…like a scared little lamb. “Well, I spose’ we can- I'll take ya to Graceland, how's that sound honey?” Elvis cood, taking his whiskey and drinking it in one quick gulp before sitting the glass down with a soft clink. “Sounds perfect.” You responded, standing up- Elvis hesitated for a moment studying you, how small. He towered over you. Smiling down at you Elvis motioned for you to follow him, the two of you starting out of the bar when Red drunkenly, “You be careful with that one, EP!” Which made the other boys laugh, Elvis promptly flipped them off and the two of you stepped outside. Elvis had not realized how late it had gotten, the streets were practically empty apart from the few teenagers who still roamed the streets. “You drive or walk, honey?” He asked, looking over at you. The wind had blown your hair, exposing your neck and he swallowed hard. His stomach wasn’t growling, his fangs not stabbing his lips, why did he feel so…hungry? “I walked– I don’t live far from here.” You said, looking over at him, he still looked so tired– his eyes masked behind those sunglasses. Why was he wearing them at night…just a quirk of his, you guessed. ”Alright honey, Graceland ain’t far either…let’s get goin.” Elvis guided you through the quiet streets of Memphis, the moon casting an eerie glow on the sidewalks. Despite the late hour, the air was still thick with the lingering humidity of a Southern October night. Your shoes clicked softly against the pavement as you walked beside him, the silence broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant sounds of late-night revelry in the distance. As you walked, Elvis's hand brushed against yours, sending a spark of electricity through your body. You jumped slightly, startled by the contact, but his touch lingered, warm and reassuring. He gave you a sideways glance, his sunglasses hiding his eyes but his smile evident even in the darkness."Cold?" he asked, his drawl more pronounced in the quiet of the night. “Just a bit…” You responded, holding your arms together, your cheap ass ‘costume’ which really was just a flimsy sparkly dress did very little to keep you warm. “Here honey.” He said, stopping and pulling off his coat, handing it to you. Hesitating you looked up at him, he looked…really good. His arms looked nice and strong, and that white undershirt fit him perfectly. “You gonna take it?” He drawled, shaking the coat in front of your face before you took it, marveling at how heavy it was. “Thanks…” You replied and Elvis nodded. He seemed a bit distant, like something was bothering him, did he not want to take you back to his place anymore? Had he already lost interest?

Elvis watched as you slipped on his coat, a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. The fabric enveloped you like a warm embrace, the collar engulfing your delicate neck. You looked so small and fragile wrapped up in his coat, the sleeves drowning your tiny hands. Like a little doll he could just pick up and carry away. In a way, he was. Taking you to his home, knowing that the gnaw in his stomach was starting to come back, knowing that your smell was enough to drive him insane. How irresponsible he was. As Graceland came into view Elvis watched you longneck to see more of it– he chuckled to himself as the gates opened allowing the two of you in. The grand gates of Graceland creaked open as Elvis led you onto the sprawling estate grounds. Elvis placed a hand on your lower back, guiding you up the long, winding driveway. The warm glow of the mansion's exterior lights cast eerie shadows across the lawn. As you reached the front door, Elvis turned to face you, his shades reflecting your wide-eyed expression. He leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. "Welcome to my little slice of paradise, darlin'," he murmured. "Something tells me you're gonna fit right in here." His hand left your back and grabbed the doorknob, the heavy wooden door swinging open to reveal the lavish interior. Plush carpets and ornate furnishings greeted you. Elvis gestured for you to enter before following behind. The door slammed shut, making you jump and the air seemed to press down on you from all sides. Elvis watched you intently, a knowing smirk playing at his lips. “Now, I’d say it’s warm enough for me ta’ take that coat back from ya honey.” Elvis coos, sliding his coat off of you and placing it on the rack, looking around the house you feel a bit tense, it's quiet but comfortable– but being alone with Elvis still makes you a bit uneasy. “How about…you an’ I head upstairs huh?” He asks, taking off his sunglasses and placing them on a small table beside the stairs, his baby blues hiding something dark. "Upstairs?" you ask hesitantly, sudden butterflies swarming in your belly. Upstairs meant privacy, intimacy. Away from prying eyes and judging ears. Away from any chance of rescue or interruption.

Elvis took your hand, leading you up the stairs. He began to feel a bit dizzy, the scent coming off of you much stronger now, clearing his throat he stopped at the top of the stairs and motioned for you to go on. “You go on ta’ my room, honey. I’ll be there in a second.” Elvis' heart races as he watches you disappear down the opulent hallway, the sway of your hips hypnotic. He leans heavily against the banister, fingers curling into the polished wood. This is madness. He knows it. But the hunger, the craving, it consumes him. The scent trailing from your skin is like a siren's song, luring him ever closer to the rocks. "Dammit." He curses under his breath, voice strangled. He runs a hand through his slicked back hair, black locks falling over his forehead. Sweat trickles down his neck despite the cool air. He straightens up, square shoulders back, determination set in his jaw. Elvis strides down the hallway, the click of his shoes echoing off the hardwood floors.At his bedroom door, he pauses, hand hovering over the golden doorknob. He takes a deep breath, centering himself. He couldn’t help it. Not anymore. As he opened the door he saw you facing away, your gaze fixated on what was on the vanity in his room. He had entered quietly, whether he meant too or not. He walked slowly towards you, his heart pounding, his stomach growling and his fangs drawing blood from his own lips. Moving with gentle swiftness he was right behind you and you didn’t even know. You didn't even know. Elvis took a moment to appreciate the view before him. Your delicate frame, small in comparison to his own imposing figure. The way your dark hair tumbled down your back, framing your pale neck. The way your dress hugged your curves perfectly.. His mouth watered at the sight, his fangs elongating, staining his bottom lip with crimson drops of blood. He reached out a trembling hand, running his fingers along your shoulder. Your skin was so soft, so warm. Like silk caressing his worn, calloused flesh. Slowly, almost reverently, he trailed his fingers down your arm, feeling you shiver beneath his touch. “E-Elvis…you scared me.” You breathed, something was wrong, you felt…scared. His other hand gripped your hip, pulling you flush against him. He could feel the heat radiating off your body, seeping into his own cold, dead flesh. It was intoxicating, addictive, and he wanted more. Oh, how he wanted more. Elvis' head dipped, his nose brushing along the shell of your ear. "Ya smell so good, darlin'. So sweet." he whispered hoarsely, his breath ghosting over your skin. His fangs grazed your earlobe, nipping gently and drawing a gasp from you. “Elvis…?” You whimpered, and he let out a moan. What was he doing? Elvis didn’t even know. You could feel his heart beating against your back, his mouth slowly opening then shutting against your flesh, small pricks of something sharp threatening to break through your skin. Elvis’ mouth moved along your neck and you shivered, his grip on you was strong enough to leave bruises you were sure. “Gonna be okay honey..” Elvis groaned, finding the sweet spot on your neck making your knees buckle but he kept holding you up. His hands moved from your hips roughly to cup your breasts, that flimsy dress doing very little to conceive them. He could hear you breathing much heavier now, your heart beating so fast, your smell getting stronger. Just…a …little…more…

Your body involuntarily thrashed against him, but your arms stayed pushed against the side of vanity, unable to let go, unable to move– it was like you were frozen. Elvis moved quickly, his face still nuzzled into your neck, his lips trailing feverous kisses along your skin. You felt yourself melting into his touch, his hands groping you and rolling your nipples between his fingers. The mirror in front of you showing it all. His hand moved to the top, taking a hold of the straps in his hand he tore them, the dress falling down with ease. You were shaking, shaking so badly. Elvis loved it, as you began to speak he moved his hands to grip your hair, jerking your head back real hard so that your neck was on full display. Looking at him from the mirror your chest heaved as you caught sight of his face, eyes blown and wide, muscles strained and mouth hanging opening, pearly white fangs protruding from his mouth and just inches from your skin. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the mirror, how foolish you felt– stripped naked only in your panties from one motion, hair jerked back and body frozen in place. “Only gonna hurt for a second honey…” Elvis groans before kissing your neck softly, his mouth opening as his teeth slowly pricked through your skin, small drops of blood already forming. Elvis shuddered violently as the first coppery taste of your blood flooded his mouth. His eyes rolled back in ecstasy, sharp fangs slicing deeper into your tender flesh. The pain made you cry out, struggling weakly against his iron hold. "Shhh, it's alright darlin'," Elvis purred thickly around a mouthful of your essence, "Just relax 'n let it happen. Let me in." One hand released your hair to stroke soothingly down your side, trying to placate your panicked thrashing. The other remained wrapped around you, keeping that perfect bite aligned. He swallowed deeply, savoring your unique flavor before finally pulling back. Crimson drops welled from the punctures, spilling down the graceful column of your throat to dampen your heaving breasts. It was the most delicious sight Elvis had ever beheld. His body vibrated with pure primal lust. With a growl, he spun you around to face him. You felt weak, your head was dizzy and you struggled to breath– but something felt…odd. Your heart was beating alarmingly fast and you could feel something flowing through your veins. Suddenly, almost in an instant your body collected itself, the dizziness fading and you felt more alive than you ever had been, your neck stung as you placed a hand on it, feeling a sizzling pain as the wound faded away. Elvis grabbed you by your shoulder with a growl, forcing you forward, bending you over the vanity. “F-fuck…” He whimpered as he pulled down your painties to your ankles, your puffy cunt on full display. “So…perfect…” He whispered as two fingers plunged their way inside of you before you could begin to protest.

Your breath caught in your throat as Elvis' moved inside of you. Shockwaves of pleasure coursed through you, making your knees buckle and vision swim. It was almost too much to handle at once. Elvis seemed to sense your overwhelmed state. "Easy darling, breathe through it," he coaxed roughly, fingers still pumping steadily. "Gonna get this tight little cunt ready for my cock." Each press and curl made the fire building in your core flash higher. Your eyes squeezed shut, lower lip caught between your teeth as you fought to stay upright against the vanity. The scent of arousal mixed with your blood hung heavy in the air, making Elvis' nostrils flare. He knew you were close already. "Look at yourself, honey," Elvis demanded darkly, head nodding to the mirror. "Watch me finger fuck this sweet pussy 'til it's drippin' for me." Wide eyes fluttered open, locking with your reflection. Bright red cheeks, hazy eyes, and a dazed expression - you'd never looked so debauched before. Seeing yourself in such a compromising position sent another bolt of pleasure through you, only worse that he was still fully clothed. "That's it baby," Elvis purred, relentlessly working you through it. Your legs shook like crazy, barely supporting you. The newfound intensity of your body's reaction left you sprawled bonelessly against the vanity. Elvis withdrew his coated fingers, bringing them to his lips for a leisurely lick. "Gonne be mine forever." he promised as you stayed bent over the vanity, breathing heavily, you raised your head to see him holding his shirt up as he fumbled with his belt before quickly pulling it off, his pants soon to follow. His erection sprang free, slapping lewdly against his stomach with a shiny sheen of pre-cum dripping from the tip. He stroked it lazily, smearing the clear fluid up and down his length. "Gonna fucking wreck this pussy," Elvis growled possessively, fisting his cock in clear anticipation. You could only whimper, gaze transfixed on his hardness. It was so large, easily more than seven inches long and thicker than your wrist, uncut and pooling. Watching him touch himself with such obvious enjoyment only served to stoke your own growing need. Elvis gripped your hips again, thumbs digging into your already bruised flesh. The vanity creaked ominously under the added weight as he pressed against you, his substantial girth a searing line against your sensitive folds. You gasped sharply at the promise of what was to come. "Mmmm, look how wet you are," Elvis rumbled appreciatively. "Soaked and swollen for me already. Such an eager yittle thing." The tip of his cock kissed your entrance, spreading your juices as it went. Your whole body trembled with pent up tension, every nerve on fire and begging for relief. Common sense screamed at you to struggle, to get away before this went too far...but your body craved more. Burned for something only he could give you. "Please," you heard yourself whisper brokenly, sounding distant even to your own ears. "I need..." "Shhh, I know darlin'," Elvis soothed, his voice a sinful caress. "Gonna give this greedy cunt exactly what it wants. Gonna fuck you 'til you scream." Then he was pushing in, hilting himself inside you with one brutal thrust. The sensation of being so completely stretched and filled snapped you out of your daze, a scream tearing from your throat. It was too much all at once, the pleasure and pain blending together until you couldn't tell them apart. Muscles clamped down hard, fluttering wildly as your body fought to adjust. "Fuuuuck yes," Elvis snarled, not giving you a moment to recover before he started moving. Each snap of his hips drove him impossibly deeper, thrusts short and powerful as he claimed your mouth in a brutal, open-mouthed kiss. His tongue dominated yours, mimicking the actions below. Nipping and sucking at your lips until they were puffy and swollen.

Your cries were muffled against his mouth, breath ragged as he kissed you through your first orgasm. It crashed over you with devastating force, back arching and toes curling as your inner walls spasmed rhythmically. Elvis groaned gutturally, hips stuttering as your muscles rippled around him. "Fuck, you're milkin’ my cock so good," he gasped, dragging his lips along your jaw. "Wanna fill this cunt up… wanna have you be all mine forever, no one else's.” He was delirious with lust, all primal need and animalistic intent. Your blood bonding had triggered something deep within him, pounding into you mercilessly as his balls drew up tight to his body. It was too much stimulation, the excessive pleasure edged with pain pushing you quickly towards a second peak. Pressure coiled in your lower belly, egged on by the obscene squelch of his cock plunging in and out of your cunt. Building, building...you teetered right on the cusp. "Elvis!" you sobbed wildly, knowing he was close too. He redoubled his efforts, angling just right to peg your g-spot dead on. "Come for me baby, come on my fuckin’ cock." And with those words, you shattered. Pleasure detonated behind your eyes, every nerve ending singing in blissful release as Elvis followed right after. His final thrusts grew erratic as his orgasm overtook him. Thick ropes of seed painted your inner walls, you could feel everything. The sensation of Elvis' hot cum flooding your insides sent you spiraling into another mind-blowing orgasm. Your pussy clenched greedily around his spurting cock, milking him for every last drop as he grunted and cursed, emptying the last of his release deep in your womb. "Holy shit," Elvis panted, hips twitching with the aftershocks. "Never came harder in my life." He collapsed against you. Slick flesh still joined intimately together, you both struggled to catch your breath. Your thighs trembled with exhaustion. Elvis' softening length slipped free from your well-used hole with a wet squelch. Cum began seeping out to trickle down the insides of your quivering thighs.Slowly, unsteadily, you straightened on weak knees. Every muscle protested and screamed in protest. It felt like you'd been fucked for hours instead of minutes. Arousal still buzzed along your nerve endings, your clit throbbing between your legs. Elvis' seed coated your inner walls, cock sliding out slick and shiny.Elvis grasped your hips, turning you around briskly. He pushed you down into a sitting position on the vanity bench, “What…what did you do to me..?” You whispered to him, looking at him was heavenly– you felt so close to him.

“Made sure you wouldn’t be lone’ on Halloween again.”

A/N: HAPPY HALLOWEEN EVERYONE!!! this is 9 pages long on my google doc making it my longest fic to date 😓 i rlly hope y’all like this i’m sorry if some doesn’t make sense or if there’s grammar or spelling issues i tried sooo hard 😭🖤 also i had it scheduled for midnight n’ it didn’t post m’ so so sorry 😢

taglist: @hooked-on-elvis @atleastpleasetelephone @lola-1013 @indiatuck @eptodaytommorowforever @suspiciousmindsxo @tupelomiss @myradiaz @i-r-i-n-a-a @elvispresley1956 @sisssygirl @your-nanas-house @callieselvisobsessed @eapep @auntbee22 @elvisiana @ladelinee @jhoneybees @elviswhore69 @sissylittlefeather @dontfeedthebigbadwolf @louisejoy86 @cherrycolaride @sloppyzengarden @faeolwen @slayingjd @iloveelvisss @theelvisprincess @fairybloodsucker

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absolutebl · 10 months ago

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This Week in BL - The unexpected rise of cooking crush & seme bjs

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

Jan 2024 Wk 3

Ongoing Series - Thai

The Sign (Sat YT) ep 9 of 12 - I love this show so damn much. This may be my KinnPorsche. It’s just so endlessly entertaining in a perfectly unhinged way. I love that they looped Tharn’s dad back into the murder investigations.

You know kinksters have invented necklaces that can’t come off… right? Just saying.

Meanwhile, would it still be BL if our seme didn’t wake up from drowning and instantly go chase snake?

No. No it would not.

Remember the one hard and fast rule of BL? When a seme gives a BJ it’s penance. Phaya is apologizing to Tharn for leaving him behind.

Heh. Hard and fast. I kill me.

Pit Babe (Fri iQIYI) ep 10 of 14 - How is this absurd creature managing to rise in the ranks? Pavel turned in some stellar grief and ALANJEFF have my whole heart. I make Ikea puns in the... Trash watch happening here.

Cooking Crush (Sun YT) ep 7 of 12 - The make-out montage was absolutely charming and very much American rom com style - interesting (and rare) to see in a BL (not to mention from OffGun. How far we have come since Puppy Honey?)

Meanwhile, another wonderful grandma in a BL!

Next week we do an actual harken back to Puppy Honey, so obviously I’m now enjoying this whole show way more than before. I think it helped that I watched it earlier in the week, when it wasn’t competing with any other BLs.

Last Twilight (Fri YT) ep 11 of 12 - Not gonna lie, I knew from you all that this was gonna be a rough ep. But I very clearly remember the penultimate Bad Buddy ep so I now have slightly more trust than others in GMMTV on this matter.

That said, this was a crap episode.

You can’t set Mork’s truth and character motivation reveal up like that and then have his lover choose to dismiss him in a way that diminishes not just both character's growth AND all of Mork's actions towards Day, but also our faith in every other character. It was a shitty narrative thing to do to us, and it was a shitty thing to do to Mork. And that doesn’t even take into account the forgiveness allotted by the story to Day’s unrepentant excuse for a mother. The doom should have been handled differently. The mom shoudl have leaned in even more evil and actively lied to split them apart.

I don't know if they can redeem this misstep in the final episode. But I'm interested to see them try. That said, this plot seem to be true to the book.

For Him (Thurs iQIYI) ep 8 of 12 - A major trigger has landed. But also it’s clear who’s fault that incident was... and it’s not Him’s. So Blue's so-called-friend really is unhinged. This episode was a little bit more engaging than last week, but it’s only because stuff actually happened. I’m still not sure I enjoyed it.

Twins the series (Fri GaGa) ep 12fin - Despite the fact that I’ve been annoyed by the show the last couple of episodes, I’m still sad for it to end. It was a good reveal and First had the right response. Also a very sports way to end it. Sprite is a v clingy bf.

In brief?

A messy very Thai pulp sports romance that actually managed to involve sports in an identical twins trading-places plot. Basically Not Me meets HIStory 2 Crossing the Line (although vastly inferior to either) with an endearing main character and a good lead pair (poor things), both soapy and earnest without too much camp. It tried so hard but the plot, side couples, and extraneous characters let us down. Passable if not great. 7/10

Time the series (Thai Gaga) ep 2 of 10 - Eh. Whatever.

My Universe (Sun iQIYI) ep 22 of 24 - skipped this installment

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Although I Love You and You AKA Sukiyanen Kedo Do Yaro ka (Japan Gaga) ep 2 of 10 - Funny how quickly he retracted that confession and everyone called him out for doing it too soon (including me from a narrative beats perspective). It was a cute screw up - I see what your meta-arse is doing there, Japan. Also our Tokyo-boy’s serious reserved earnestness is extra adorable in the surrounded by Osaka enthusiasm context. His accidental flirting is that much more heart wrenching for our poor baby seme. And they ended this ep with honorific negotiations!! Be still my heart. I’m really adoring this show.

Your hyung romance super fan is back in the game!

Meanwhile the Osaka accent is beyond adorable.

Sahara-sensei to Toki-kun (Japan Fri Gaga) ep 6 of 8 - Japan what are you doing? I do love the not-sorta-ex from the past.

VIP Only (Taiwan Fri Gaga) ep 10fin - I loved all the young people in the hawker center supporting the campaign against the terrible mother. They make a good domestically sappy couple. But that is Taiwan's specialty.

In brief?

A sweet if aimless story about a writer and a chef finding love via noodles, fake dating, and family challenges. If it had a tighter script and a shorter run, more like a KBL this might’ve been quite special. But it didn’t and it lost me too many times. 6/10

I don’t like to be disappointed by Taiwan.

It's done: I Need to Catch up

What Did You Eat Yesterday Season 2 AKA Kinou Nani Tabeta? Season 2 (Japan Gaga) 10 eps - will binge when I have any spare time. 2024 is crazy busy for me so far.

The Servant and the Young Master - from Vietnam so I assume it's on YouTube. I never even noticed. Anyone?

Began Beginning (Myanmar YouTube) - Is TRUST Entertainment bringing us the first ever Burmeses BL? I don't know if it's really the first, but @heretherebedork vouched for it, so I will give it a watch through.

It's Airing But...

[INTERNATIONAL] Cherry Magic (Sat YouTube) ep 3 of 12 - yeah Japan put the smack down on our boys. Sadness. You can use a VPN if you like. Read all about it here.

Beside You (Thai YouTube) - a 3 sp short that's supposed to have started but I can't find it.

Ossans Love Season 2 (Japan Gaga) - 5 years later, will anything have changed? This is Japan so… probubly not. I won't be watching this. I disliked Season one and actively hated the follow ups. No thank you.

Playboyy (Thurs Gaga) 14 eps - Dear Playboyy, it's not you, it’s me… I hate you. You’re about as deep (and as palatable) as a shot glass of cum. While I'm sure you’re someone’s kink, you're my weakest link. Goodbye. I DNFed this at ep 5. Frankly I'm impressed with myself for getting that far.

The Whisperer (Sun ????) 10 eps - Ends next week. Thai horror BL that ALSO involves cheating (what joy is mine). I don't think even the perfect single dimple can motivate me to watch. Word is... it's terrible.

7 Days Before Valentine (Weds WeTV) 10 eps - Giving me Luminous Solution vibes. I'm waiting to binge if safe.

Dead Friend Forever (Thai Sat iQIYI) - horror, meh, tell me if it's worth my time?

In Case You Missed it

All my year-end round ups:

TOP 10 BL Trends of 2023

Top 10 BL Secondary Pairs of 2023

2023 BLs Best Trope Execution Awards! TOP 10

All the BLs Announced for 2023 that didn't happen

BL 2023's Best:

Back Hugs Thailand & Elsewhere

Cute Bits of Domesticity

Boys Feeding Boys

BOOP!

Best Cuddles

Heads in Laps

Touching Head Touches

Thailand Put His Head on Your Shoulder

Put Your Head on My Shoulder (not Thailand)

BEST KISSES (not Thailand)

BEST KISSES FROM THAILAND

Next Week Looks Like This

1/23 Happy Ending is a new high school set Strongberry 20 min short staring the actor who played Milk on Choco Milk Shake, so... YES PLEASE. I'm not sure where it will air but we all have our fingers crossed for Gaga or YT. Or both.

1/24 Love For Love's Sake (Korea Gaga & iQIYI)- based on the Manhwa ‘Love Supremacy Zone’ by Hwacha. A young man is dropped into a game based off a novel he loves. His mission is to make another player, YeoWoon happy. But then the game starts unfolding completely different from the novel.

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

Viva la BL grandma superiority! (Cooking Crush)

Cooking Crush casually givign us some lovely lesbians (as indeed did The Sign). GL makes for a lovely acessory BL, carry on.

Now GMMTV, give us the REVERSE.

I love this dork SO MUCH. (Pit Babe)

I love that Cherry Magic is doing this scene over. One of my favs from the original.

Yai is BEST BOY. MVP and most likely the winner for 2024's Namgoong award.

(Last week)

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liveinfarbe · 2 months ago

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Adar and Galadriel reminiscing about their Beleriand days…

These are clips from episode 4 and 7 of season 1. Notice the knife/dagger-parallel.

I've been researching the Silmarillion a little bit, because I think it gives hints about time and place in Adar's flashback account. This got lengthy. I write about the questionable Moriondor assumption by Galadriel and the esteem for flowers, blossoms, willows, glades in the lives of Galadriel and Celeborn, in Beleriand and beyond, and a possible path for hope, forgiveness and growth after trauma, that would lie in a dark Celeborn meets dark Galadriel story: Adar informs Arondir that he's been young in Beleriand once and used to walk down the banks of the Sirion river for miles and miles. He noticed sage blossoms, apparently liked the view, because it left a lasting impression. What I get from this (given the cosmology of that world is actual history and not just mythical) is that it must've happened after the sun and the moon appeared and pulled Middle-Earth out of its darkness, or else there wouldn’t be miles of sage blossoming. It thrives in full sunlight. This puts the account at the end of the First Age, after the Years of the Trees. Interestingly, this is after the "creation" of the Orcs by Morgoth.

Whatever bond and similarity Adar has with the Uruks, he’s apparently not one of those Moriondor that Galadriel talked about to him. I assume the Moriondor concept reflects Tolkien’s idea (he had several) that elves were captured by Morgoth after their awakening in Cuiviénen under the starlight and before Oromë found them and then got corrupted and twisted and thus became the first Uruks. While Adar shares certain physical traits with them, he can’t be one of those first Uruks, because 1.) he lived far in the West, in Beleriand, 2.) the sun had risen, 3.) he’s lived among elves that spoke Sindarin and Quenya, since he speaks it too and not some Avari language, though he could've learned all that in Angband during idle hours, I don't know, he learned black speech too. Anyway, the first mentions of Orcs roaming Beleriand is in Y.T. (Years of the Trees) 1330, but Melkor (at this point in time he's not yet given the name Morgoth by Fëanor) is incarcerated in Valinor. Sauron is in Beleriand though, hiding out in Angband, waiting for Melkor's return, "breeding" Orcs apparently, because their numbers grow and they "roam" Beleriand. This is 200 Valian years before the sun. I'm no loremaster, but I know this is a long time. At this point and later, Adar is still, as he describes himself, young. So Orcs were breathing living creatures before that elf-man became Adar. "Young" I see as meaning before he got captured and tortured and then brainwashed by Sauron as part of the “13 of us” (ep. 2x2).

So something doesn't add up, and Adar implies that in his interaction with Arondir in ep. 1x4. Are the tales of Moriondor a widely spread myth created by Elves, since all accounts about Orcs mostly stem from Elvish chroniclers? Maybe this is what Adar hints at. He says to Arondir

“You have been told many lies. Some run so deep even the rocks and roots believe them. To untangle it all would all but require the creation of a new world.”

He thinks only gods can do that, and he ain’t one…yet. Unlike Morgoth who raised mountains, or other Valar whose wrath sank a whole landmass like Beleriand, and later Númenor. He's just doing what he must, realizing Morgoth's terraforming plan and resettling the Uruks so they can live freely.

The "many lies" that he mentions are reflected in the things that Galadriel - who’s famous as "the scourge of the Orcs", even in Númenor - says to him when she interrogates him in episode 1x6. She’s full of hate and delivers a truly genocidal speech to him that shocks herself in the aftermath. (She acknowledges that somewhat self-critically to Theo in ep. 1x7, and it might be one of the reasons she rejects Sauron's offer later)

The truth about Adar's origin story isn't yet revealed. I think it will be, because the writers put some effort in it, dropped cues and hints in excellent dialogue and made him a multilayered character. Finally, let’s come back to the flowers and blossom mentions in the clips above because they could very nicely tie back to Galadriel and Celeborn in Beleriand and beyond. Adar says he “went down that river once”. Let’s see, if he, for example, came from Doriath and went down the Sirion towards its mouth and saw a lush amount of flowers blossom, he could have come through a region called Nan-Tathren or Tarsarinan that is literally called Valley of the willows. Possibly the home to Galadriel’s “glades of flowers” she danced in.

Why would she dance there and not in Doriath? I don't know, but there's a clear hint that she was in that region and even made meaningful personal connections there. With Ents. And Celeborn, too. Tarsarinan, Valley of the willows, means something to the couple and Treebard, as mentioned in a passage in The Lord of the Rings. The memories of Celeborn, Galadriel and Treebard of that place are intimately entangled.

Then Treebeard said farewell to each of them in turn, and he bowed three times slowly and with great reverence to Celeborn and Galadriel. ‘It is long, long since we met by stock or by stone, A vanimar, vanimálion nostari!’ he said. 'It is sad that we should meet only thus at the ending. For the world is changing: I feel it in the water, I feel it in the earth, and I smell it in the air. I do not think we shall meet again.' And Celeborn said: 'I do not know, Eldest.' But Galadriel said: 'Not in Middle-earth, nor until the lands that lie under the wave are lifted up again. Then in the willow-meads of Tasarinan we may meet in the Spring. Farewell!

“Many Partings” - The Return Of The King - LOTR - J.R.R. Tolkien

Okay… 1.) Treebard's “It is long, long since we met by stock or by stone” sounds a lot like Adar’s words to Arondir "even the rocks and the roots believe them", 2.) A vanimar, vanimálion nostari! is translated as "Oh, beautiful ones, parents of beautiful children"

That last point reminds of Adar's relationship to the Uruks and the rhetoric surrounding it: Adar whose name translates as "father" calls the Uruks "my children", "my sons and daughters", main difference is that they’re not that beautiful, neither is he — but that lies in the eye of the beholder. Does Adar imply the propaganda about Uruks is so pervading that even the eldest Ents believe them? Possibly his old friend Treebard… ?

I mean he's certainly wreaked havoc in the woods, forced the felling of trees, displaying not much respect for the Ents. On the other hand, Adar is shown planting Alfirin seeds, that grow into flowers. He's still very Elvish, full of respect and longing for "new life, in defiance of death".

Finally… Lothlórien, Galadriel and Celeborn's later safe space, is literally meaning "Lórien of the Blossom". Treebard calls it "Dreamflower".

With all that cherishing of flowers - I think even his chain mail shirt displays flowery ornaments - could Adar be Celeborn in a rather depressing and long-lasting dark phase of his life in ROP? Explaining where he’s been all that time since she last mocked him as a “silver clam”? And if he is not, wouldn’t that be a really good story if he was? Adar doing the work could be an arc about hope and the possibility of healing and changing — it’s what Galadriel needs, too, in the long run.

At this point she’s confused and hurting after the betrayal by Sauron, because she liked him more than anyone in ages, but also because she had to witness herself being unreliable and, frankly, unwise. Yes, she’s vindicated for having always been right about Sauron, but the way she went about it fills her with shame, it’s gnawing at her, not primarily because of wounded pride, I believe, but out of compassion for the victims of her actions. Not unlike Míriel after her return to Númenor. It begs the question to them both if it was all needless, if there really is a greater good in what's unfolding now? At this point in the narrative, the Númenorian intervention that Galadriel pressed for must feel like a Pyrrhic victory with grave consequences and implications for the future of Middle-Earth as well as Númenor. It has caused immense trouble and pain already to many other people that Galadriel gave Sauron a clap on the back and an army. She still has to fully confront herself about that, she's still vulnerable to the darkness inside her, because she's hurting. She has Elrond to help and guard her, but other than that, who's there for her? I mean, in the end she has to accept that it's not her who can slay Sauron, she needs to come to that understanding. It's a battle within herself she hasn't yet had the courage to take up because she still can't face her lingering grief at this point in any other way than turning it into anger.

#galadriel x adar #adar #adar should be celeborn even if he is not #the rings of power #lotr trop #rings of power #lotr rings of power #trop meta #galadriel #adariel #Adarborn

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sycamorality · 10 months ago

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i just think rain world is a beautiful game and i like doing it justice [as much as i can, anyway] when i write about it.

just consider how big the world is and how small you are as a slugcat. this world is not yours and yet it is. you've ended up here due to an incident during harsh rain. you're lost and you don't know what you're doing other than looking for home - and yet nothing is home. at least not in the same way as it was before. as the slugcat learns about this decaying world created by a now long-gone civilisation, one you can only learn about if you've seen the two biomechanical demigod constructs - and seen the city on top of one of them. the city you see as stargazer plays, just stinging you with a feeling of how alone and insignificant and small you are. the city in the distance looks so small, and yet it still looks and feels so much bigger than you and anything you've ever seen. and then you step out to the left, and then you see how vast the world is. there's so much more to it that you'll never see - so many more iterators standing there, in the far beyond, as the clouds slowly float by. if you pay attention you can see small green flashes underneath them behind the clouds. who are they? you don't know, and you never will, and you'll never know what's near them either, if there's more slugcats there, or even if there's creatures or even regions you'll see as familiar. the world is so vast and you are only so small in the grand scheme of.... everything.

and yet being there, in those moments, showing just how little you matter, and seeing them, are the only ways you'll ever be able to learn about that long-gone civilisation. you learn pebbles calls them the benefactors. he speaks of an older civilisation too, that he calls the ancients, that built temples beneath the ground and "danced their silly rituals". you will never know more about them, but you can learn small bits and pieces of what was once the benefactors. you even see the karma murals, as you go out of pebbles access shaft, showing just how important it was to the benefactors. you can find small little round shiny objects, that you can learn moon calls "memory construct pearls", through a single small line she'll say when you bring her nothing but a simple diamond sphere that's as useless as the carbon it's printed from. if you bring her pearls from the sunbaked lands with flora reaching beyond the clouds, you can learn once more about the other iterators. there's a conversation log between five pebbles, and seven red suns, someone we can assume he knows and is friends with. you learn he's angry. you learn he doesn't want to be a bug in a maze. you also learn nothing truly dies. there's another, that's just a small part of a larger conversation in a closed group called SliverOfOcean. you don't have the full context to this, but EP mentions someone called sliver of straw, and a triple affirmative. it sounds important, with how they're speaking about sliver, but you can't tell why. and then a third, giving you a little more context to the SliverOfOcean group - this time between five pebbles, chasing wind, big sis moon and no significant harassment. chasing wind mentions the pseudonym "Erratic Pulse" - if anything, it's more than clear this is the EP mentioning the triple affirmative and sliver of straw. you see how NSH jokes about gnawing through bedrock with their overseers, and you can see how moon worries about this. you learn there's something called sliverists, and someone that wants to "cross themself out". and then there's two more, one where moon says pebbles drastically increased his water intake - the iterators are behind the rains, it seems - and that he and moon share groundwater. it's dangerous for her. she has seniority privileges - further context other than forced communications is not anything you get. and she has no memory of writing this... and the last is her pleading for five pebbles to stop. he says she ruined everything. you don't get more context.

and then you're left wondering.... what was any of that about? you find a yellow pearl in the decaying body of moon, hidden in a little crevice, and you bring it to her for her to read. it's about sliver of straw. she's legendary among the iterators. a big problem, the triple affirmative... you're finally given context to the SliverOfOcean broadcast. "affirmative that a solution has been found, affirmative that the solution is portable, and affirmative that a technical implementation is possible and generally applicable"... whatever that may mean? sliver of straw is dead. it's extremely hard to kill an iterator. you learn more about how iterators split into factions regarding sliver of straw - and how moon thinks she should just be allowed to rest.

so you go searching for more pearls. none of them ever mention sliver of straw again, or the triple affirmative. but you learn about void fluid, the void sea, and how moon's creators' ancestors learned to use it to create energy, and that void fluid drills started a big technological leap. if you go down there, you don't return. then you find whats supposedly a small plate, which is a little text of spiritual guidance. there's a name tied to it. four cabinets, eleven hatchets... what an odd name. it's from before the void fluid revolution... does this relate to the big technological leap mentioned before, you wonder? regardless, it's how to starve yourself on herbal tea and gravel but disguised as a poem. you learn there were horror stories of leaving echoes behind when you jumped in a vat of void fluid, and how some would still starve and drink the bitter tea instead of taking the risk. you remember you saw one of these colored memory construct pearls on top of pebbles when you went there and saw the city in the background. it's still as breathtaking as it was the first time; you feel just as insignificant as you really are when you stand there. you bring the pearl to moon and you learn that five pebbles is "Gift of Charity from Us to The World (unable to reach Enlightenment by itself - being composed mostly of Rock, Gas, dull witted Bugs and Microbes - and towards which We thus have Obligations)".... whatever any of that means. enlightenment? odd. the slugcat doesn't really understand this, and neither do you, as the player.

... you saw a golden pearl on your way here when you got lost, you think. you go looking for it and bring it to moon, too, but not before getting bitten by a few lizards and hauled off by a few vultures, only just managing to kill the last vulture by pure luck as it tries to stop you in your tracks. it's illegal information, sent over pearl to avoid being overheard on broadcast... huh. it's something about circumventing the self-destruction taboo that iterators have, and how there's more, but the slugcat isn't told, and neither are you, but they're written into every cell of their organic parts. as she explains.... this feels like it relates to the breeding program mentioned a certain EP individual doing. hm.

you remember, a few times while being chased by leviathans and salamanders and nearly drowned by leeches, you've seen two pearls in shoreline and you go looking for them, bringing them to moon. the pink one has the genome for a purposed organism. you learn moon is one - but only a small fraction of one. you learn most of her is in the walls.... she is the walls? was it the same for pebbles? was that why he berated you for crashing through his memory conflux? most organisms barely even looked like creatures. she mentions primal fauna. what does she mean by that? you can guess she means creatures that weren't purposed. she mentions its highly likely you're a descendant of a purposed organism. then there's the purple pearl. you learn how water is vital to an iterator, otherwise slag will build up and they will painfully die. you learn that iterators haven't ever really seen a river, so the analogy of an iterator drinking a river is completely lost on them. water supply was important when placing iterators, until a great equalizer, the fact they breathe as much water out as they breathe in, where they could be placed almost freely. apparently building pebbles so close to moon was believed risky.... both of you can see that it was a good decision in hindsight, despite how little the slugcat, and you, know. hm. you remember a bright blue pearl somewhere in industrial complex and you go looking for it and bring it back to moon, but not after dying to lizards a few times. something about bone masks, and how they were used to abate the self, and then later used for self expression. something about radiating the material with holiness. this record of a mask factory is from Side House, on pebbles grounds. is that what industrial complex once was? the slugcat, and thus, you, the player too, will never really get an answer to this. but you can wonder. many old industrial-religious were reused and incorperated in iterator projects, so, it is possible...

...

just how much more is there, to this world...? this is nothing but a tiny piece of what is out there. and yet you feel like you've learned so much you'll never quite understand. and that's because the slugcat won't ever understand it, either, it's as clueless as you, the player, are. you're on the same line as it. you can guess and wonder as much as you want to, but you'll never learn about everything there once was. and that's the point. you'll never learn about everything and you can't because it's gone. you're not the main character to learn every little lore detail about this wonderous, new world, you're a slugcat doing it's best to survive in this unfamiliar ecosystem.

and i think that's rain world's beauty.

#words on the wind #rain world #rainworld #making this love of rain world rant its own post. because i love it actually #writing this was so fun. i loved writing it. and i'm proud of it #long post #...1.7k words. goodness #rw rambles

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therealslimshakespeare · 1 year ago

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

Fully co-authored with: @ab4eva 🤍

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

Date: 1962, Summertime

Word Count: 9k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cat’sup?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Holy shi-“

“Uhem!”

“Somebody put it out!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds like it.” Jesse sides with mama.

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

It’s that simple for the twin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Elaine!” Elvis hisses at her indiscreet lesson.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For what, E?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hope y’all enjoyed!

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stylographic-blue-rhapsody · 11 months ago

Text

I was deep in my drunk feelings when I made a joke post threatening to write about episode 5 symbolism and mizu, but then enough people said "where is the essay" so I am here to ramble as requested

in ep 5, the tale told in the puppet show spliced with the flashback sequence of mizu’s marriage identifies mizu as not only the ronin, but also the bride and, with tragedy, the onryō. I would argue that mizu is also depicted (in a less linear fashion) as the phoenix itself, and will circle back to this thought later

mizu is first presented as the ronin, the warrior with a singular purpose. as the ronin’s lord is assassinated by the rival clan, mizu’s mother is killed in the house fire. the ronin swears his revenge, and dedicates his life to this cause. through his childhood and into his young adult life when he departs from swordfather, mizu is exclusively the ronin. he is not the onryō yet, demonstrated in his honorable unwillingness to harm the men who stab him and throw him out of the shop even after he insists that he wasn't looking for a fight in the first place

the ronin is only able to rest and put away his mission when he meets the bride, the lover. however, mizu’s bride is not literally another person she meets. the bride is not mama, or mikio, but the lover mizu discovers in herself, the one allowed to bloom in place of mizu-as-ronin. mizu’s growth into the bride from the ronin occurs over time, but solidifies in the moment when kai is gifted to her by mikio, paralleling the taming of her own distrust and expectations of being hurt. (side note, giving a nod to effective use of color: the bride puppet, dressed in reds and oranges, has matching coloring to the gifting scene, as it takes place in autumn)

mizu’s transformation into the onryō happens in two parts, beginning with the slaying of the bride and completing with the slaying of the ronin. the betrayal by mikio and mama kills the softness in mizu, kills the lover she has allowed herself to become. mizu-as-onryō retaliates by killing the ronin: the part of himself that hesitates before striking, that part that cares for honor. in not intervening in mama’s death and then murdering mikio in turn, mizu kills the ronin in himself, slaughtering it in retribution for the dead bride

mizu is both the bride and the ronin, peaceful lover and noble warrior, until he is not—he is the onryō, only the onryō. episode 5 opens with the narrator saying, “no one man can defeat an army, but one creature can.” only as the onryō, and not as the ronin or the bride, does mizu have the force of will and capacity for violence it takes to singlehandedly overcome boss hamata’s thousand claw army and protect the brothel

mizu’s identity and place in the world is a constant dialogue. he is too white to have a respectable place in japanese society, but is also seen by abijah (our stand-in for white british society) as filthy and corrupted. he is not perceived as enough of a man to walk through life wholly as one (madame kaji’s comments about his apparent lack of sexual desires, his bones breaking “like a woman’s” under fowler’s hands, his disregard for honor and recognition as a samurai). she is also not enough of a woman to exist peacefully as one with mikio (she is a swordsman, an accomplished rider, bad at domesticity; “what woman doesn’t want a husband?” mama chastises)

the moment when mikio rejects her completely following their spar is a particularly poignant narrative beat about tolerance of “the other” in gender presentation: mikio can accept her as a woman only until she bests him at manhood, at the sword, at violence. she is Other in that she is physically strong, a poor cook, able to wield a sword. these traits are all tolerable to mikio, also an outcast, so long as she is not so Other as to be a man. but her swordsmanship bests his, and bests his in the way the sun outshines a candle. it is too Other, and therefore she is not a woman. she is a monster to him, the onryō, even before she kills the bride and the ronin in herself

(( as an aside, this series does a very good job at discussing the oft-challenging relationship between race and gender (e.g. that it is difficult for mizu to live as a biracial man, but would be deadly for her to live as a biracial woman), and demonstrating how queerness of identity complicates that relationship even further—but that’s a topic for a different post ))

as the narrative has been building on this idea that mizu is both the ronin and the bride, the man and the woman, japanese and white, episode 5 concludes with the heartbreaking reveal that, although mizu is all of these things simultaneously, he has had these identities beaten out of him by tragedy and cruelty and his own self-loathing hand

but mizu does not stagnate as the monster. we return to the metaphor of steel: too pure and it becomes brittle, breaking under pressure. mizu is a sword, a weapon that he has forged for the sole purpose of revenge and blood, but he has excised too much of himself to successfully deliver on his goals—he is not the ronin or the bride, he is the onryō; she is not a woman or a man, she is the onryō; the onryō is nothing but pain and vengeance—and so it breaks

“perhaps a demon cannot make steel,” mizu says. “I am a bad artist”

swordfather replies, “an artist gives all they have to the art, the whole. your strengths and deficiencies, your loves and shames. perhaps the people you collected… if you do not invite the whole, the demon takes two chairs, and your art will suffer”

to be reforged, mizu must not only acknowledge the impurities she has beaten out of her blade, out of herself, but lovingly, radically accept them and reincorporate them into the blade, into herself. he adds impure steel—the people he has collected, with their own dualities—to the sheared meteorite sword: the broken blade that fit so perfectly in taigen’s hand (the archetypal ronin, but a man seeking happiness over glory), the knife akemi tried to murder mizu with (the archetypal bride, but with ambition for greatness), the bell given to ringo and returned to mizu in broken trust (the man unable to hold a sword, but upholding samurai principles of honor and wisdom), the tongs that honed mizu’s smithcraft under swordfather’s guidance (the artisan, a blind man who sees more than most). to make of herself a blade strong enough to see her promises through, she must hold her monstrosity and honor and compassion and artistry in equal import

she is the onryō, and the ronin, and the bride, and all the people she has collected.

with this we finally come to mizu as the phoenix. mizu undergoes many cycles of death and rebirth, both in the main storyline and the flashbacks into her life leading up to the present. often, mizu is juxtaposed against literal flames—the burning of his childhood home, swordfather’s forge, the fire as he battles the giant in the infiltrated castle, the heart sutra forge of her own making, the climactic second confrontation with fowler. not every death/rebirth mizu undergoes is thematic to flame, of course. the fight with the four fangs, spliced with the rebirth ceremony of the town, for example, or the deaths of her ronin-self and bride-self, giving rise to the onryō

he is the phoenix, unable to truly die: every fatal combat he pulls back from the brink, reborn over and over in the wake of failure and setback. in episode 1, mizu prays for the gods to “let [him] die.” not to help him to face death unafraid, not to die with honor or victory, but to die at all. mizu has experienced death a thousand times over, but not once has it stuck

(( as a parting aside: the ronin’s rage at the phoenix clan for killing his lord parallels mizu’s self hatred of his mixed heritage (which he believes to be the thing that killed his mother), and so the ronin’s quest for revenge against the phoenix clan is mirrored in mizu’s quest to kill the white part of himself as best he can, by killing the white men who could be his father ))

mizu, the ronin. mizu, the bride. mizu, the onryō. mizu, the phoenix.

#blue eye samurai #mizu blue eye samurai #hopefully this is mostly coherent #I have more things to say but this was getting lengthy #there's also a lot of gender and racial nuance I've glossed over here for an attempt at brevity and structure #god also the COLOR. do you know how much I have to say about the use of color and shadow as a reflection of the narrative #maybe I'll write another damn essay who knows #this show really scratches the part of my brain that was academically trained in film analysis #blue speaks

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gateau-au-earl · 7 months ago

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kuroshitsuji s4e1/ED thoughts

ok yall now that it has been over 24 hrs and I've seen the ep over three times, I have THOUGHTS. mostly very positive, everything was beautful to look at and the 1:1 comparisons between the manga and the anime made me very happy as a veteran kuro fan that had to live through the mess of s1 and s2 plots (even tho they might have a sentimental place in my heart just because of nostalgia).

but i wanted to come on here and yap about the ending theme and how it encapsulates sebastian and ciel's complicated and very interesting relationship. idk abt yall but im a big fan of the op and ed this season!

first things first just to get this outta the way, I dont interpret them as a ship so please dont come in here with that interpretation 👁️ I'm serious .

that being said -

the ending theme is beautiful in both its animation and what it says about the butler and earl's relationship. I'm just gonna get the gushing outta the way first but it was aesthetically GORGEOUS in its animation. the way ciel fell so gracefully and the colors with SID's music is cinematic perfection. the change in animation style is very easy on the eyes as well! gg cloverworks animation team!

this has been marinating for a while, but what really gets me is the scene where ciel falls. he is falling into darkness, when it suddenly becomes lighter, with the sun illuminating the clouds. sebastian "saves" him and they fall together across this very pretty backdrop.

the demon might've caught him, but that doesn't prompt him to rescue ciel, to stop him from falling to his death.

sebas instead gently takes ciel's hand to guide him there. he gives ciel a false sense of security, of trust, catching the boy when he's at his darkest place, but instead of saving him, he drags him to down to his hell. he is deceiving ciel with a beautiful view and promises in their contract that will ultimately hurt ciel. its cruel and will only lead to pain for our earl.

sebas is a demon (obviously) who is leading ciel to his doom, but the path they take is twisted and tragic but strangely beautiful like the gorgeous sky in the ED.

ciel enjoys the power and omnipotence he has with sebastian, knowing full well the demon is leading him to his demise. he knows that this relationship will end him being sebastian's dinner. ciel knows he can't trust sebas, but does anyways because sebas is the only person who can't hurt him until he inevitably does.

the fall might result in an ugly death, but the view is pretty nice on the way down. the beautiful sky colored with deception, manipulation and misplaced trust.

yeah, sebastian will end up hurting ciel the most at the end, but the boy doesn't care at the moment. sebas is the only ""person"" who knows him with all the ugliness of his past, yet still protects him, serves him, and doesn't treat him like a helpless creature. so ciel is forced to place trust in a fundamentally untrustworthy creature knowing he is inches away from the demons bared fangs.

sebastian helps him survive his living hell now and get what he needs to get done, so he doesn't care what happens after. his descent to darkness becomes much more beautiful as a result.

shippers may have one interpretation (which I'm NOT a fan of...), but this is how I see it, and I think it makes this ending all the more impactful and tragic. but here I am, and I'm enthralled by the beauty and can't look away.

anyways, thanks for reading my brain dump, and looking forward to ep 2 folks!!! hope yall liked my micro analysis/semi organized gushing, and r enjoying this kuro renaissance as much as I am! here's a professor michaelis for reading this far

#kuroshitsuji #kuroshitsuji analysis #ciel phantomhive #sebastian michaelis #black butler #shoukuzai sid #professor michaelis #kuroshitsuji public school arc #kuro spoilers #kuroshitsuji s4 #kuroshitsuji ED #do not tag as ship :/#not ship #my two cents do with it what u will #gateau au earl #long post

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corviisquire · 9 months ago

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Creatures have colors!!

Left to Right: @moonchild-in-blue @leonsleftbicep @ghxstly-death

@pear-island

Left to Right: @a-s-levynn @foundationsofdecay @polteergeistt

They have been colored along with making some minor adjustments. If anyone wants anything changed please let me know! These creatures are yours so name them whatever you want, develop lore if ya want, and do whatever you want with them. Possible next batch will probably be made later next week.

Art notes under cut :D

I put some music drops because music inspires me too much.

Moonchild-in-blue: The blues and purples!! Opals and the insides of muscle shells inspired me a lot with the coloring (particularly the stars and moon). There’s another shell that has that shiny blue and green lining on the inside but I can’t remember the name of it. It was a full moon last night but I forgot to take a picture! Thought of you but anyways I loved coloring the lady. It was fun but I first I struggled on deciding if I wanted more blue or purple.

Some songs I listened to a lot while coloring this:

Sweet Disposition - Temper Trap

Moon Child - F16s

The Night Does Not Belong to God - you know who

Leonsleftbicep: Colors go crazy! Idk what your favorite colors are but I chose The Blue. I also incorporated some red (for yummy contrast and complementary colors). I realized this looked very vampire media core. EyAH enjoy the critter!

Some songs I listened to while coloring this:

Blue Monday - Orgy

Military Fashion Show - And One

The Apparition - do I really need to say who?

Ghxstly-death: Per your request, red and black was incorporated! Was inspired by Mohg, Lord of Blood, from Elden ring cause he has cool robes and a trident thingy. I really like how it turned out. Like I’ve been doing with every design is adding the bling and I felt gold would work well.

Was resisting the urge to put the entire One EP right here:

Get The Balance Right! - Depeche Mode

Mascara - Deftones

Jaws - Slep tonka

SEVEN HOUR SHITTER (pearisland/perryisle): You use bright colors in your art all the time so we got the colors goingggg. Little guy reminds me of Pumpkin Patch protagonist or Hollow Knight. Idk. Not much to say except TRIPLE DEATH SLIME BARRAGE!!!

No normal music for you. only Kevin Macleod and Pizza Tower ST.

A-s-levynn: More Dark Sun Gwyndolin inspiration… (you can tell I have my dark souls art books open next to me right now). As requested, tendrils/tentacles were added! I think it improved the design a whole lot because it was originally very symmetrical and the tentacles added just the right amount of asymmetry to balance out the overall look. I’m a huge fromsoft fan (playing Elden Ring, waiting for new DLC, have dark souls 1 remastered but haven’t started it yet, have bloodborne Elden ring and DS1/3 art books) so lots of my art has elements from Fromsoft games (neutron activation).

And just like everyone else, some music for the soul:

Too Late - 311

Scared Together - Silversun Pickups

Dark Signs - eepy coin

Foundationsofdecay: Again, taking more inspiration from your blog, colors and stuff. The design had subconscious influence from the game sky: children of the light. Had lotsa fun coloring it. I don’t know much about you like favorite colors or flowers but I tried my best!

Songs that inspired me:

Let It Happen - Tame Impala

Flux - Bloc Party

Rain - tired currency

Polteergeistt: The oarfish colors… A lot Of these characters have cool blues so I tried to use some teal blues to contrast the red/pink(?). “Nintendo switch core” I’m sobbing. I fixed the feet. Now my Pinterest is filled to the brim with fish images (specifically oarfish, sea jellies, and blue lobsters).

The music!!!!!:

UNDERWATER BOI - Turnstile

The Illness (Teenagers Remix) - GoodBooks

Descending - exhausted dollar

Thank you so much. All of you are such lovely people. 🫂💕🫶

#art #my art #digital art #art gift #gift art #gift #creature #oc art #OC

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slytherinprincesses17 · 3 months ago

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Part 1:The boy who flew too close to the sun and the girl who was made of sunlight

Summary: The part where Draco decides if you are the sun, then he must be Icarus

Author Note: Hello Everyone, This is my 1st Draco work! I'm very excited to share with you all, this takes pace in 4th year through 6th. I was inspired by Greek Mythology as well as Vincent Lima's EP Versions of Uncertainty. Reader is Terence Higgs, younger sister though it is not mentioned much in this one. Pure blood and one of the sacred 28 families. This going to be multiple parts! Im thinking maybe 4/5 !!

Please leave your feedback and comments!!

-K🍄

______________________________________________Draco Malfoy had known Y/N Higgs since childhood. His mother and yours were close from their Hogwarts years. So, you could often be seen frolicking throughout the manor. He recalls you picking flowers and handing them to the house-elves. Chasing butterflies. Lying about in the grassy hills, always under the blooming wisteria trees. Draco always felt drawn to you. Like spring after winter, you warmed those around you. He was no exception.

You murmured "Draco..." as you lounged in the garden one afternoon. As the brilliant blonde sat next to you with a Quidditch magazine in hand.

"Mhmm…" his head turned to you before he could think… like a sunflower to the sun, you commanded his attention.

“Will we be friends next year?” you inquired with a tilted head, fingers plucking at the blades of grass. You avoided his gaze, afraid of the blunt boy's answer.

"Of course y/n, don’t be silly…. my mother's anger would erupt if I showed you any disrespect." Draco spoke in a flat tone.

He wanted to escape this moment, afraid you would see through him. That you would see it was he who disapproved of your exit from his life's circle.

“Even if I’m not a Slytherin?” you inquired, your voice tinged with melancholy, eyes narrowed.

"Of course, sunshine..." He said softly returning to his pages, looking up out of the corner of his eye at you. You had a matching rosy tint and a smile.

“Good… That’s good,” you said softly.

To tell the truth, Draco thought you would never become a Slytherin. Simply because it wasn't in your nature. You are ambition and cleverness have always been present, but never cruelty. You were cunning and crafty, but never at anyone's expense. You were smart beyond measure, like a Ravenclaw. Kind and loyal, as they could come, like a Hufflepuff. And hard-headed and brave, like a Gryffindor. Yet he found himself corrected that 1st year at Hogwarts as you sat beside him in your green tie and beaming smile. Draco had never been more relieved to have been wrong.

From then on, everyone knew you, Y/N Higgs. You stood out as a remarkable Slytherin, distinct from the others. Walking with a gracefulness that compelled those around to turn their heads. Spending time showing 1st years around and volunteering in the Hospital wing. Even helping Hagrid with the magical creature care. You held friends in all the houses. Everyone would say you were uncharacteristically nice for a snake....

Draco always wondered. How could a pure-blood Slytherin, raised under the same pressures as him, be so kind? Still, you stayed close to one another. You kept your promise to be friends until one cold winter day in 4th-year during potions...

"You will work on this essay in pairs, and it will account for a significant portion of your final grade.” Professor Snape droned on, explaining the assignment.

"I have preassigned your partnerships and will hear no griping or groaning about said matters. If you cannot work together, write your own 6 parchments on the effects and magical uses of a bezoar. These partnerships are absolutely final. Due Monday.” Snape said in his dreary, disinterested tone.

"Now…" Snape began to read off the pairs.

"Grander and Parkinson"

"Potter and Parvati"

"Zambini and Longbottom"

"Granger and Goyle"

"Malfoy and Higgs"

"Weasley and Finnigan."

Draco's doodling stopped at the sound of his name. Professor Snape was continuing down his list, leaving no room for complaints. As you plopped down next to him, your feet shuffled about. The scent of honey and wisteria filled his nose; you always smelled like home to him.

"Hello, Draco! How lovely… it’s like our summer studies at the Manor," you beamed, unpacking your quill and ink.

Draco nodded and returned a soft smile that was only reserved for you.

"Not even our summer studies are this extensive. Leave it to Snape to dampen the weekend before the Yule Ball." You huffed out, defeated.

"About the Yule ball…..” Draco trailed off as you turned to look at him with hopeful, wide eyes.

"Who gets the pleasure of being your date for the evening?” he asked, his gaze slanting towards you, his breath suspended in anticipation.

You see, over the years, Draco has grown fond of you as you have of him. Both too comfortable in your normal to risk something so dear, so both stood still. Suspended in the friend zone until he heard news that someone asked you to the ball. Lighting a newfound fire underneath him. He couldn't resist taking that leap, determined not to let the opportunity slip away.

"I was hoping you would’ve asked me by now, Draco. Though I take it you're opting for Parkinson.” You made a face when referring to Pansy Parkinson, a Slytherin with a crush on the Malfoy boy.

He let out a gentle laugh in amusement. He cherished the moments your envious Slytherin persona emerged.

"No. No. No. I'm not attending with Pansy. I heard through the gossip vine that the champion asked you himself: Cedric Diggory, is it?" He grimaced at the name. From the start of the year, it was known that he fancied you.

But who didn't? You were a dream come to life. You were kind and smart, second only to Hermione. Yet, you never dated. You never agreed to Hogsmeade dates or study sessions with anyone. That includes Oliver Wood, Cedric Diggory, and even Saint Potter. No one knew why. But you did. If you never agreed, you'd find Draco next to you in the library, or arm in arm on Hogsmeade weekends. So why agree when your heart was already so full?

You declared, "He did, but I turned him down." You shrugged, refocusing on your homework. The air around your desk grew heavy as you huffed out a breath of frustration.

You adored Draco. The parts of him reserved for you were warm and soft. He looked out for you and was always there. Waiting since the announcement of the Yule Ball for Draco to ask you, turning down everyone who wasn't him. You knew he was a bloody coward, even considering asking him yourself a few times. All you needed was confirmation. Reassurance that it wasn't only you who found yourself wanting more.

"Since we cleared the air and I'm not going with Parkinson, you're not going with Diggory. Shall I save you the embarrassment of attending alone?" He flashed a playful grin.

"Save me the embarrassment? No. No. No. Mr. Malfoy, you forget yourself. I have a line of willing suitors waiting for me." You laughed, noticing Draco's slight annoyance.

"Let me save you the ghastly displeasure of having Parkinson be your last resort... Of course, I'll go with you, Draco; why do you think I turned down the future Triwizard champion?" You gave him a sidelong glance. "I was waiting for your daft arse."

Draco's lips curved upward in a subtle grin of admiration at your boldness.

" Well, thank you for waiting for me to catch on... It is a pleasure to be on the arm of such a lady."

You shared a warm smile with him before resuming your tasks. A new excitement and giddiness filled you both.

__________

The following evening, you found yourselves in the library. Draco occupied the seat opposite yours. Surrounded by dim candlelight, open textbooks, and the smell of fresh ink in the air. You both discussed what colors to wear to the Yule ball and the Potions assignment. Which reminded you to write to your mother about the recent development. Both mothers grew anxious as they awaited news of your companions for the ball. They had hoped it would be each other after all. It was Narcissa Malfoy and Beatrice Higgs who watched all those summers. As childhood friendship bloomed into something only mothers could sense.

As the sunset and talk faded, you whispered, looking up at him through your long lashes.

"What do you wish to be when school is over?”

Draco set his quill aside, gazing at you with introspective eyes as he pondered the question.

“I know Father wishes for me to take a prominent position in the Ministry someday.” He muttered, shrugging his shoulders. "You know, following after him and all."

"No, no, no... what do you, Draco Malfoy, wish to be? Parents be damned!" You shook your head in disapproval and reached for his hand.

He let out a low, amused laugh and curved his lips upward. "A potions master, maybe an astronomer," he whispered, placing his icy hand on yours. You smiled back.

"I wish to be a healer, maybe a teacher. My parents likely want me to marry, and that would be the end of it." You huffed, your cheek resting in your palm.

“Parents be damned ….” Whispered Draco, tightening his grasp on your hand.

With soft smiles, hours passed and homework gave way to chat. The air was fresh and electric around you both. A want... no, more like a compulsive need to touch and be close grew and grew. As you worked through the weekend together in your safe little cove of the library. Transitioning from opposite each other to shoulder-to-shoulder. Any space between you both was too much.

___________

The Yule ball night arrived suddenly. As Draco found himself standing at the bottom of the long stairs in front of the great hall with Theo and Blaise. All anxiously awaiting their dates to descend the stairs… all minus Theo. Nothing could have readied Draco for the stunning sight of you in candlelight. Your dark blue dress and gold accents shone like the stars that made the constellation….

You descended the stairs grasping tightly to Draco's outstretched hand. Everyone faded away as he drew near, his gaze locked on you. When you finally reach him, he spins you around to savor every angle, embracing you tightly.

"Wow, Higgs, I knew you would clean up exquisitely."

Theo Knott, the endless flirt, spoke. Breaking your gaze with Draco and ruining the moment. The blonde boy shot a piercing stare at Theo, who responded with a sly wink.

“Thank you, Theo… you’re too kind." Your face flushed; you dipped your head in embarrassment.

"Lucky man, Malfoy." he said, still gazing at your glory as you stood, arm locked with Malfoy by your side.

"I know, Knott … by the way, don’t you have a floor of single women to save from a night of heartbreak versus harassing my date?” Draco spat with no real malice toward the Knott boy.

"Did you come alone, Theo?” you said, confused.

"Don't waste your pity on him Y/N… he chose to come alone on purpose," Blaise said, laughing. "It's all part of his grand plan to woo the hearts of many."

"Exactly correct... because why limit oneself to one date when one can save many from a night of loneliness?" Theo said rather proud of himself "Although, if you were my one date, Higgs... I'd accept the burden." He smirked.

Draco pulled you closer into his arms as he swung at Theo playfully, shoving him away. As you rolled your eyes at the boy's antics.

Lorenzo Berkshire appeared from behind Draco, quickly taking your hand from his cousin’s grasp and spinning you in a circle.

“ My goodness, you are a sight Y/N” Enzo said laughing softly

“ Enzo, you are too kind” you stated slightly dizzy steading yourself with your to his chest and a smile

“ This is not flirting with my date hour…” Draco huffs in annoyance as he once again pulls you towards him tucking you under his arm tightly. You smile at him softly patting his chest in reassurance.

"And who is the lucky girl gracing your arm tonight, Blaise?" you asked, changing the topic.

“You mean unlucky… very unlucky, y/n," Theo added with a laugh.

Daphne Greengrass your best friend appears looking like a fairy princess in her dark green and silver gown.

“ That unlucky girl would be me…” She says shooting a glare at Theo “ And at least we have dates” she stick her tongue out in touché

The last of your group trickle in, complimenting one other and filling the area with small talk.

Soon Draco’s hand finds your waist as he leaned over and whispered in your ear too distracted by his breath on your neck to listen to Enzo speak anymore. You turn your attention fully to the Prince of the hour.

"Shall we find ourselves a spot inside Sunshine?" he whispered, only for you, against the shell of your ear. It caused goosebumps to travel up your body.

"Lead the way, love….” You gazed, captivated by his timeless black tuxedo with blue highlights. He looked like he came from a fairytale. His regal appearance captivated you.

You walked in through the large doors, arm in arm. Heads turned to see that the Slytherin Prince had won the fair maiden's heart. Yet, it surprised none. It was only a matter of time before the Slytherin Prince captured the princesses.

As you danced the night away with your friends. You suddenly weren't heirs to pureblood fortunes. You were nothing but dumb teenagers in love at a school dance. And it was there... in that moment, as his heart raced. Not from dancing, but from looking at you in the soft candlelight. He decided: if you were a flame, let him be a moth. If you were the sun, let him be Icarus.

Draco decided he would gladly face your light and fire. Fearing no consequences if it meant being wrapped in your warmth for a second longer. Let his wax wings melt and he be drowned in the ocean. Let him plummet from the sky ungracefully if it meant being with you. Because you.... made of sunlight and sugar, were worth it.

"I don't want this to end..." Draco's soft voice fought to be heard above the blaring band and laughter as you stood beside the punch bowl.

You lifted your gaze from your cup and furrowed your brow in puzzlement. Was he referring to the song? The ball? The night?

“Say what you mean, Draco." you urged as you stared into his icy eyes that held a fire behind them.

“I mean this feeling, this … whatever this is. I enjoy who I am with you at this moment. I don't want it to end." His voice held a sense of sadness and fear, like after the music stopped and the night ended, that would be that.

You declare “ Then let’s be like this… always.” As you grasp his hand tightly and pull him into a kiss. He meets you halfway, kissing back effortlessly. He wraps one hand around your waist and the other in your hair. Passion and years of yearning found itself exchanged in the kiss.

As you broke apart, heavy breathing and foreheads touching, you chuckled at the cliché of it all.

"Shall we get out of here?" Draco's red, puffy lips spoke softly against yours.

And you could only nod as he took your hand out of the great hall, smiling and laughing.

Running through the halls hand in hand, up the tall winding stairs to the astronomy tower. Stopping only to kiss each other for a few moments. It was there on the ledge. The very ledge that would later and forever change the course of your life, that Draco gazed at you.

"Y/N, my love…” he reached for your hand and began playing with your fingers as you both stood leaning on the rail.

"I am enamored by you. You roam my mind, unrestricted at will. I wonder endlessly about your happiness. I wonder if you dream of me. If you ate. If you're safe." he rambles like a madman.

You smile, rubbing your thumb against his hand as encouragement…

"Please do me the honor, sunshine, of being mine." He draws a long breath, his eyes locking onto yours.

"Oh Draco…. You whisper, "I've always been yours," before you lean in to brush your lips against his. He responds with a fervent kiss, hands around your waist, yours buried in his soft hair.

You spent another hour in the tower. Draco pointed out his favorite constellations between fevered bouts of making out. His suit jacket wrapped around you. It smelled of mahogany, fresh apples, fresh ink, and silver. Nothing but more time could have solidified the night as perfect.

"Your lips are turning blue, sunshine." Draco chuckled as his fingers caressed your winter-kissed cheeks. His hand felt like ice, so you enveloped it in yours, pressing your lips gently to his skin. The winter air was becoming too cold to ignore, signaling the end of the night.

"I guess we should be heading back then." You groaned, throwing your head back.

Draco's laughter burst out as he rose to his feet, bending to grasp and lift you upright. He enveloped you in his suit jacket, tucking you in tight and kissing your cheek lightly. Leaving a warmth in their place. You smiled.

Walking back to the common room down the tower steps, hand in hand, a newfound contentment hung in the air.

The rest of the year went by rather quickly. Between classes, you and Draco made time for each other. Enjoying Hogsmeade weekends and late nights sneaking off to the astronomy tower. It all felt too good to be true. Which as fate would have it was true... nothing good lasts long.

There you were in the stands of the third Triwizard task. Screams and cries filled the air. Draco hid your face in his chest, holding you close and tight. As you stare in shock at the body of the kindest boy you knew... tears slipped slowly down your face. Time dragged on, after Cedric's memorial with the buzz of grief and you-know-who on the rise. Static seemed to be in the air… like a drop of water about to fall into a still lake.

If only you knew then what hung in the stars for Draco and you. What darkness was at play and how far your Icarus was willing to fall for you, his sunshine.

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x slytherin reader #draco lucius malfoy #harry potter imagine

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