#anyways… i thought this one shot was pretty.

[thundersoothers]

john price, his wife, and... the dog (derogatory)

who: John Price x wife!reader

what: inspired by this thought about john price being an absolutely softie for his wife.

word count: 2.4k

warnings: mentions of cheating but it’s NOT TRUE! you’ll see… just fluff that reallyyyyy makes me want to marry this man.

It’s 2AM on a Saturday in the summer when John Price thinks he hears his wife cheating on him. 

“Shhh!!  You have to be quiet, you’ll wake up my husband.” 

He opens his heavy eyes to see the TV paused at the end credits of some movie he can’t even remember the name of.  The screen reflects in the crystal of the empty rocks glass on the coffee table next to his feet, holding only a warm whiskey stone.  

He groans and stretches, his old t-shirt riding up to show a dark happy trail disappearing into low-waisted flannel pajama pants.  He has one sock on with a hole in the toe.  You told him to get rid of them and got him a pack of 20 of the same sock (he’s very particular about his socks), but he still wears these ones, anyway. 

“Stop moving, I’m trying to concentrate here.  Damn lock… can never— oh, shit.  Heh. Wrong key.” 

He can hear you muttering and giggling and the scratch of the key against the lock as you struggle to get it in. 

It’s your girls’ night and he likes to wait up for you to make sure you get in safely.  He saw you off around 8PM, pouring himself a glass of whiskey as you took a shot of tequila.  You planted a big kiss on his cheek, leaving a red lipstick mark that he didn’t bother to fully wipe off. 

“Sorry, I know you’re eager to get inside.  I bet you’re so cold, all naked.  Here, you can go in my dress, is that better?  Fu—ow!  Don’t bite my tit, Jesus!  Sharp teeth…” 

He suddenly feels much more awake.  He pushes himself up from the couch and starts to walk to the foyer. 

“This damn door… ah!  There we go.” 

The door creaks open and he hears you tiptoe inside in your heels (wearing heels and tiptoeing—are two actions that are mutually exclusive, especially when you’re plastered). 

“Remember, we have to be quiet.  My husband waits for me to get home, we don’t want to wake him up.  He’s very nice, you see, but he can’t know you’re here.” 

Apparently, you have gotten home safely—with an extra guest who just bit at your tit.  And you’re being more loud than your guest, who you keep telling to be quiet. 

“My husband is gonna be soooo mad.  He’s gonna be so mad at me, but once he sees how cute you are, I think he’ll forgive me.  He’ll understand.  I had to.  I just had to!” 

He hears rustling as he gets closer to the foyer, you fumbling around in the dark. 

“Stay there, don’t move, okay?  Stay, yeah?  You know that, don’t you?  Mummy will teach you if not.  Just stay right there.  Lemme get these damn heels off…” 

There’s an odd sound of something quickly clicking on hardwood floor that makes his eyebrows furrow, and then you gasp—

“Wait, don’t run—“ 

Bang! 

You groan loudly. 

Price flicks on the lights.

You’re lying face down on the rug.  You have one heel on.  The second heel is twisted around your other foot—what you fell over.  Your little dress is flipped up over your ass and your arms are outstretched. 

“You okay there, love?” John asks, torn between amusement and concern. You just groan.  “Sounded like you fell pretty hard.” 

“I tripped,” you say into the rug, sounding very sad. 

“You hurt?” he asks.  “Anything broken?”

You shake your head and curl up a little.  “I’ll just sleep here.” 

He laughs softly.  “Come on, none of that.” 

“It’s so comfortable.  I’ll just—“ 

There’s that clicking sound again and he’s almost startled by the abruptness of your movement.  You push yourself up with one arm, stretch the other out and fucking snatch the quick-moving little brown blob that’s moving toward you.  You pull it to your chest and cradle it, shielding it from John’s view. 

He blinks. “What you got there, baby?” he asks after a second. 

“Nothing,” you say innocently. 

“Right.”  He crosses his arms, looking you over.  “Who were you talking to just now?” 

“No one,” you say quickly.  “Myself.” 

“Right,” John says again slowly. “Show me what you have.” 

You look over your shoulder up at him through your lashes, vision blurry.  “No.  You’re gonna be mad.” 

“Just show me.” 

“Promise you won’t be mad.” 

He sighs.  “I won’t be mad.”  You give him a look.  He sighs again.  You’re wasted—he can tell by your eyes. They’re unfocused and heavy.  “Promise.  Now show me.” 

You look down at whatever you’re holding to your chest.  “Okay,” you whisper (to your tits?), “you need to be very well-behaved, okay?  No biting, please.  Be very nice for Daddy so he will like you, okay?  Can you do that?  Yes?  Okay.” 

You glance up at John again over your shoulder and then turn yourself around in a very clumsy movement.  Then, as if presenting whatever it is like you’re Mufasa from the Lion King, you lift it up in the air toward your husband. 

It’s a puppy. 

It’s quiet. 

The little dog wriggles in your hands, wagging his tail so hard his whole body shakes.  He barks up at John, high pitched.  A small pink tongue lolls out of his mouth. 

It’s still quiet. 

You lower the dog a little so you can look up at John.  “You said you wouldn’t be mad!” 

“I’m not mad,” John says, sounding mad. 

“You look mad.” 

“I’m not mad,” he says again.  “It’s just… dirty.” 

You gasp.  “He’s not dirty!” you exclaim, sounding offended on behalf of the dog.  You pull him to your chest.  “He’s just a little mangey, you see.  But that’s okay.  It can be fixed.  You know—they have medicine for that.  Or lotion, or whatever it is.  He’s very nice, John, I swear.  I know he’s a little… skrunkly but he’s very cute and—ow!  That’s my hair, no biting Mummy, please.” 

“You’re already calling yourself his Mummy?” he asks, bemused, eyebrow raised at you.  Yep.  You’re fucking wasted. 

“Yes, and you’re his Daddy.”  You hold the dog up again, this time facing him toward you.  “I think you’re very cute, puppy. You’ll grow on Daddy.  Just be very good for him, you can do that, can’t you?  Yes, you can.”  You whisper, as if John isn’t standing right there, “We’ll wear him down. Don’t worry.”

“I thought it was something else,” Price says. 

“What did you think it was?” you ask, not looking away from the dog.

“Where did you find it?” he asks instead of answering. 

This is much better than what his traitorous mind momentarily supplied.  You, cheating? As if.

How silly of him to even think that. For a moment, his stomach twists with the guilt of doubting you. He should have known better. 

Of course it’s this.  What else could it have been?

A puppy. 

A puppy! 

“Oh, hello, there.” 

You crouch down in your dress and heels and hold out your hand to the little puppy emerging from the bushes by the side of the road. 

“What are you doing here, all alone?  Come here, love, I won’t hurt you.  Come on, puppy, come to me.  Yeahhh, there we go.  Oh, look at you.  You’re so cute.  You’re all mangey, though.  Oh,” you say pitifully, “you little baby.” 

You’re drunk as fuck at 2AM on a Saturday in the summer, in the middle of your walk home from the bar, squatting in the middle of a back road in England, about to cry while petting this puppy clumsily—but he doesn’t seem to mind.  He wags his tail and nips at your fingers. 

“Where’s your Mummy?  You shouldn’t be out here all alone.  No collar… oh, goodness, what should I do with you?  I don’t want to leave you.  I’m not sure what to do.” 

He barks at you, high pitched. 

You nod at him seriously.  “Oh, yes, good point.”  He barks again.  “Mhm.  Yes, yes.  I thought so, too.  Exactly right.” 

He runs in a circle around you. 

“What are you, a month?  You should be with your Mum, you shouldn’t be all alone.  Oh, you little baby, you must be so scared.”  (He’s wagging his tail.) 

“It’s so cold.”  (It’s summer.) 

“Maybe you can come home with me?”  (Your husband would be so mad.) 

“Yes,” you decide.  “You’ll come home with me.”  (Your husband is going to be so mad.) 

That’s how you end up stumbling home with a puppy in your arms, rambling to him about yourself and your life. 

“Well, puppy, my name is Mrs. Price.  I’m from around here.  I live in a nice three bedroom house with my husband, I think you’ll like it very much.  It’s very cute. He let me decorate it. He doesn’t understand feng shui, you see. You should see his office, puppy, it’s so bland. No taste for interior design.”

“Our house is only 10 more minutes away.  See that big tree there?  That means we only have 10 minutes left until we’re home.  I’m not great with street names, you see, so I go by landmarks.”  He barks.  “Yes, yes, you get it.” 

“Anyway.  So, I’m—stop wiggling please, Mummy’s going to drop you—I’m married to a very nice man named John.  I love him very much.  You’ll like him, too,” you tell him seriously, “he’s very likable.  I like lots of things about him, puppy.  Actually, I like everything about him.” 

“He says I can’t have a dog, though.  He says it’s for my own good—booooo. Boo! But maybe we can sneak you in.  What do you think, puppy?  Should we do that?  I think we should do that.  We’ll have to be very quiet, though.  Very quiet.” 

“John waits for me to get home safely—he’s so nice, he’s so kind to me, I love him sooooo much—but we have to make sure not to wake him up. This is one of them—uh, covert operations. He’s very well-versed in those. My husband is very talented, puppy, he’s a Captain. So we’ll have to be extra careful.”

And that’s how you end up trying to sneak into your own house and then trip over your shoe and fucking slam! your face on the rug. 

“Where did you find it?” John asks you as you sit on the floor after you presented the dog to him.

“On the way home from the bar, kind of my that big tree.” 

“By Notting Street?” 

You furrow your eyebrows.  “Notting Str—I dunno.  Maybe?  I just know the big tree.  The one with all the branches.” 

“The one with all the branches,” he repeats, nodding slowly.  “Right.” 

“But he was there all alone so I took him home.  I couldn’t leave him, John, he’s so little.  And he’s very cute, look at his little ears?  And his little feet?  His toes are soooo small.  His little teeth are sharp, though—like a shark.  Fuckin’ hurt, he almost bit my tit off.” 

“Yeah, I heard.” 

“You heard?  Oh.  I was trying to be quiet.  I didn’t want to wake you up.” 

He smiles at you.  “I know.” 

You smile back. 

“Give me the dog.” 

You frown.  “No.” 

“The dog, please.” 

“No.”  You hold him tighter.  “You’ll take him from me.” 

“Well,” he says, “yes.” 

You sigh.  “Be gentle.”  You hand him to John and he takes him in one hand and holds him out, frowning, as if it’s offended him. 

A puppy. 

“Can we keep him?” you ask hopefully. 

He glances at you and then back to the puppy and then back to you and then back to the puppy.  “No.” 

“Please?” 

“No.” 

“But…”  You trail off and he looks back down at you.  You’re starting to tear up. 

“Oh, love, don’t cry.” 

“He’s so little and soft and nice and he’s all mangey and he’s all alone and he’s just a little baby and…” 

“Okay, okay, baby, we can keep him.” 

(By that, he means you’ll talk about it tomorrow when you’re sober, and by ‘talk about it’, he means, ‘no.’) 

“Really?!” you gasp.  

The way your face fucking lights up makes John pause.  For a second, he almost feels like he lost his balance.

“Oh, John, really?  Oh, thank you so much!  Puppy, did you hear that?  Daddy said yes!  See, he’s very nice, just like I told you, remember?  He’s very nice and kind and he’s very handsome and I love him very much, and I—“ 

“The dog can’t understand you.” 

“You don’t know that,” you say defensively.

He looks down at you. “Right,” he says. 

You stare up at him, standing over you as you sit on the floor.  “How are you handsome even from this angle?”  You frown deeper.  “Stupid face,” you mutter. 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Let’s get you up.” 

“I’m so comfortable.” 

“Hand.”  He tucks the dog under his arm and extends his other hand toward you.  He crooks his long, thick fingers at you.  “Now.” 

You look between his hand and his face, and then slip your hand into his.  He fucking yanks you up and, in one movement that’s somehow graceful, bends down and throws you over his shoulder. 

He, naturally, slaps your ass and you squeal.  “Hey!!” 

You kick your feet (still with only one heel on) and he laughs, resting his hand on your hip, heavy fingers digging into the plush of your butt, as he makes his way up the stairs with you on his shoulder and the dog in his hand. 

Gently, he drops you onto the bed and you fall back with an oof! and stare up at him. 

“Well,” he drawls, “aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” 

You grin.  “I missed you.” 

“I missed you, too.”  He takes off your shoe (singular), your dress, and your makeup as you hold the dog, curled up, on your chest. 

“You’re so good to me, John,” you say, your eyes closed.  “I’m so lucky.  I don’t know how I got so lucky.  And, you, puppy,” you mumble, petting him slowly, “you’re so lucky, too.  You’re about to have the best Daddy in the world.  He’s so good to us.” 

“‘Puppy’ is asleep,” John says.  “And,” he adds, scooping him up in one hand, “puppy is not sleeping in the bed.” 

You just groan, too tired and drunk to argue. 

He holds the dog out in the air again, turning him around and upside down to examine him.  He yips and wriggles in his hands, but John shushes him.  “Hush now.  Your Mummy is asleep.”  He shakes his head and sighs.  “What am I going to do with you?” 

He takes the dog to the bathroom and puts him down on the floor. His paws slip a little on the cold tile. John puts his hands on his hips, staring down at the dog.  “I can’t believe this.”

He reaches over to turn on the heated floor (which he got installed for you) and says to the dog, “You are so, so damn lucky I love your Mummy.” 

In the morning, despite John Price’s best efforts to say no to you, you end up convincing him to keep the dog. He’s a military Captain but the pleading of his wife is enough to make him crumble.

The happiness on your face when he finally says yes, makes him wonder why he ever said no in the first place.

note: thank you for reading! this is my first time posting in years–and in a totally new fandom. thank you for your patience and your support. let me know your thoughts! merry christmas!

posted 12.26.2024. do not repost or modify any of my original words on any other platform. to masterlist.

[atleastpleasetelephone]

Little Darling

Chapter 12 - Leave the traces far behind

It's 1997, and Elvis is still alive and well. He quit music in 1972 after a successful world tour, and now he runs Presley Studios - teaching people karate across America. His daughter and grandchildren are regular visitors at Graceland, and when he’s in Memphis he likes to do a little teaching. His life is quieter now, though. Most of the Mafia have gone - going to live their own lives - and after his divorce from his second wife, Elvis is sworn off women for good. Will a Welsh girl with a wicked sense of humour be the one to make him break his promise to himself not to fall in love again?

Need to catch up? Go here.

Pairing: Old Man!Elvis x OC - Tegan, a Welsh girl he meets at karate.

Word count: 5.2K

TWs: Drinking, objectification/worship, possessive kink, MMF threesome, Elvis is a little dominant, reverse harem (kinda), ALL THE SMUT (including DP).

A/N: MERRY CHRISTMAS!! This is my fic gift to you all. Hope you enjoy!

Christmas Day at Graceland is just as magical as Tegan had imagined, and maybe even a little more so. There are lights twinkling everywhere and the smell of food wafts out from the kitchen all day long. The kids are chaotic as always but she enjoys watching them open their presents and play more with the boxes than the actual gifts themselves. Coffi even gets some energy and spends a lot of the morning sitting and shredding wrapping paper whilst making little contented noises. The adults exchange presents a little later, and despite everything Elvis had given her previously, Tegan still finds herself with a mountain to open. She had struggled to think of what to buy him, with him being so notoriously difficult to buy for and Sonny and Lisa providing her with precisely no help when she’d asked. 

“Oh, it’s probably better not to bother getting him a gift,” Lisa had told her. “He can get it all himself anyway.”

But Tegan wasn’t happy with that, she couldn’t conceive of getting the man she loved nothing for Christmas (aside from all of the parading around in her underwear and promises of sex) so she spent days at a time wandering around the shops, looking for inspiration. She talked to Lowell for a long time, and to Mr Lansky. They had a lot of standard suggestions - rings, bracelets, jackets, shirts… none of it really stood out to her. He didn’t wear a huge amount of jewellery nowadays, and tended to live in leisurewear rather than tailored suits. She had just about given up hope when she saw a beautiful silver photo frame in an antique store, and remembered the photos in the living room at Graceland. 

She passes him the present nervously. 

“Oh, honey. Ya didn’t have ta…” he sees the look on her face when he says that, and quickly adds, “but I’m glad ya did. No-one ever gets me anything.”

It’s true, and sometimes it does make him a little sad. Of course he can buy things himself, but he likes to imagine people thinking of him and wanting to get him something he’d like, once in a while. 

He tears the paper open and finds a large silver photo frame, with a polaroid of Tegan and Coffi in it. 

“It’s just a placeholder,” she explains, gesturing at the photos on the wall. “I thought we could get some professional ones done and put the best one in there…”

Elvis grins. “I like this one a lot honey,” winking at her. He’d told her about his love of dirty polaroids and he’s pretty sure this is a reference to that. “But I think that’s a wonderful idea.”

She beams. “I’ve got you something else too.”

She hands him another, smaller package, and he opens it with curiosity. It’s a photo album, and it’s full of pictures from their holiday. Lisa’s partner is an amateur photographer and had spent half of the vacation taking candid shots of everyone, some of which had turned out pretty nicely. And some of which were just downright hilarious. Once she’d seen the frame she got in contact with him and he got her some copies. 

“Honey! This is incredible.” Elvis is beaming, flicking through the pages, then kissing her enthusiastically. He loves it. 

Just as he’s finished with the kisses, the doorbell goes. 

“I’ll get it,” she says, as Elvis looks at his gift again.

Tegan opens the door to a man in jeans and a suit jacket, his white shirt half unbuttoned and exposing a large amount of chest hair. Her first thought is that he must be cold, and her second thought is who the fuck is this? The memory of Elvis telling her about his friend Jerry coincides with him putting out his hand and introducing himself. 

“Oh, hi Jerry. I’m Tegan. Elvis’... girlfriend.” It still seems weird to her, saying that. Especially to his old friends. “Come in to the warm!”

Jerry stares at Tegan unabashedly. Elvis had talked about her a few times on the phone, so he knew she was more than 20 years younger than his friend. But he didn’t think she’d be dressed quite so eye-catchingly on Christmas Day. He drags his eyes back up from her breasts with some difficulty. 

“Thanks, honey. You’re…uh… British?”

She smiles, closing the door behind him and ushering him into the living room. “Yeah, kinda. Welsh to be more specific, but British will do.” She notices him looking at the top of her head and remembers the crown-like tiara. “Elvis thinks I sound like the Queen,” she says, by way of explanation, touching the top of it. 

Jerry laughs. “That sounds like EP.”

Elvis gets up from where he’d been kneeling on the floor between Maria’s two kids, showing them the photos, and starts to make his way over to Jerry. But not before Gina can do her usual trick of barrelling into Tegan with a squeal and then holding her hands above her head to ask to be picked up. 

“Hi, Gina,” Tegan says, wearily, picking her up and then desperately trying to keep her from grabbing the crown. “Gina, this is Jerry. Jerry, this monster is Gina, she belongs to my friend Maria over there.”

Jerry takes one of Gina’s little hands and gallantly kisses the back of it. “Pleased to meet you, little miss.”

“Ha! Still charming the ladies I see!” Elvis booms, before grabbing Jerry in a big hug. 

They slap one another on the back and exchange pleasantries for a moment. Then Elvis extracts Gina from Tegan’s arms and gives her a kiss on the top of her head, telling her something about presents and her mother and launching her back into the room. Tegan sighs with relief and tries to check her hair with her hands. She feels Elvis’ arm slip around her waist. 

“What d’ya think a my woman, Jerry?” 

Jerry laughs. “I think you’re very lucky, EP. But then you always were a lucky old dog.”

Elvis smirks. “Yer not wrong, Jer. C’mon, lemme introduce ya to everyone.”

As he turns to the room and starts his introductions, Tegan feels that familiar tingling between her legs. Something about the compliment from Jerry and the way Elvis had asked him about her like she wasn’t there had turned her brain to mush. She squeezes Elvis’ side and he looks at her briefly, noting her slightly flushed face and guessing with a smile that he knows exactly what has caused it…

***

The rest of the day passes happily, with lots of food and drink and merriment. Just after lunch, Tegan finds herself chatting with Jerry. She thinks he's easy to talk to and more than a little handsome, but there’s some sadness mixed in there too. He tells her about his imminent divorce and she listens. She can't help empathising with his description of the death of a relationship where no-one is to blame, and Jerry is glad to talk to someone who understands for a change. He tries not to talk her ear off about it though. He knows there’s nothing more tiresome than someone you don’t know going on about their divorce. 

***

It’s late, and most people have decided to take their exhausted children home. Everyone except Jerry, actually, who is sitting with Elvis on the couch in the den, Tegan sandwiched between them. She’s been enjoying listening to their stories of the old days, sipping on more than a few glasses of liquor, the three of them sliding into inebriation almost without noticing. There’s a natural pause in the conversation, and then Elvis thinks of something that had interested him earlier. 

“Ya like my woman, Jer?”

Jerry looks at his friend and then at the woman sitting next to him. He does like her. He always seems to end up liking Elvis’ women. Even now, after all this time. 

“Sure.”

“What d’ya like about her?”

“I…uh… well I mean she’s very pretty…” Jerry isn’t sure exactly what to say. The atmosphere feels charged somehow, but maybe that's the bourbon.

“What else?”

He notices Tegan’s hand creeping onto Elvis’ leg and starts to think the atmosphere isn’t his imagination after all. 

“Well she’s easy to talk to, and uh…”

Seemingly getting a little impatient, Elvis cuts him off. “She’s covered in tattoos, Jer. All over her body.”

Jerry swallows, thickly. He can feel himself getting a little turned on. “Is she?” 

Tegan can hear the want in his voice and she squeezes Elvis’ thigh. 

“Look,” he replies, leaning over her to push the material of her skirt up, exposing half of her thigh and the tattoo there. 

“Oh.” Jerry stares at the bare thigh next to him and tries to breathe normally. “That’s a beautiful tattoo, honey.”

Elvis clicks his tongue. “You don’t gotta talk ta her, Jer. Jus’ talk to me.”

Tegan feels her head spin and arousal pool between her legs. She remembers the night in the TV room when Elvis had talked possessively about her for the first time, and she wonders again what has happened to all her feminist ideals.

“I like her tattoos, EP,” Jerry suddenly feels a wave of confidence, probably brought on by all the bourbon. “Very sexy.”

“Mmm. You wanna touch her?”

“Fuck, yes.”

“Over her skirt,” Elvis says, firmly, pulling her skirt back down again. 

Jerry puts a big warm hand on Tegan’s thigh and she feels her heart speed up. Goosebumps spring up all over her arms and the hairs there stand on end. Elvis leans in and kisses her neck. 

“Give her a little kiss on the neck,” he instructs. “She smells damn good.”

He puts his hand on top of Tegan’s as she feels Jerry’s lips against her neck, pressing hot little kisses to it. She hears him moan, softly. 

“E-Elvis,” she says, suddenly. Her heart is beating out of her chest, and she looks up at him with wide eyes. He recognises the look immediately. 

“Hey, Jer. Why don’tcha go up to the kitchen an’ get us all some of that eggnog stuff?”

The sudden change of pace makes Jerry feel almost dizzy, but he gets up, subtly rearranging himself and telling them he’ll be back in five. Mentally, he decides it’ll be more like ten. He needs to calm himself down. 

“You okay, honey?” Elvis asks, as soon as Jerry has gone. 

“Hmmmm.”

“Hey. Talk to me.” He cups her face in his hand gently.

“I… I just um…” she lets out a long breath. “We didn’t talk about where uh… this is going.”

“Wherever ya want it to, baby.”

“Mmm. Okay.” 

There’s a long silence, where they both look at one another and Elvis strokes the back of her hand with his thumb reassuringly. He keeps thinking she’s going to continue, but when she still doesn’t he decides he ought to tell her something. 

“Okay. Ya know my world tour?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Jerry came with me. I mean, Jerry came with me.”

Tegan’s eyes go wide and then she giggles. “What are you trying to tell me?”

“Uh… well honey it was a filthy year, I told ya that.”

“Yes.”

“And uh… I told ya about the girls… well uh, sometimes Jerry and I uh… took turns.”

“On the same girl?”

“On the same girl.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“So, like a threesome, or…?”

“Sometimes. Or sometimes more like… a train.”

“Doesn’t a train need more than two people?”

“Not if ya jus’ keep takin’ turns.”

“Did you… no, never mind. I don’t need to know this.” She covers her face with her hand and then giggles again. 

“Ya like Jerry, honey?”

She looks up at him. “Not as much as you.”

“Well I should damn well hope not!” 

She bites her lip. 

“Ya want us to go find him and tell him ta meet us in the bedroom?”

She nods, dumbly. Then she grabs his arm. “I’ve not… I’ve never done anything like this.”

“I’ll look after ya, baby. Promise. Ya wanna stop, just say.”

He presses a gentle kiss to her lips, then stands up. “C’mon. Let’s go and find Jerry and those pills.”

Tegan takes his hand and they walk back up the stairs in search of Jerry. Elvis tells her he’ll see her in the bedroom, and she watches him duck into the kitchen to talk to his friend. She sits on the bed, holding the pill bottle and trying to remember how to breathe. When she’s still alone after a couple of minutes she pads over to the door and opens it a crack. 

“Elvis?” She calls, softly. 

He appears at the bottom of the stairs almost immediately, looking up the stairs at her worshipfully. 

“Tegan bach. We’ll be up in a sec.”

“Could you bring me a drink?”

“Of course, honey. What d’ya want?”

“Whatever’s kicking around. Bourbon?” 

He nods and disappears. She lets out another shaky breath and goes back to the bedroom. She runs the events on the sofa through her head again and again, feeling turned on even as her hands shake whilst she fiddles with the fabric of her dress. She’s just starting to wonder if she can go through this when Elvis appears with the drink. 

“Here ya go, cariad.”

She takes the glass gratefully, gulping the bourbon and relishing the way it burns down her throat. 

“Diolch, blod.”

Elvis smiles at the pet name. He gently pushes her hair away from her face, admiring her. She’s about to ask where Jerry is when the light changes in the room, and she realises he’s standing in the doorway, blocking it slightly. Elvis catches her looking and turns around himself. 

“Come on in, Jer.”

Jerry smiles and walks in with his own glass of liquor, having realised quite quickly that the eggnog was just an excuse to get him out of the room. 

Elvis takes the pill bottle from Tegan and pops one, offering it to Jerry who holds his hand out for one too. She decides this isn’t the time to tell him to stop sharing his medication. 

“Sit,” Elvis instructs, indicating the bed next to Tegan and then moving round to the other side himself. “We’ve got half an hour or so before they kick in.”

Tegan finds herself very pleasantly sandwiched between the two men, Elvis’ hand on her thigh and Jerry’s holding hers almost sweetly, once he’d confirmed with the other man that it was alright. Their thighs are both pressed up against hers and it’s making her heart race with the implications. 

“Ya wanna see some more of her tattoos?” Elvis asks. 

Jerry nods, and watches with interest as his friend pushes Tegan’s skirt up to just below her panties. “Can I?” He asks Elvis, his hand hovering just above her leg. Elvis nods. 

Tegan can hear her breathing change as hands stroke up and down her thighs. She’s pretty certain her panties are going to be soaked through, whenever they get up to investigating them. 

“Give her a kiss,” Elvis instructs, and Jerry lets her hand go to turn her face towards his. His eyes flick down to her lips and back to her eyes as if he’s asking her permission too, and she feels herself melt at the little gesture. Her nod is almost imperceptible, but it’s enough for Jerry, his lips meeting hers, tongue gently pressing for access to her mouth which she grants immediately. 

Elvis pushes the strap of her dress off her shoulder along with her bra strap, exposing one of her breasts. She feels his tongue on her nipple and moves her hand to the back of his head, encouraging him to keep going, her fingers digging into his hair. The slightly scratchy beard hairs just add to the delightful sensations and she doesn’t want him to stop. 

“Jerry,” he mumbles, against her skin. 

The other man pulls away from the kiss, reluctantly, and looks over. Without stopping what he’s doing, Elvis pulls the other straps down so now both of her breasts are accessible, nodding at the one nearest his friend. Jerry groans softly. Nipple piercings. 

“You didn’t tell me her nipples were pierced,” Jerry remarks, before diving down to investigate for himself with his mouth and then his fingers. 

Elvis smiles against her skin. “Good surprise,” he replies. 

“Any more surprises?” Jerry’s fingers are manipulating her nipple as he speaks, his big hand massaging her breast. 

Elvis moves his mouth off her nipple and starts to kiss up her neck, settling just behind her ear for a moment as he thinks. 

“Tight little puss’.”

Jerry clears his throat and she sees he’s blushing. 

“Ain’t that right, darlin’?”

Tegan is surprised to be consulted, but she nods immediately. “Yes, um…”

“Ya can call me it if ya want. Jerry’s heard worse.”

“Yes, Daddy.” She bites her lip and now she’s blushing too. It seems like Elvis is the only one of the three of them not embarrassed by her pussy right now. 

“Good girl. Let’s get this dress off.”

She shifts so that he can get his hand behind her to unzip her dress and then lets him pull it over her head. His practiced fingers snap her bra open and off too, so she’s just sitting in her predictably soaked panties. 

“Looks like a wet pussy, too,” Jerry remarks, blushing an even deeper shade of red. 

Elvis grins wickedly, both at Jerry’s statement and its obvious truthfulness, his hand making its way between her legs to check just how wet. 

“Absolutely soakin’.” He shakes his head and clicks his tongue. “Damn. She is perfect, ain’t she?”

Tegan feels herself going the same colour as Jerry, the combination of the compliment and the fact that it’s being spoken as if she isn’t there making her hot in more ways than one. 

“She really is, E.” 

Jerry’s eyes crawl over her body, taking in every inch of her. He’s never seen a woman with so many tattoos, but he thinks there’s something very sexy about the way they twist and turn around her body, emphasising her curves. He’s seen one or two piercings in his time, and he’s always enjoyed playing with them. There were plenty of pierced girls on Elvis’ world tour. He remembers the one with her nipples done that Elvis had found on that tour and brought around the US with him, she had been a lot of fun. 

He starts to kiss the phoenix on her ribs, following the twists and turns of the feathers, exploring her body with his mouth. She moans as she feels Elvis start the same thing on the other side of her body, kissing from her toes to her hip bone. They keep going until both of them start to feel their dicks getting properly hard and then Elvis looks over at the other man. 

“Ya wanna fuck her?”

Jerry is jolted from the very enjoyable sensations by Elvis’ question. Of course he does. 

“Yes please.”

Elvis grins, wolfishly. “Think ya should go down on her first. Warm ‘er up a bit.” He turns to Tegan. “Lie down, honey.”

She shuffles down onto her back dutifully, moving her hips to help Jerry peel her panties off. He turns them around, having caught a glimpse of something glittery on the back. Laughing when he sees it’s ELVIS in silvery script.

“Ha! Nice one, EP.” 

Throwing the panties off the bed, he settles between her legs and contemplates her pussy for a moment. It’s pretty and glistening with arousal and he doesn’t want to wait much longer to taste it. He pushes her legs until her feet come off the bed, licking a stripe up her and enjoying hearing her response. Elvis enjoys it too, smiling down at her as she closes her eyes and lets her arms flop above her head. He palms himself through his pants as he watches the scene unfold, Tegan moaning as Jerry buries his face in her pussy. 

Jerry concentrates on her clit as he slides one of his fingers inside, working her open gradually. She pants as she feels her pleasure growing, letting out a little moan when a second finger goes in, and then a third. It takes a while for him to get her relaxed enough to take them easily, but when he does he changes the angle slightly and then she’s really moaning. 

“Oh! Oh! I’m so close!”

Elvis lies down beside her, his hand rubbing one of her nipples as he kisses her neck. 

“C’mon, baby. Cum for Daddy.”

Something about both of them touching her at once tips Tegan over the edge, and her orgasm rips through her as her back arches and her hands ball into fists. 

“Fuck.”

Jerry licks her through it until she starts to thrash her legs a little and he pulls back, his chin glistening. 

“Good girl,” Elvis tells her, before looking over at his friend with a grin. “Tastes good, don’t she?”

“Delicious,” Jerry replies, wiping his face on his sleeve. 

The older man sits up and starts to pull his clothes off, giving Jerry a quick look that suggests he should do the same. Once he’s naked he lies back down and wraps himself around Tegan. Their legs tangle together and he kisses her deeply, hands in her hair and pressed against her back. Jerry finishes pulling his clothes off and looks at the two of them with a combination of admiration and lust. It’s like they’re communicating without having to talk, and he misses being able to do that with someone. But it’s also a bit like watching a porno, so he starts slowly stroking himself. Eating Tegan out had turned him on in a way he hasn’t been turned on for a while now, and his dick is aching. 

Elvis moves to kiss just below Tegan’s ear, then he murmurs, “you clean, honey?”

She knows exactly what that means. He’d asked her that question before the two times they’d had anal sex on holiday. “Yeah,” she murmurs back. 

“Good.”

They go back to kissing for a bit, and then his mouth moves to her ear again. “You okay?”

“Mmm. Yes.”

“Good.”

He pulls back and his eyes flick over her face, quickly. She’s still flushed after her orgasm, and he can see that she’s been nibbling on her lower lip too. He’s pretty convinced she’s telling him the truth but he still wants to take this slowly. He sits up again and looks over at Jerry, who manages to move his hand away from his dick just in time. 

“Lie down, Jer. Let her get on top of you.”

Jerry does as he’s told, and Tegan straddles him as Elvis holds her hips. 

“Be gentle with her, now.”

Jerry nods, stroking himself again as Tegan starts to gradually sink down on him, with Elvis’ help. He groans at the feeling of her all around him, squeezing him tightly. She moans a little too, but she’s grateful that although he has length he’s a little slimmer than Elvis so it goes in fairly easily. Sitting down on him fully, she looks into his dark brown eyes. 

“Shit,” he mutters, trying to remember the last time his dick was wrapped up so nicely in a pussy like this. 

She looks briefly back at Elvis for permission and he nods, so she leans forwards, lying on top of Jerry with her face less than an inch from his. His hand cups her face and his fingers knot into her hair as he pulls her close enough to kiss her. Elvis is still holding her hips, and he uses this opportunity to start moving them for her, back and forth so she slides up and down on the other man’s dick. Jerry moans into her mouth. Elvis sighs with satisfaction, his arousal growing at the sight in front of him. They keep moving like this for a while, at Elvis’ direction, and then he reaches into the bedside cabinet drawer, letting her carry on moving of her own accord. 

She hears the lid of the lube bottle click and stops moving. Not noticing the noise, Jerry’s hands move to her hips now and start to move her on him instead. Coating his finger in lube, Elvis moves back to where he was and then gently presses it against her entrance. He bites his lip as he rubs her asshole firmly. She feels like her brain is short-circuiting, and it’s even worse when the finger slips inside and she can feel it and Jerry’s dick at the same time. 

“Ohhh fuck,” she moans. 

Jerry can’t see what’s happening from the angle he’s looking, but he sees the lube bottle on the bed and has a fairly good idea. Elvis starts to move his finger in and out at the same pace as he strokes his own dick, then when he feels her relax he slips in another. He’s starting to think this is the hottest fucking thing he’s ever done, at the age of 62, and he thanks God for whoever invented those amazing pills. 

When he removes his fingers, Tegan knows what’s coming. They hadn’t directly talked about it, but they’d sort of skirted the issue a couple of times. She’s pretty confident he knows she has fantasised about this and that there’s no way she’d say no, but it’s still pretty intense when Elvis tells them both to stay still and she feels him start to push his way inside her. Although she’s used to him, she’s not used to having another dick in her pussy too and the feeling threatens to overwhelm her. 

“How’re ya doin’, baby?” Elvis asks when he finally bottoms out, his voice husky with lust.

“This is fucking intense!” She squeaks, and then finds herself giggling. 

“Fuck me you’re not wrong, honey,” Jerry replies.

Elvis’ thumbs massage her hip bones gently. 

“Yeah, my dick is intensely near Jerry’s right now.”

“I mean, this was your idea, EP.”

All three of them giggle together and the atmosphere in the room changes. 

“Honey, I’m gonna move. Jer, you stay still. Think we might haveta do this one at a time.”

“Okay.”

Tegan tries hard to keep breathing as Elvis starts to slowly move in and out of her, gentle, long strokes. He moans at the feeling, she’s even tighter than she had been with just him and he knows he won’t last long. Holding on to her hips, he moves a little faster, feeling his release building at the base of his dick. 

“Fuck. Baby I’m gonna cum,” he breathes, and then he does, long and hard and a little louder than he was anticipating. 

Tegan moans too at the feeling of him deep inside her, and then again as he pulls out. She closes her eyes, feeling tears prick at the corners of her eyes with the intensity of all the sensations. 

“Can I… uh…?” Jerry gestures at Elvis and the other man nods, waves of pleasure still crashing over him as he watches his girlfriend and best friend rearrange so that Jerry is on top. 

Jerry wastes no time getting what he wants now he has permission, Tegan’s thighs in his grasp as he pounds her hard and fast. Enjoying watching her breasts bounce with the brutal rhythm he’s setting, listening to her increasingly loud moans. 

“I’m close,” Jerry moans, thinking he almost certainly needs permission to cum inside Elvis’ girlfriend. 

“Tell him where you want it, baby.”

“Ugh. Don’t care.” 

Tegan is teetering on the edge of another orgasm and she really doesn’t want Jerry to pull out any time soon, but she also can’t formulate the words to say that. And then she doesn’t have to, because it becomes quite obvious to everyone in the room what’s happening, as she arches her back again and almost squeals. 

“Fuck, fuck fuck.”

Jerry moans loudly, feeling her walls squeeze him into oblivion, cumming inside her as his orgasm washes over him like a tsunami. 

“Holy shit.”

The three of them lay where they each collapse on the bed for a while, trying to get their breaths back as they float around on their highs. After a while they rearrange so they all have their heads on the pillows, Elvis’ hand on one of Tegan’s breasts whilst Jerry’s rests on her belly. 

“I should uh… leave you two to it,” Jerry says, quietly, as he watches Elvis and Tegan kiss languorously. 

Tegan moves her head quickly. “Please stay.”

He blinks, almost forgetting for a moment that she was a person with preferences. “Oh… uh… I dunno.”

She turns to look at him properly. “Don’t get me wrong, you can’t sleep in this bed too, I have enough trouble with him,” she gestures behind her with her thumb. “But I feel really close to you after that, and I want you to stay for a while and cuddle.”

“Well I guess I can’t refuse a pretty girl asking me for a cuddle.”

“Ya definitely cannot, Jer,” Elvis chips in. 

“And um… you’re staying for the weekend, right?”

He nods. “If you want me.”

Tegan giggles. “Oh. I definitely want you.”

“Hey!” Elvis snaps, a hint of jealousy in his voice for the first time that evening. 

Tegan rolls back over towards him. “Oh, ‘raur. I want you too. Nothing to be jealous of.”

He narrows his eyes at her a little and she kisses him. 

“‘M still yours,” she murmurs against his lips. 

“Yes, y’are.”

He pushes her gently but firmly onto her back and then looks over her, at Jerry. “Can ya believe she thought I’d find someone better?”

“She said that?”

“She did.”

“How could you find someone better than this?” Jerry asks, his hand trailing down her body. 

Tegan finds herself blushing again. “Stop it, you two.”

“Ignore that, Jer. This pretty little doll is supposed ta be stayin’ quiet whilst we talk about her.”

She buries her head in Elvis’ chest hearing those words, and Jerry wraps himself around her, enjoying the feeling of her skin against his. Elvis takes her hand in his and uses his other hand to stroke her thigh. 

“Did ya like her pussy, Jer?”

“I loved it, E. Nice and tight.” His hand moves between her legs and holds her there. She squeezes her eyes shut more tightly. 

“Not as tight as her pretty little asshole, but that’s jus’ fer me.”

Tegan squeaks. 

Elvis chuckles, and she can hear the low rumble of it in his chest. “Jus’ tryin’ ta make ya understand the effect yer havin’ on us, honey.”

“Okay, okay. I get it.”

Jerry presses a kiss to her shoulder. “You’ve really given me a happy Christmas, Tegan. You should know that… I’ve been pretty depressed for a while now and this is the most fun I’ve had for ages.”

“Ya should thank me, Jer, not her.”

Tegan shifts, poking Elvis in the side and making him giggle ticklishly. “Stop that now! That’s enough!”

He chuckles again and rolls towards her. “You told her down, Jer. I’ll tickle her.”

***

Taglist:

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[qweenofurheart]

i redrew that one shot from saltburn with my ocs winghead and adam.

adam is loud and imposing and wants to go to art school and winghead is more like the quiet and polite jock. adam sort of clings onto winghead bc he’s the only other “cursed” at their hs (hence the wings and antennae on their heads) and winghead is annoyed but complacent to his company.

[zylphiacrowley]

Cats Don't (ice) Dance

vv extra vv

[jade-of-mourning]

sorry sometimes i think about mako and my heart hurts so much. this kid raised himself and his brother on the streets in homelessness and utter poverty from eight through fifteen, promptly after seeing the violent death of his mother and father. he turned to the triple threats because they couldn't survive as a pair of wretched kids without any adult support, and the environment forced him to turn into the exact character that killed his parents in a terrible twist of irony. and after sheer-fucking-luck hits and they aren't homeless anymore, their livelihood wavers on the outcome of what's a literally game to everyone but them; and after things are finally starting to look up and their team is going places and things just might be okay, his gradually stabilizing world unceremoniously expands and everything goes to shit.

and the city that chewed him up and spat him back out, ruined him as a child and took away his ability to stay afloat in a true sense of normalcy as an adult — when it's on the verge of destruction and falling to pieces before his eyes, he gives himself to save it with the full expectation to die. he went from the kid who didn't and couldn't care about anything outside of himself and his brother, to finding redemption for his younger self in his police work despite its injustice against him, to willingly sacrificing himself to a world that had never loved him.

he's a desperate people pleaser, socially and emotionally stunted for the adult he had to be as a kid, unable to navigate interpersonal relationships easily yet still trying his damned hardest. he's intensely and entirely devoted to the things that matter to him and for so long it was only him, bolin, and ensuring their survival — yet by the end, that devotion has expanded to protecting the rest of the world. he starts out entirely self-reliant and ends in trusting the people he cares about to know their own needs, to be able to take care of themselves, to be okay without him despite having spent so much of his life defined by his role in others' well-being.

just. what the fuck i'm such a big fan of this fictional guy and i'm unashamed about it at this point. also let him cry please (if you won't i'll do it i'll let him cry)

[megaerakles]

To Whom It May Concern

Tim couldn’t stay. 

No matter what Bruce had said when he caught Tim in the act of laying the paper trail to establish his Fake Uncle, no matter how long Dick had sobbed into the phone at him during an inordinately expensive long distance (read: off planet) phone call, no matter how much Alfred had been fussing over him and insisting it was no trouble at all to care for him since Tim’s scheme had been revealed and promptly foiled, it just didn’t change the fact that Tim couldn’t stay. Truthfully, the Wayne family’s apparent sudden burst of affection for him actually made this whole thing worse because somewhere along the way, without even trying, Tim had failed to keep things wholly professional between them and somehow tricked them into thinking he belonged in their family! 

He couldn’t let it stand. For the sake of Jason’s memory, for the sake of preserving the sanctity of the true Wayne family, he had to stop this… this absurdity of pretending that Tim belonged with them from continuing! Tim had to run. Tim had to vanish. It was the only way to make things right again. Sure, the thought of never seeing any of them again, the thought of being done with Bruce and Alfred and Dick and Barbara and everyone in his life he currently held dear once and for all made it feel as though his heart was being ripped out of his chest only to be shoved back down his throat to stop the flow of air into his body—but it didn’t matter. He didn’t matter, not nearly as much as they did. This would be for their own good. 

Tim was leaving, and it turned out to be easier than he thought it would be in the end. Not emotionally easier, but logistically easier. Bruce had been extra attentive lately, so he thought he’d have to fake an injury and get ‘benched’ so that they would lower their guard long enough for him to slip away. But by some divine stroke of luck, a new player had waltzed onto Gotham’s criminal scene not too long after Tim’s Fake Uncle plan fell through and started making threats against Batman and Robin. They had apparently freaked B out enough to prompt him to send Tim off to Titan’s Tower to ‘focus on his team for awhile’. Tim had accepted the command with the requisite amount of complaint, planted some fake texts to make it look like he’d actually communicated to his Team that he would be there, shoved everything from his guest room in the Manor that he couldn’t bear to part with into a duffel bag underneath a spare uniform, gave Bruce what only he knew was a more emotionally charged nod goodbye than usual, and then poof. Tim Drake was zapped out of the Batcave for the last time ever. 

He let himself have one night in the Tower. Partly to catch a few hours of sleep in a familiar and secure environment, but mostly so he could clean up his room for its next occupant, sweep his belongings and his person for any extra trackers, and repack his bag more efficiently. He also took the time to grab a spare backpack and fill it up with emergency rations. While he was taking plenty of cash, he didn’t want to risk having to go into stores with security cameras for a while, at least until he’d cleared a suitable distance from San Francisco proper as well as implemented the first of his many planned disguises. He didn’t think a bottle of cheap hair dye and some colored contacts would be enough to fool Oracle indefinitely, but if he was appropriately cautious it might keep her from getting a confirmation of his location long enough for the Bats to either get bored looking for him or to actually realize they were better off without him around. 

When the early rays of dawn started to bathe the sides of Titan’s Tower in ember colored light, he was off. He left behind seven trackers pulled from his clothes and bag and one more from behind his ear; he’d kept the one he noticed in his favorite pair of sneakers because it was a type that wouldn’t start transmitting data until the Bats actively started tracking it and he was hoping to find someone who wore his size at the bus station he could pay to wear them so he could throw them off for even longer. If all else failed, he would just toss them in an out of the way trash can. He had also left a letter of resignation for Batman that he’d whipped up based off of an online template, signed and sealed and awaiting discovery atop the pillow in his nearly empty dorm room (he had tried for something more personal, a longer note of explanation for Bruce about why he couldn’t stay despite being asked, but—the words just wouldn’t come, and he’d been running out of time). His bag was heavy, courtesy of all of the extra supplies he’d grabbed in anticipation of having to evade not only Batman’s team but the rest of the Justice League. His heart was heavy, courtesy of emotional baggage that he wished was as easy to unpack as his actual bags would be when he finally found somewhere to settle. 

He boarded the first bus he saw after he’d gone a few blocks and took a seat towards the back, where he leaned against the window and stared back at the iconic giant T that he used to belong in, however briefly, until it disappeared from sight. And just like that, Tim Drake’s life as Robin was over. 

—

To Whom It May Concern:

This letter is to formally notify you that I’m resigning as Robin in Gotham City, effective immediately. 

Thank you so much for the opportunity to work with you all for the past three years. I’ve enjoyed getting to know the team and appreciated the opportunity to learn about vigilantism and hone my detective skills. I’m excited to take these skills with me as I pursue the next step of my career.

During the past two weeks, I have done everything possible to wrap up any ongoing cases and leave no unfinished business. The Robin suit as well as my spare have been cleaned and placed in the armory of Titan’s Tower along with any gear I have been issued. 

I wish Batman and team the best, but am afraid I will be out of contact for the foreseeable future. 

Sincerely, 

T. J. Drake

—

Red Hood stalked into Titan’s Tower with all the grace of a wildcat closing in on its prey, his vicious smirk hidden by his helmet, his unauthorized entrance hidden by virtue of the heroes’ own stupidity in failing to remove his codes from the database. Seriously—he’d thought gaining entry into their so-called fortress would be the hardest part of this little trip, and had only tried his access codes for the sake of checking the most stupidly obvious Plan A off his list! For them to work, to realize that there was nothing truly separating the precious sidekicks from the wrath of a vengeance minded crime lord, well… it sure made the message he was about to send feel all the more poignant. 

He had come equipped to subdue an entire horde of Teeny Titans without hurting them (much), but to his surprise, the tower was empty of kid sidekicks despite Robin having been sent to work with his team yesterday afternoon, a fact Jason had gleaned last night from listening to the mind numbing chatter of Nightwing being bored on a stakeout and wanting to chat with anyone over the comms Jason had hacked into. Which he’d done in order to better plan his aggressive takeover of Crime Alley, not because he missed hearing his family’s voices. Nope. 

(Since coming back to Gotham, it had been more difficult than he anticipated to stick to the plan when some part of his mind still stubbornly clung to those foolish, childhood dreams of belonging and family and a father who gave a shit and things like that, and kept popping up with annoying questions like ‘what if he revealed his identity to Dick or Alfred or someone just to see if maybe Talia had been right and they’d want him back after all. Clearly, the existence of a new Robin meant that they’d never really given a damn about him, so he was going to go through with this thing, just watch him.)

Truly this had to be fate, because the path to Robin was practically unfolding before him with no barriers. All that was left to do was find where in this gigantic clubhouse the itty little birdie was nesting. Jason tried the common room first. Then the kitchen. Then the rec room. And then the training floor. And the med bay. And then the armory, where he found Robin’s suit, but no actual Robin. He supposed the next place to check would be Robin’s bedroom, because even though it was well past eleven, Drake was a teenager and could conceivably be sleeping in, especially since there was no Alfred around to rouse him at a reasonable hour. Luckily, the doors on the floor with sleeping quarters were all clearly marked with either the name or symbol of the person it belonged to, so it was easy enough to find the one with that all too familiar stylized ‘R’. Jason paused to take a steadying breath before gritting his teeth and deciding to really make an entrance by kicking down the door. 

…To an empty bedroom. Like, not just devoid of Tim Drake, but also devoid of books, trinkets, photos, decoration, clothes, dishes, mess, et cetera, et cetera. It looked as clean and sterile as a hotel room, and if Jason hadn’t literally just seen Robin’s insignia on the door he would think he’d entered an unassigned room by mistake. He frowned and yanked off his helmet, as if looking with his own two eyes would suddenly change the scene, but no. Nothing. He strode into the room and yanked open the closet—empty. He walked over to the desk and yanked open the top drawer—empty. He yanked open the bottom drawer, and mostly empty except for—wait, was that a pile of deactivated Bat trackers? Fucking bizarre. When he stood up, he glanced around again, and this time something on the bed caught his eye. It had been easy to miss against the white pillowcase, but there was an envelope tucked up against the pillow. With a scowl, he stalked over and grabbed it. 

When Jason flipped it over, he noted that it was addressed to Batman, but decided that since he was a crime lord now he didn’t have to care about something as trivial as opening someone else’s mail. He didn't want to take off his gloves and risk leaving prints on anything, so he pulled out a dagger and used it to slice open the envelope. As he flipped it over to dump its contents on the desk, he had the fleeting thought that he probably should have put back on his mask in case this had been some villain’s ploy to poison Batman, but luckily all that fell out was a single sheet of printer paper folded into thirds. 

This he was careful not to damage as he unfolded it. It wasn’t a long note, just a few small paragraphs, so it was quick enough to read: To whom it may concern. This letter is to formally notify you that I’m resigning as Robin in Gotham City, effective immediately… 

Jason dropped the letter and took a step back, staring at the innocuous piece of paper with wide eyes and racing thoughts. Robin had—Drake wasn’t—Timothy—the kid, he was quitting? Leaving? Gone? 

It could be a trap. It probably was a trap. Except Robin shouldn’t have had any way of knowing Red Hood would be able to track him all the way to Titan’s Tower so why would he have set a trap for him in the first place? A trap for someone else, then? If it was, it was really, really stupid of him because the kid had signed his resignation letter from Robin with his actual name, and surely he wouldn’t have made it this far if he were that careless with his identity. So, it was either a very bad trap, or not a trap at all. And if it was not a trap at all, then… 

Then Robin had… resigned. Which, ok, Jason’s stated goal coming into this thing was to get Tim Drake to stop being Robin. So he should be happy about this, right? Except he’d not gotten to toss the kid around and work out his aggression at all so there was no satisfaction in it. Also, the timing was fucking obnoxious. Go figure that the very day he decides to do something about his replacement, the kid decides to peace out of the Gotham vigilante scene and… and go… 

… Somewhere. Jason had no idea where Tim Drake would go if he were no longer Robin. Given how he’d waited until he was alone and then left the note to be found on the other side of the country, Jason had a sneaking suspicion that returning to Gotham was currently off the table. The letter had said he would be ‘out of contact’ for the foreseeable future; Jason could read between the lines enough to figure out that meant he was running away. 

—Which, fuck. Another Robin was running away from Batman because of… well, Jason didn’t know what this kid’s issue with B was, but there were plenty of potential flaws in the man to choose from so Jason was going to play it safe and assume it was something Bruce did. Clearly, the man could never learn. And now, this poor dumb Robin was going to pay the price! Jason was more than familiar with the number of horrors that awaited kids who ended up on their own. He could starve; he could freeze to death; he could catch some disease like the flu, or get cut on a rusty nail and get tetanus, and then die from it because he couldn’t access medical treatment. He could get mugged, or harassed by cops, or snatched up by traffickers, or—

And fine; Jason himself had meant to hurt him. But that had been for ideological purposes, to prove a point about putting children in danger and not taking good enough care of them and stuff. It wasn’t like he was going to hurt him that badly, just bad enough to freak out Bruce a bit. But Jason was also the Red Hood, and the Red Hood’s mission was to do what was necessary to stop awful shit from happening to vulnerable kids. And this stupid, stupid letter was apparently enough to abruptly transfer Timothy Drake into that category in his head. 

Everything Jason had heard about the kid said he was smart, and the timing of his disappearance pointed to some thoughtful planning on his part. Jason could imagine that the little shit had some sort of plan in place to evade Batman’s attempts to locate him, and he probably could manage to run without getting caught by Bruce and the Gotham team for a while. Heck, the kid probably had strategies to get away from most if not all of the Justice League members, since B was sure to call in favors once he got frantic enough about the little bird. But one thing the kid likely did not plan for was being pursued by him. Ex-Robin, currently a crime lord, League of Assassins connections, and a bone to pick with Timothy specifically? (He ran away from home and left a fucking resignation letter about it? Does he not realize what that would do to Dick, to Alfred, to Bruce—)

After stuffing the letter into his pocket, Jason put back on his helmet and stalked out of Titans Tower as silently as he’d arrived, this time with a new yet equally furious purpose sharpening his steps. Sucked to be Timothy Drake, he thought, because the Red Hood got his message and he was officially concerned. 

[sluckythewizard]

[PUT INTO PLACE, TIED DOWN AND ARRANGED, AND IS NEVER THE SAME, AGAIN.]<-listen to my favorite songs. VAMPIRES ARE WONDERFUL ARENT THEY. THE FLESH IS SO MUCH MORE DURABLE. SO MUCH STRETCHIER THAN HUMANS. THE STRESS DOESNT KILL A VAMPIRE THE SAME WAY IT DOES A HUMAN. YOU CAN TAKE THEM APART THREAD BY THREAD AND LEAVE THEM WIDE AWAKE WITHOUT WORRY OF THE BRAINMATTER SPOILING UNDER VINEGARY AGONY.

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

Replenishing the Nonfiction Stack; or, We're Calling the Book Buying Ban a Wash, Officially.

I am not, apparently, immune to coupons for niche nonfiction that's directly up my alley (octopus minds and RUSSIAN OWLS, hello??? Thanks, bookshop!).

I thought perhaps the BURGLAR'S GUIDE would also be covered under said coupon, since it was publisher-specific (alas: it was Not, but we might as well bundle for shipping purposes). And then while I was shopping IRL for gifties I found a copy of ROOM, which has been on my list for...ever? So! Hopefully these will hold me over on the nonfiction front for a minute!

[heyclickadee]

Because I have a tendency to get stuck in art blocks and s t r u g g l e badly with composition, and because I think The Bad Batch is a beautifully shot show, I’ve started doing rough grayscale studies of bad batch to unpack how line and value can be used to direct a viewer’s eye to where people want the audience to look. (I’m doing it with other movies and shows, but I do really like TBB, so….) That way, if I’m sitting in a period where I can’t draw, then maybe I can at least learn something. It’s not fan art, it’s just trying to break the composition down and make it make sense to me, but I think it’s interesting so I figured I’d throw them all here.

So! Potentially very boring things under the cut:

The thing that started this off was getting sent a gifset of the scene in “The Return” where Wrecker gives Crosshair his armor back. It’s a great scene, and one of the things that allows for the show to pull that moment off is the way that most everything in many of the shots is designed to draw the viewer’s attention to Crosshair’s face so that we’re paying attention to his reaction. For example:

It’s not a very high contrast shot, but if we block out the basics, most of the lines in the scene are directing us towards Crosshair. Both Wrecker and Omega make movements towards him in this shot, and then this movement is sort of carried over to Crosshair via the various lines in the background/Wrecker’s arm/even the crate. Additionally, our eyes tend to be drawn towards points of highest contract, which, in this shot, include the lamps in the far background against the pillars (forming a line from Wrecker to Crosshair) and the light hitting Crosshair’s face against the much darker background. Between all of this most people in the audience are going to end up automatically looking right at Crosshair who is, of course, the main person we’re supposed to paying attention to here.

This isn’t actually a full frame. I sort of grabbed a screenshot over the interwebs for this one, but The Bad Batch actually has a very wide aspect ratio. From what I understand it’s shot and aired in a CinemaScope ratio (2:39:1 or 2:35:1, though TBB is 2:39:1). It’s basically super ultra widescreen, an aspect ratio used when a filmmaker wants to make something feel more epic or cinematic, and as far as I know it’s the same aspect ratio used for the original trilogy before any cropping happened. (For reference, The Clone Wars was also shot in a CinemaScope ratio, 2:35:1, but was cropped to 16:9 for airing on Cartoon Network, and Rebels was shot and aired in 1:78/more or less 16:9.) So an uncropped screenshot of TBB would look more like this:

This is from “The Outpost.” It’s actually a fairly dark shot with Crosshair faced away from the camera and the value of his figure blending right into the rest of the foreground, which actually comes communicate a sense of someone who isn’t trying to draw attention to themselves (to me, anyway), but our eyes are drawn to Crosshair anyway by every major line in the shot as well as the highest point of contrast converging right over Crosshair’s shoulder. That, and the line of his rifle/shoulder and the support pole forming a big, well, cross-hair right in that same spot. Otherwise, he would blend right into the foreground and be easier to miss.

Unlike Hunter in this shot from “Plan 99”

Where basically you’ve got the exact same thing happening, every line in the shot converges on Hunter’s location, but instead of using just high contrast to draw our attention, we’ve got a fairly middle-gray scene with our eyes being drawn to the focal point by having one bright spotlight.

The orange cross mark I’ve drawn here is just to mark the center of the frame, which I wanted to point out since, at least as far as I’ve noticed, TBB has a tendency to save center and slightly off-center shots for really specific moments. I’d have to check on that and what the pattern is, though, since a few of the remaining shots in this post are center shot. (Filmmakers area generally taught shoot in thirds or, alternatively, on a phi grid or other away from center set of focal points, though you do get some center shot movies and shows. I think Raiders of the Lost Arc has a lot of center shots.)

In fact, a pretty good example of shooting in thirds (or on a phi grid—I laid it out and I think it fits the phi grid slightly better) is this shot from “Faster”

Where you’ve got Tech and Tay-0 placed on slightly close thirds on either side of the frame. If we’re just looking at line and value, with this shot we actually get this sort of interesting back and forth between where our eye is being drawn. A lot of the lines in the shot are directing us to look at Tech, but then you’ve got one of the lines going through, and the sweep of Tech’s arm and datapad pointing towards, Tay-0, whose face and body are outlined with a much higher contrast in value. And then we have that one very bold arc connecting the two. The result of this is that our eyes sort of bounce back and forth between these two characters as they get into their conversation.

Most of these shots have had just one or two (at most three) characters, and there are many scenes of TBB with everyone where our gaze is sort of directed to the group collectively, but sometimes you’ll have group scene where our attention is directed more towards one individual than others, like with this shot from “Battle Scars”

Once again, you’ve got most of the lines in the shot converging towards Rex as well as Rex’s person serving as the point of highest contrast while everyone else sort of melds into the background in terms of value. He’s also the first (and maybe only) figure who breaks fully above objects in the background to be shot directly against the sky. Line and value aren’t the only things directing the audience’s gaze towards Rex in this shot—there’s actually a lot of desaturation happening as we move from Rex, to the other characters, to the far background that helps as well, buuuuut this is a grayscale breakdown so that unfortunately doesn’t show up...here. (This is a center shot scene if we’re going horizontally, but Rex’s head, which is really the focal point, is right around the top third of the frame; it’s not exactly a low angle shot, but we are still looking up at him.)

Anyway, the reason any of this is important is because when you’re shooting with an incredibly wide aspect ratio like this, there’s a LOT of information being conveyed with every frame. You can fit a lot of stuff on screen at once. And while people generally going to rewatch and pay attention to background details (if nothing else, TBB is a goldmine for those background details), you do want to draw your audience’s attention to the most important parts of the frame—especially when an individual shot typically lasts only a few seconds. Or less. Like with this:

So this shot from "Faster" is up for less than a second before the camera turns to follow the speeders and then changes to another shot, and I had a devil of a time even getting screengrab of it. (Mostly because I was trying to grab it on my phone, but that's not really the point.) In less than a second the people making this have to communicate where Tech's speeder is, what's happening, what we're even looking at, while the objects in the scene are all moving incredibly fast. .

So, to communicate that, you've got multiple speeders moving in the shot, but only one (Tech's) standing out in terms of value against a fairly dark ceiling, as well as a combination of some real direct one-point linear perspective and the more or less arrow shape of the ramp pointing directly at the point Tech's speeder is going to be when it reaches the peak of its crest over the ramp. That way we're already looking at where Tech is going to be before he gets there and end up following his speeder as he zooms by.

[robo-dino-puppy]

horizon forbidden west | aloy 136/?

[astrobei]

take a little moment (find the right words)

“Wow,” Will breathes out, just on this edge of teasing. “You sound very confident about this.” “Well,” Mike shrugs, swallowing hard in a desperate attempt to soothe his very, very dry mouth, “I don’t know why someone wouldn’t be interested in you.” “Oh?” Will says, and it’s definitely teasing now, enough for Mike to feel himself turning warm, all down his neck and to the tips of his own – sadly unpatterned – socks. “Someone?” “Yeah.” Mike nods. Oh, god. This is fine. “In a very arbitrary sense of the word. Just– people. Someone.”

Mike is approximately ninety-eight percent sure that his feelings are requited. That last two percent, however, has really been throwing him for a loop.

for @wiseatom <3

[curapicas]

I find it curious Link Click uses the twins flashback to shove on our faces right away the parallels between Cheng Xiaoshi and Li Tianchen. Both combative boys, protective of their family, somewhat naive in different ways and quite enamoured with looking cool. So yeah, there's parallels, but to be fair the writing is good enough that you can find parallels with the main duo regarding any of the new s2 characters. And I think Link Click cleverly does that so we only realize closer to the finale what is, in my opinion, the strongest parallel: Cheng Xiaoshi and Li Tianxi.

They are both "the babies" of the group. Whereas Cheng Xiaoshi has two endlessly nagging friends who often scold him and push him to do better, Li Tianxi lost both her mother and a brother capable of caring for her, thus her needs go ignored as she grows up with Qian Jin. Qiao Ling and Lu Guang work together with CXS to earn a living/pay off his debt, LTX is used by her family to carry out the shady stuff they don't really need to do (both CXS and LTX get in extremely emotional and vulnerable situations because of it).

Cheng Xiaoshi eventually grows and understands his powers as a duty, and even though LG and QL still try to shield him from the worst*, they look proud whenever he shows what he's capable of (QL even calls him cool!). LTX's one "act of rebellion" is framed as a betrayal and she's straight up murdered. In the confrontation, she even prefers hiding behind CXS, whom she met hours beforehand, exactly bc she knows what her family is capable of.

Both are sensitive people, burdened by well-meaning actions with over-the-top consequences (it hurts to try and explain this one). In (this specific trauma for) CXS case, he was already an adult and in s2 spends the entire time reevaluating and adapting; in LTX's, she was a child and hardly knew how to deal with this guilt and /waves hands/ everything after

I really like this parallel of their running and emotional actions setting off this part of the plot. They cross paths, but the people they help do not have their fate changed significantly by this. But those moments where they FEEL Emma (+Lu Guang in this specific parallel) and Chen Bin were enough to carry LTX and CXS both into their roles in the story.

LTX finally "goes back" to the home she idealized, CXS is waiting at home for his parents. They cross paths, both get shot in that tunnel, but just as quickly go down opposite directions. LTX out of care for her (criminal) brother, parts with him; while CXS waits, he also built a new home for himself with new people he can call family. There's hope for him yet.

*tbh they're a biiiit controlling, but I can see that habit developing through the years, not because they don't mean well

[a-chaotic-dumbass]

daemon is the most relatable character the entire targaryen dynasty not bc i want to fuck my niece or bc im a war criminal but bc i also have dreams that would put any other person on a suicide watchlist

[vvitchering]

I’m replaying act 1 (for the fifth time) and when Gale is explaining his condition to you he mentions he’s “never told another living soul” about it, except for Tara. You’re telling me this man shut himself up in his tower for an entire year and didn’t tell anyone why and no one ever bothered to find out? He has so few people who care about him in his life that he fell into a depression and disappeared for a year and NO ONE thought to go and check on him and find out what was wrong? He’s had no one but Tara providing help and support until he meets Tav???????

[megumi-fm]

.

[art--harridan]

[Image description: A digital drawing of a shot from the film La semana del asesino. It shows three hands holding a pair of binoculars. The hands belong to the characters Marcos and Néstor, although it is unclear which hand belongs to who, as they are indiscernible from one another in size and colour. One hand cups the bottom, and two hold onto either side. You can see the beginning of both of their shoulders, with Marcos' shoulder on the right and Néstor's on the left. There is a vague suggestion of a room in the background, with panelling and curtains. The lineart is a dark blue, and has very pronounced shadows. The colours for each element do not have any shading or lighting outside of this, except for the gleam on the binoculars. The colour scheme is desaturated and cold, mostly comprising of blues with small sections of yellows or even orange (for the binoculars' strap).]

Inktober - Day 5 (Binoculars)

Film - La semana del asesino (Eloy de la Iglesia, 1972)