#but you know there comes a time in every gal's life where they need to grow up and start being like

[bodycountgame]

This is an odd kind of question but I’ve been seeing a bunch of ifs originally written in CS move over to twine (even this game made this change!!) and, as someone who isn’t on the dev-side of if games and has only been reading ifs for a little while, I was wondering if you could speak to why you chose to make this switch? Was it just personal preference? Could twine do things CS couldn’t? Was there something wrong with CS and COG that pushed people away? Obviously you can only speak to your own experience (and only if you’re comfortable answering!) but getting some perspective could help explain this larger trend I’ve been noticing

i feel like in general this has been hashed out a few times within the community so i can't speak for everyone but i had a few reasons for moving away from choicescript.

to be absolutely clear, these are just reasons for Me Personally and there are obviously plenty of reasons that someone might want to use choicescript that are all perfectly valid and choice of games as a platform still hosts some of my faaaaavourite IF games and writers, so absolutely 0 shade to those lovely people!

in terms of things that you can do in twine that you can't do in choicescript, there's more freedom with UI/design in twine, which is nice! i feel like the new UI (designed & built by @nyehilismwriting mwah mwah) really adds to the ~vibe~ of body count as a story.

in general, though, my concerns were more practical.

the main thing is that choicescript isn't an open source language, which has some implications for ~ownership~. it means that authors get a cut of the earnings of games published through hosted games (that i understand to be pretty decent based on industry standard but correct me if i'm wrong?) but it's a cut nonetheless. it also makes things like having a patreon a bit less secure - i think CoG have said that things like early access are fine on patreon as long as they'll eventually be released through hosted games, but i wanted to be able to write side stories etc that would (and have) stay/ed patreon exclusive and that wouldn't really have technically been allowed. i think most authors using patreon have done so without incident, but just that legality aspect made me nervous! since it's my aim for body count to be a free game in the end, i really rely/ied on the income that comes from patreon during the creation process.

i also had some issues personally with some of the messaging coming from CoG and the idea of my work being associated with another brand first and foremost rather than just with me as an independent author, i guess? there was talk about NFTs which i'm not into and i think that was the final straw that made me decide to take the plunge and move to twine, but actually looking back it was really a culmination of things. had a few bad experiences with the forums, generally just didn't ~feel right~.

ultimately for this project in particular i was like. well if i'm gonna write like a million words and invest years of my life into this thing i want to be able to do what i want with it, release it on my own terms, actually own it etc etc.

anyway, i hope that all makes sense! as i said up top, i can't speak for other authors and there are probably a lot of pros to using choicescript compared to twine as well, it's a perfectly valid choice, just not the right one for me :)

[quarterlifekitty]

Hey stepdad Nik gal here again, so my idea might be a little half baked but imagine if Nik decides it's finally time to settle down and meets a woman a little younger than him but not by a lot maybe max 4 years. He's mentioned having kids or adopting and she seemed on board with it if a bit disinterested but it's when they get married it goes downhill. He finds she was just really good at playing into what he wanted and changes a lot but not enough to leave her because well it's someone to keep the house and she's not terrible just not exactly what he thought she was. Until her daughter shows up. Her adult daughter in her last few years of college who's extremely surprised to find out she has a stepdad considering she was never even invited to the wedding, her mother's excuse? "Well you're just so busy!" And Nik expects at least a little bit of anger but his apparent stepdaughter just deflates a bit, nodding before turning to him with a sweet smile and introducing herself. He had no idea this girl existed, there's no photos of her in the house, no keepsakes, he honestly believed his wife had no children by her behavior. And he quickly sees why, his wife is fine on her own but seems to have a personal issue with her own daughter. Passive aggressive comments, piling chores on her, even restricting where she can go, in general treating her poorly. Meanwhile she's the sweetest thing he's ever met. Checks every single box of his, and she's so sweet when he does things for her like she cant fathom someone wanting to care for her or help her. He gathers from his sweet stepdaughter that she was an oops baby and that her mother never let her forget it either and had been like this her whole life and had kicked her out the night before her 18th birthday and only really demanded her home on holidays(for appearances) or when she needed money. Everything he learns makes him wish he'd rethought marrying this woman, but oh well, at least it led him to the sweetest thing he's ever met. Now he just has to go about winning her over while secretly getting things ready to divorce the mom. Stepdaughter for sure has a huge crush but doesn't wanna mess things up and that goes well until her and Nik are alone one day and somehow baking him something turns into him pressing her into the couch and fucking her stupid. I dont really know how he'd go about it or anything but my brain wouldn't let this leave. Sorry it's so long and probably not coherent but take this and do what you want with it lol <3 Love your writing, it's delicious thank you for feeding me <3 <3

I’ve been sitting on this one for a bit bc it’s SO GOOD and I wanted to come up with a halfway intelligent response

I think he’d play into your crush and just set up all of these tiny boundaries that you’ll beg him to cross. Like— we can cuddle, malýshka, but no kissing. Which moves to we can kiss, just not on the lips. We can touch— just keep it over the clothing.

Until eventually his cock is sliding against your slicked up panties, teasing your folds through the fabric until they’re soaked and sticky with a mix of your cum and his, his tongue in your mouth the whole time. And then you’re rutting against him bare— well… maybe just the tip? That would be okay, wouldn’t it? And of course you ask so sweetly— you’re never anything less than the sweetest thing to him— how can he say no?

[angel-of-depravity]

ooooh i had another thought (i do a lot of that someone should fuck it out of me but i digress)

this one is diverting a bit from my usual schtick of sister you call mommy and straight into mommy territory

so. mommy's been wanting another baby, but she gets told no at just about every turn directly or indirectly. either dad tells her no, one and done, or if she's a single mother she just does not have any fuckin' luck in her dating life.

cut to the son she had young. he loves his mommy. she's his everything, even as a burgeoning young adult. she doesn't realize how much so. like, hypothetically he would kill someone for her. giving her another baby seems a menial task in comparison.

sure, he'd also be picking up where his mommy can't do as much. but again, menial task as far as what he'd be willing to do for her in his mind.

so one night, she comes home. dad's either out of town or again absent. she's upset about the subject. naturally, son's down in an instant when she's coming in, and he immediately goes to console her.

she's probably a lil inebriated. maybe it was another bad date. maybe she was just out with her gal pals. doesn't matter. after less coaxing than she usually needs to open up, she does. in greater detail than maybe a sober her would wanna go into with her boy.

He's already kinda aware. But he hadn't realized how much it pained her that this didn't seem an option for her... or, well. Not in any usual avenues at least.

There's a bit of quiet after she gets done with her ramble, and he decides to be brave and suggest it. That he might be the solution to her problem.

Now, normally, she'd be insistent her son not worry about it. But... he could. He could do it. Her son had grown into a handsome young man, and a damn good one.

As she's thinking it over, he sells his point a bit harder. He's a rambler like her. Of course he is. He'd still be here for her, help her around the house, do whatever she might need in order for her to have an easy time with things.

And whether sober her would like it or not, he's making a convincing argument. And he's being so sweet about it, and the next thing she catches herself doing is kissing his forehead.

A forehead kiss turns into a nose kiss, and then she kisses him like a lover instead of her son. Naturally, with the two having the house to themselves, and with tensions of several senses running high? They end up in the bed she had conceived him in. And now here she was again, with him, conceiving a new life once more.

He carries her up the stairs; he's seen enough of her collection of movies to know she's a romantic. And, perhaps has caught a couple of her novels to know a thing or two she may enjoy outside of ambiance.

There's a moment, quiet suspended on the air. He's over her in the bed, having just laid her down, and she's on her back.

What was she doing? Surely she couldn't just have her son impregnate her like this, could she? This was a silly notion, she should be telling him no, say they shouldn't do this-

Then she's kissing him. He hadn't gone down to her, she dragged him there.

And everything he does to her is every bit of what the term making love is to be- he's sweet, slow, soft, rather even reverent of every inch of her. He teases her first, kisses down her body, taking some time to work his fingers into her pretty cunt, his mouth paying special attention to her breasts.

Then he trails his mouth lower, tasting her, savoring her as though she were the finest ambrosia. She'd end up already cumming once or twice from his attention, but that's by design on his part. He wants to make the most important woman in the world to him feel good, to enjoy every bit of this process as much as he will.

And God she is. Her whines and moans and the way her fingers grip his hair are signs in and of themselves just how well he's doing. It's hard to tell if her words are slurred from her intoxication from the alcohol or from the pleasure.

Finally, after long enough, he pulls away and presses gentle kisses up her body once again before sheathing himself into her. And fuck, she feels like heaven.

She has to take a breath, feeling this full. She hasn't had such a night of passion in a long minute, let alone one where she felt so... cared for. And he was definitely showing just how much he meant it.

She ends up clamping down on him like a vice when he spills inside her. Her nails leave long, angry marks down his back, though he's careful to not leave marks lest the two possibly be caught by anyone who would be suspect in the days immediately following this one.

Well, none that are anywhere visible to anyone else. She's gonna be able to see them whenever she's undressed.

It doesn't take long for her to proposition him again. She wants to be sure, she says, but she knows it's because that night marked a significant pivot in their relationship. She craves him as much as he does her. Any spare moment they can get might not always be spent fucking, but definitely in a more intimate way than they had been spending it.

Little do either of them realize they'd conceived twins. Oh well, the more the merrier, right?

[orphicdreamers-wp]

Girl Of My Dreams — Mat Barzal

Summary: In which Mat Barzal inadvertently falls for the oldest Hughes sibling and her brothers aren’t happy.

Content Warning; Taylor swift 1989 isn’t by Tay(its by reader) Mentions of University of Alabama (reader went there) Trevor Zegras being hopelessly in love with reader. Readers social media face claim is Addison Rae bc idc she’d clear as a WAG for a athlete.

Pairing: Mat Barzal x Hughes! Reader.

Mat would be lying if he said he didn’t sneak glances at the announcers box after meeting you. You had been carrying a plate of food and two margaritas to your booth where your friends sat. Tito had made a joke about you seeming familiar then the pair heard your voice and knew, “Alright now, eat up because y’all are bumming me out.” Mat’s jaw slacked, “He’d known that the Islanders had gotten a new game announcer who was a girl but he wouldn’t have known it was you. You were effortlessly stunning, you had captivated the attention of every straight man in the bar. Mat had approached you as you sat at the bar, “I’m Mat, can I buy you a drink?”

You grinned and spoke, southern accent slipping out, “I’m Y/N, I mean Barzy after the way you played last game? You better buy me a drink. ‘Yknow how many hate comments my broadcast got?” Mat grinned as the bartender approached you, “Another Corona Light and whatever she’s having on me.” You grinned sheepishly, “I’m fucking with you. I’ve heard worse.” Mat grinned, “So now would probably be a shitty time to ask you out?” You smiled at him, “Maybe not.” Mat smiled, “If I may, your not from New York are you? Where are you from?” You grinned, “I grew up in Toronto with my 3 younger brothers and moved to Alabama for college and been in New York for a few months now.” Mat grinned, “Well welcome to New York beautiful.” That was a year and a half ago. You still hadn’t told your brothers who your boyfriend was, just that his name was Mathew. Until your album release came creeping in and you wanted to go public with Mat.

Instagram

ynhughes; my album ‘1997’ is now streaming! thank you for all your support(especially the bf, ‘slut’ and ‘suburban legends’ are 4 us)

barzal97: celebrating you is my favorite pastime. i have never met someone who people gravitate towards more than you. you are by far the most wonderfully amazing woman i know. it is a privilege to say i love you🤎 this past year or so has changed my life. you make living easy and so so much better. i can’t wait to see what the future has in store for you.

trevorzegras: alexa play that should be me💔💔

ynhughes: forever in awe of you mathew barzal. amazed a gal like me is lucky enough to be adored by you🤎

oliviarodrigo; THEY HIT THE PENTAGON!! @conangray

>conangray; told you it was them i saw at radio music hall!

ny_islanders; our roman empire is all the sweet posts for to y/n today🥹🥹

sydneyemartin: brb crying. the purest people in the world. so grateful my girls get to grow up seeing a love this pure that isn’t their parents.

>ynhughes: we adore your girls more than words can express.

_quinnhughes: my biggest inspiration is out here killing it. in awe of you everyday sissy🥹 thank you for being my best friend from day 1

ynhughes: in a puddle of tears quinny. thank you for always being on my side, even when im wrong.

sabrinacarpenter; hockey players making me ugly sob wasn’t on my 2023 bingo card

elhughes; my first babies🥹 extremely emotional over you all today

>_quinnhughes: we love you momma💕

jackhughes: 1997 reasons to love my meanie head sister, i guess her bf’s alright

ynhughes: i love you little brat, come visit me and mat!!

>jackhughes: will do, sissy🫡

trevorzegras: i can’t believe she won’t date me 😞😞

>ynhughes: buck up z, your way too young for me. perfect age for @sabrinacarpenter tho!

lukehughes: the worlds best big sister came out with the best album to date

ynhughes; really feeling the hughes love train today, i need to plan for all of us to be together soon! so y’all can meet Mat!

etnow; this just in; the Hughes brothers have brought tears to my eyes supporting their sister

barzal97: the third picture is actually the most accurate representation of your sister now

>lukehughes; always messing with those darn cats! even if they are on the side of the street.

[fandomnerd9602]

Under the Stars

Country!Wanda x Reader

Adjusting to life on the Maximoff ranch was made a little easier with the love of your life, Wanda, showing you the ropes. The two of you got into a nice groove.

The schedule was pretty simple: 5:00 - Wake up, a little cuddle session. 6:00 - feed the animals and have breakfast. 8:00 - work remotely till 12. 12:00 - lunch time and snuggles with your gal. 4:00 - finish work and help out Wanda and her band with their next song and band practice. 6:00 - dinner. 7:00 - movie or old sitcom and more cuddles. 8:00 - go to bed with your country girl in your arms.

But then there came the weekends. Two whole days of fun for you and your country girl. Your future brother in law Piet loved having you on the ranch with him. With his sister distracted, he had more time to spend with his gal Crystal. And this coming weekend was one such occasion.

Saturday morning came and he tossed the house keys at you. "Crystal's Pa is out of town. I'm gonna head over and see where she needs the help. Try not to burn the house down. I'll see ya Sunday morning for church"

"Why? You gonna need forgiveness after tonight?" Wanda chuckles at her brother, earning a blush from him.

"Oh please" he rolls his eyes, "I heard your night practicing. You need forgiveness more than me"

You and your country girl couldn't help but blush. He wasn't wrong. And so with that, Piet left.

Wanda took a hold of your hand, "come on city boy! We got a whole day of fun!" She practically pulled you out the door.

First your country gal took you riding thru the open range on horseback. The two of you spent hours just talking about what you wanted to do in the future, what the next big steps were for Wanda and her band, all the while whispering words of love and affirmation to one another.

"You always know what to say, don't ya?" She giggled as the two of you share a picnic lunch.

"It's the truth, ain't it?" you responded. The country twang was starting to come in a little. Piet would blame it on Wanda's tongue roaming your mouth so much.

By the evening, you two ended up curled up in a shared sleeping bag under the stars in the back of Wanda's pick up truck. You got a little campfire going.

"This is the life. The only one I want with you" She nuzzles your neck. You kiss the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her strawberry shampoo.

"The best life" you whispered back.

Wanda looks to you a little nervous, "got a new song I wanted to test out. Mind if I...?"

"I love being your test dummy" you flashed her a gentle smile.

"Well you are my dummy" she giggled back as she pulled out her guitar.

She continued strumming her guitar, the fire pit gently illuminating her soft features. (You're Still the One by Shania Twain)

Looks like we made it Look how far we've come, my baby We mighta took the long way We knew we'd get there someday

They said, "I bet they'll never make it" But just look at us holding on We're still together, still going strong

Mm (you're still the one) You're still the one I run to The one that I belong to You're still the one I want for life (You're still the one) You're still the one that I love The only one I dream of You're still the one I kiss goodnight

She leans against you. Taking in your scent. Everything about you. Wanda wished more than anything that she could freeze this moment in time.

Yeah (you're still the one) You're still the one I run to The one that I belong to You're still the one I want for life, oh yeah (you're still the one) You're still the one that I love The only one I dream of You're still the one I kiss goodnight

I'm so glad we made it Look how far we've come, my baby

She looks to you and smiles. "I love you, my city boy" her southern country drawl melts your heart.

You kiss her forehead tenderly, "I love each and every moment I can spend with you, my country girl."

You and your country gal arrived back at the old homestead. The nearby clock read 9:00.

"I wanna do one last thing tonight" Your country gal looks at you, hoping softly.

"Oh yeah? What?"

"I wanna build a couch fort with you" her soft voice giggles as the two of you race, grabbing every couch cushion pillow you could. You build more of a couch cave but it led out right by the TV.

The two of you rolled out the sleeping bag from earlier and cuddled there in your little couch cave, watching old sitcoms into the early morning hours.

Piet and Crystal came by the next day around 7:00am. He was a little tired, Crystal kept him up most of the night. "Wanda? Y/N?" He asked softly. His eyes caught sight of the couch cave.

He peeked inside and saw you and Wanda all cuddled up in your pjs, like two kids on a weekend morning. Piet couldn't help but grin.

"What?" Crystal asks with a smile.

"We can all go to a later service." He smiles back at his gal, "let them sleep a little longer."

Life on the Maximoff ranch was always full of little moments of fun and excitement. A little slower than modern city life but it offered it blend of memorable moments and loved ones that you were happy to call your family.

And Wanda does make quite the cuddler.

Tags @lifespectator @olsenmyolsen @supercorpdanbeau @scarletquake-n7 @aloneodi @abimess @family-house-of-m @holiday-house-of-m @russianredassassin @multi-fandom-enjoyer @pinklawyerwinnerzonk @iamnicodemus @kingofthelizardpeople @ab1nsur

[that-punk-adam]

This is not at all a new take on life here in the US of A however I feel as though I will peel my skin off if I don’t say it;

People are seeing death as a valid option to the current state of the world + the future and now I am fully understanding why.

There is no more ‘village’. There are no reliable social safety nets installed that are realistic or easy to access. You H A V E to drive EVERYWHERE if you’re even able to drive. If your area has a bus it has to fight on the road with every other driver. To get 9 miles away from point A to B takes 2 hour out of your day. No one is hiring or they are paying minimum wages for you to run their whole circus operation damn near by yourself. Average 1 bedroom apartments are $1.1k a month for 500 sqf and if you SOMEHOW get a roommate and get them to agree to split rent and utilities then y’all are going to battle for personal space. A 2 bed is out of the question bc there is no way in hell that you can save anything if you are spending more then half of your wages on rent. You want to go out and have a sense of what it means to be fulfilled as a human? Don’t even dream about it, you have your bills coming up.

Get a second or 3rd job? Wait… you were able to find one? They didn’t ghost? Lucky you; now you are better off & you can now sleep knowing that the 2nd job will be able to pay for the gas ($3+/gal), insurance (3X what it used to be but still making you open up ur wallet before they step in), and your car note! (Wayyy too much for a used).

What is fun? What are get togethers? What is a ‘cheap meal’? What’s a bucket list? What’s a vacation? What’s a hobby? Wait, you can afford to replace items and not get anxiety over it? You can afford more then an arm full of groceries?? Will you be able to retire by the time you’re 60 with enough money in the bank to not just exist, but to do the things you’ve always wanted to do during those working decades? What will elder and death care look like? Will your children be able to not live in poverty?

We as young people are seeing death as a valid option because we know we will NEVER see an adult life like those before us prior to the 90’s. Starting a family or adding on to your family will put you in poverty. Buying a house if you’re fortunate enough will put you in poverty. Renting will put you in poverty. Working more jobs will put you in poverty. Having a car will put you into poverty, not having one will keep you from ever getting one. We will just work and work to never ever have anything to show for it. This is not the lifestyle that I’d doom more life to do for the rest of their lives. Something’s gotta change sooner rather then later and it’s gotta be grass roots. We have to be willing to break some rules to get to where we need to be.

Things. Must. Change.

[emloafs]

binary bfs but Eli is a celebrity whose always in a (manufactured PR) scandal and Demi is a journalist stuck writing for a tabloid who thinks Eli is a dick and then is sent on a mission by his boss to fake date him to get dirt then they fall in love and idk from there not a writer

HEADLINE: Actor, and super-star Eli “Hawk” Moskowitz, caught in Ibiza with another woman?!

Demetri groans and slams the backspace repeatedly. Coming up with a headline is the worst part of writing an article. He’s usually better at coming up with witty flashy ideas, but he’s never felt more burnt out. He’s got nothing.

It doesn’t help that it seems he’s always put on the Valley In’s Hawk scandal assignments. Every. Single. Month. 

Demetri should owe this dipshit his salary considering how frequently he’s in the news and Demetri is reporting on it. Name any generic celebrity scandal, and Demetri could easily list an article he’s written about Hawk on it. Maybe even two. The guy just can’t stay out of trouble. It’s always something. And whenever there’s something, apparently Demetri is just the guy at Valley In to call.

“Demetri!” 

Demetri jumps in his seat. His boss appears behind him, landing a rough but good-natured slap to his shoulder. Demetri tries not to flinch at the contact. 

“Just the guy I wanted to see.” 

There are worse bosses in the world than Johnny Lawrence, Demetri figures. But the guy… is unstable. He supposes that you have to be a little unstable to run a widely successful tabloid in LA. Johnny Lawrence has two things going for him: confidence and audacity. 

Demetri should consider himself lucky to be working with a legend, but Johnny is not exactly his style. And he dreamed of pursuing a real career in journalism, not writing shitty articles about pop boys and superstars that take daddy’s money and ruin their own lives with it. 

His job is not his favorite.

Johnny perches himself on the edge of Demetri’s desk. “Listen, I’ve got an assignment for you. 

“Let me guess, it’s got something to do with Hawk,” Demetri mutters, fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

Johnny slaps at his chest, “Alright, see I knew you’d be on board!” Johnny lowers his voice, “Listen, this one is a big deal. An exclusive. This is an opportunity we can’t fuck up.”

Used to his boss’s typical colorful language, but not his serious demeanor, Demetri sits up in his desk chair. “What do you mean? What is it?”

“We scored with Hawk’s PR gal,” Johnny explains. “His team has been looking for a journalist to do an expose on him and his life for a while, something honest and real, gritty or some shit. We’ve been trying to keep our name in the mix, and it was looking dicey, but we fucking did it. They picked you.”

Demetri blanches. “Me?!” 

Johnny has a shit-eating grin on his face. “Hell yeah, man. And I know you’re not gonna let me down.”

Demetri furrows his eyebrows. “Wait- Valley In is a tabloid, why would they ever pick us?” 

“That’s the best part,” Johnny explains. “They don’t know they picked us. They think you’re an independent indie journalist in the entertainment industry. Sent them some of your shit, and they said they’re on board.”

“What?” Demetri’s mind starts whirling. “I’ve never done an expose- how- where do I even begin-”

Johnny rolls his eyes. “You’re not doing an expose.”

“I’m not?”

“No,” Johnny groans. “They just think that. What I need you to do, is take this week that you get with Hawk and try to get shit that we can sell. Drug addiction. Cheating. Sex tape. I don’t care. Whatever he’s got that isn’t already out there, get it. Those idiots at Bonsai will be left in the dust with our next issue.”

“So, what? I have to spend a week with that guy? And pry for his deepest darkest secrets? And lie about it the entire time?”

Johnny stands and slaps his shoulder again. “Exactly. Knew you’d get it. This is why you’re my Hawk guy.”

“Great,” Demetri breathes.

“Don’t blow it, kid.” 

-

Hawk prefers that Demetri call him Eli. 

Or at least, that’s what he says when Demetri is ushered in to meet him by his team. It’s about all he says before he’s swept away by his team in a frantic flurry of far too many people discussing hair and wardrobe. 

Demetri is sitting biting his nails on a large, white couch that probably costs more than his entire salary at Valley In. He can’t help but take in the giant floor-to-ceiling windows and the breathtaking view of the Pacific just past them. When he agreed to one week with Hawk for this assignment, he didn’t think that would mean showing up at his house. 

He’s dreading every part of getting to know this Playboy wannabe. And with all this pressure from his boss and such a brutal plunge into the deep end, Demetri is sweating. 

“Wait, in the living room,” a scary-looking woman in business attire with her nose in her phone had instructed Demetri. “He’ll meet you in there when we’re done.”

The English major in Demetri wants to pick apart every inch of this room, of this house, and try to decode some hidden meaning behind each and every object and what they mean or reveal about Hawk. Before he knows it, he’s on his feet and his curiosity is leading the way. Despite the intriguing wall art, the bookshelf is expansive, and Demetri needs to inspect the titles to gain a sense of whether or not Hawk has ever touched a single one of these (he anticipates the latter).

Demetri doesn’t know how long he’s waiting, but it feels like both an hour and a minute before he hears someone clear their throat behind him. He whips around and freezes like a deer caught in headlights.

“Find anything interesting?”

Hawk smirks at him, leaning against the door frame nearest to the shelf. Demetri can feel himself flushing. 

“No, no- sorry,” Demetri shakes his head. “I didn’t mean to snoop.”

Hawk shrugs glancing at the shelf. “Snoop away. That’s sort of why you’re here, right?”

Demetri blinks. “Right.”

Hawk crosses the room, heading through the sitting area and towards the attached open kitchen. Demetri takes the opportunity of his attention being diverted to take him in. He’s- he’s not what Demetri was expecting.

He’s barefoot which feels very earthy-crunchy weed-loving LA thinks-they’re-indie actor. But his hair is down and unstyled. He’s in a sweatshirt that looks no different than one Demetri has sitting at the bottom of his hamper, and sweatpants. He looks so… ordinary.

One thing about Hawk is that he’s eccentric. He’s always dying his hair, styling it in insane ways, or shaving it off altogether in some sort of media crash-out. He’s known for his wild looks–both in appearance and in his style. His team spares no effort to go all in. To see him without all the fluff of fame is jarring. 

“Do you want any coffee? Tea? Anything to drink?” Hawk calls over his shoulder. 

Demetri sort of feels out of his own body as he declines. Hawk comes back with two glasses of water and hands one to Demetri. He gestures to the couch as he settles himself into an armchair and folds his legs up in it. 

Demetri can feel his heart pounding and his palms sweating. As Hawk is sitting across from him, looking at him expectantly, all of his just got very real very quickly.

“So…” Demetri begins awkwardly. Shifting his notebook into his lap, he clicks his pen. “Hawk-”

“Eli,” Hawk–Eli corrects patiently. “Again, you can call me Eli. No one in my personal life really calls me Hawk.”

Demetri feels weirdly honored. “Okay, Eli. I don’t know how else to start this but ask,” he looks up to meet Eli’s blue eyes. “Why an expose? And why now?”

Eli lets out a laugh that seems to illuminate the room. “Getting right to the point, I respect it.”

Demetri’s only response is a smirk. He waits.

“Have you ever tried to change who you are?” Eli asks suddenly. “Maybe to fit in or maybe because it just seemed better than who you used to be?” 

Demetri shrugs. “Growing up I never really fit in, and I think I knew it was a lost cause to try, so no, not really.”

Eli hums. “That’s for the best. See, I did. And then I got stuck.” 

“Stuck?”

“When I was first starting out in entertainment, I was so shit,” Eli laughs to himself. “I was just scared and down on myself and always got in my own way. This Hawk persona was something me and my now PR manager came up with as a way to just go all in. Fake it ‘til you make it. And it worked. I gained confidence, started booking dream roles, and was launched into a whole new world of opportunities.”

Demetri fights his urge to roll his eyes. He jots notes instead. 

“But I’ve always been so out there as Hawk, you know? I’ve always gotten the shit end of the stick in the tabloids and the news. They sort of painted this reputation for me of like bad boy, I don’t know, reckless rebel without a cause sort of type,” Eli recalls. “And no publicity is bad publicity. You know that.”

Demetri nods in earnest. 

Eli slouches a little and fidgets with his hands. “We leaned into it. My team thought it would help me stay relevant. PR stunts and shit to keep the public’s attention on me.”

PR stunts are so common in the industry, that Demetri isn’t even the slightest bit surprised to hear that some of the chaos Hawk got wrapped up in wasn’t real. 

“But, then, before I knew it, I had totally lost my sense of self,” Eli frowns. “And it took me long enough to find it again. And now that I have, pretending to be someone I’m not, this infamous Hawk, just feels exhausting. I can’t do it anymore.”

Demetri doesn’t know if his pen or his jaw falls further. He scrambles to pick both up. “What do you mean you can’t do it anymore?”

Eli shrugs and offers him a small smile. “I just want to be me. The expose is to introduce the world to Eli and to discredit all the fake shit and PR madness that has always surrounded me.”

“Oh.”

Eli quirks an eyebrow. “Still up for the task?” 

Demetri meets his gaze and nods. 

Eli smiles again. “Good.”

[odileeclipse]

HIII HELLO ODELIE!!! Hope You're having a nice day/night, especially after that card incident! I'm gonna get straight to the point, because quite frankly, I'm very bad at starting up messages (and this is probably my 2nd or 3rd ask on Tumblr, EVER)– I LOVE the way You portray the reader in Your Sage of Truth fanfic! I'm personally more of a Pure Vanilla gal myself–something about him scratches my brain in just the right way (another reason I love Your blog <3 ), but Your Sage of Truth characterization.... Amazing. Jaw dropping. Makes me giggle and kick my feet like a lovesick schoolgirl. Just the right amount of compassionate & understanding, and ABSOLUTELY intimidating (because of both his patience AND authority). BUT! Back to the reader; I really enjoy that we can actually see them STRUGGLE. We can see the gears turning in their head, the knowledge doesn't just come to them with a snap of the finger or materialize in their head out of thin air. They have to work for it, and oh boy, do they work HARD! When it comes to the teacher/student, or mentor/protégée trope–I notice that the readers (who are most often the students/protégées in question) are often quite glamorized, so to speak. In a lot of fanfics with said trope, we don't really see the struggle of a student desperately trying to keep up with their peers, feeling like they are somehow worse or dumber for not immediately understanding hard concepts and ideas. And don't get me wrong, not every fanfic has to show that! But I have to say, I found it quite comforting–to see a reader that a LOT of people, myself included, can relate to. Someone who IS more than willing to learn– but someone who also needs time, patience, and compassion too.

And on another note; I ADORE their little friend group, too. Reminds me so much of my own friends and how we jokingly bully each other. Hazelnut Biscotti is an absolute mood.

Hope this message was somewhat coherent and understandable! English isn't my first language, but I tried EXTRA hard to show just how much I love your work lmao!

– ⚜️anon

You know what's really funny I'm a pure vanilla person too but my audience seems to really really love shadow milk cookie, which I love both and found myself almost faltering and betraying Pure Vanilla but I am true to myself and at heart Pure Vanilla is my #1!

The sage of truth to me is someone who is kind and compassionate, the reason he isn't as theatrical right now currently in the story is because he isn't particularly close to the reader yet so he isn't going to disrupt the boundary of student and tutor because we haven't gotten there yet. But also, in the KR version (I've said before I go based off of the KR voice lines) he is more soft-spoken less theatrical and a lot more kind. His voice lines reflect that, but the tone is just so much kinder, and it has this sense he always wants to see people enlightened with knowledge and encouraging other cookies to disagree with him. Of course, he will ask for evidence and all that jazz. And this gives me a chance to address some questions I've gotten frequently, the (y/n) or mc or whatever anyone prefers, is NOT stupid. And to the people who asked no this is not me reprimanding you because I understand however, I wanted this to be realistic. Think about it being at an academy where "The Sage of Truth" is I imagine it's a very competitive place to be and the classes are extremely difficult the reader got there somehow which means no they are not dumb but the academic life at a rigorous level is difficult for anyone.

I also wanted to reflect on how hard it is that some professors do in fact call out students who don't know the material, but I know a majority of them do it because they want to see you succeed. I think I did include that the reader had been previously attending office hours with Professor Almond Custard Cookie if not this is now canon to the story. Which is why the professor knows them by name and calls on them in class. It has definitely happened to me before irl too except I don't know why my professor knows my name...I guess it's because I was in a discussion section with them...anyways I rambled but my point is I wanted to make an interesting story about what I think Shadow Milk could have been like while using my own experiences to shape the story, which is only really in the academic sense.

I also wanted to base the cookies on friends I have now and have had in the past, I didn't really want them to come across as yes men to the reader but as actual friends and what I think is the most fun dynamic between friends. I wanted the cookies in the story to seem like they were their own thing. Reading all of this I didn't mean for all of this to come out poetically or anything, but I really am passionate about writing.

Thank you for the kind words and for allowing me to reflect on this story, I really do appreciate and love when people send in long messages like this concerning anything really...Thank you for reading my story and enjoying it I hope today's update will keep you guys full for the next 2-3 days!!! I'm glad you put in the effort to ask anything it's a lot more meaningful than you think <3

-Odile

[ofstoriesandstardust]

but it's golden like daylight (k.c.)

a/n: kylie wrote fluff who is she?! this was my short and sweet treat to myself for grad school curb-stomping me. you don't need to read the can't take the home out of oklahoma series for this but it does pick up almost immediately after the fourth part. as always, comments and reblog fuel me :)

summary: You and Kate start the rest of your lives together.

warnings: swearing, engagement, buying a house, alcohol mentions

word count: 3k

You hum as Kate hands you your cup of coffee over the console before she turns the key in her truck. The sun is barely rising, your tour of the house scheduled for early morning. 

Kate hadn’t let you see the listing, suddenly apprehensive that you wouldn’t like the place and kept insisting that she wanted you to see her vision once you toured the physical space. 

The house is a short twelve minute drive from Cathy’s farm, eight in the opposite direction from Tyler’s small place. The country music is turned low as you sip the coffee, Kate’s hand on your thigh. “I’m excited.” You say softly and Kate chances a glance at you as she flicks her blinker on. 

She’s really pretty like this, in the early morning dawn, hair still slightly sleep-mussed, but eyes eager and bright. “I hope you like it.” She says softly as she turns down a gravel road. 

“I’m sure I will.”

The real estate agent for the sellers meets you at the front porch, an older lady with a warm demeanor, touring you through the space. 

From first glance, you could see how one could write this house off. The house, six bedrooms and three baths, sits on a 3,600 square foot lot that is mostly run down. The exterior of the house seems to be newer but instantly from stepping inside you can tell that the house is outdated. The carpet is dingy, the appliances old, bathrooms dark and dreary. Every bedroom wall is a different color with the same dreadful carpet, but every step takes you farther into what you can already sense Kate’s vision is. 

It’s the perfect off-season fixer-upper. 

The living room is vast, wide-open. The kitchen is spacey and you can already see your friends gathered around the kitchen island. The master bath desperately needs retiling and new wallpaper, but it’s huge and the master bedroom has two large doors that lead straight out into the backyard. The house all-around has massive windows, perfect to let in all the light. The lot behind the house is overgrown with weeds but nothing Cathy couldn’t help you with and you can already see a chicken coop and a stable Tyler could help you build and a place to keep cows and horses, your inner country gal really coming to life. 

At the end of the tour, the real estate agent lets you know that the owners, a daughter who inherited this place and her husband who currently live in Indiana, are willing to negotiate and she’ll sit out front for you guys to have time to talk it over, though she assures you both that you don’t have to make a decision today.

“So?” Kate asks, a hopeful look in her eyes as you turn around in the master bedroom downstairs, eyeing the space. 

“It’s definitely a fixer-upper.” Kate looks a little nervous as you grin at her. “But it could be our fixer-upper.” 

“Yeah?” She breathes out, a grin growing on her face. You nod. 

“Oh yeah, I think Boone will have a blast ripping the tiling up in the bathroom and I am dying to go pick out paint samples. It’s like our perfect little off-season project. Your Mom could help us build a chicken coop and I already know where Peaches will curl up to take her naps in the sun.” 

She steps closer, taking your hands. “We’re so redoing the backsplash in the kitchen.” 

“Oh fuck yeah.” You mutter, before pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “Talk sexy to me baby, I love it when you tell me about house renovations.” 

She lets out a loud laugh, hands finding your waist as she loops her fingers through the belt loops on your jeans. “I’m already thinking of the washer and dryer set we can go buy.” 

You snort. “We’re so adult. Like, the best adults. Like I can’t believe I’m excited to go shop for a stove.” 

“You wanna put our offer in today?” She asks softly after a minute. 

“Let’s buy a house baby.” 

-

You and Kate come home with a box of pastries and two smiles even a tornado couldn’t take from you. 

“Where’d you guys go?” Javi asks around a bite of eggs and Kate shakes the box of pastries at him.

“You are a saint.” Boone praises as he lifts the lid of the box open, already reaching for the bear claw. You snicker as he bites into it, not missing Cathy’s look from over her coffee mug. Truthfully, the pastries had been as much of a treat for you and Kate for putting in an offer as it had been a distraction from your absence for your friends. You and Kate had agreed to not say anything about the house until you had your keys in hand, afraid to jinx it or disappoint them.

That hadn’t stopped Cathy though, who finds the two of you on the second floor of the barn, tucked away as the two of you chat, making an extensive list of what you’ll need to get and what’s highest priority in remodeling the place. 

So much for not getting your hopes up.  

“It’s too damn hot for the two of you to be hiding out up here.” Cathy calls as she pulls herself up the last step. “So I’m going to take it that it either went really well or really bad.” Neither you nor Kate can hide your smiles, which only makes Cathy smile as she tugs a stool over. “Really well then?”

“I mean-” Kate cuts herself off, glancing at you. “It’s a total fixer-upper. The place doesn’t even have a stove. Or a microwave.” 

“But you like it?” Cathy asks, directing her look to you now. 

You nod. “I already have paint ideas. Do you want to come to Lowe’s with us?” 

Kate snorts, shaking her head. 

For as much as Cathy was Kate’s Mom, Cathy had also become your maternal figure, treating you as such long before you and Kate had started dating and she had been treating you as her daughter-in-law long before you and Kate ever got as serious as you were now. 

It wasn’t something you took for granted and not something you wouldn’t ever treasure, loving just how much of a role Cathy played in your lives like this. Which meant she was the perfect one to help you pick out flooring and paint and appliances for a new place, already knowing what you and Kate would both love and could afford. 

You pull your phone out, quietly explaining the vision for the home as you show her the pictures, Cathy listening thoughtfully. 

“What do you think Mom?” Kate asks quietly, eager for her Mom’s approval. 

She sighs. “I think the two of you better get real comfortable spending a lot of money.” 

“But?”

“But I can’t wait to see how this all turns out. You said there was space for a chicken coop?” 

-

In the end, you and Kate close on the house, keys in hand, two days after the Wranglers, Javi included, leave to spend two weeks in Arkansas. 

The owners had been willing to negotiate to an even five hundred thousand and between you and Kate’s savings and a loan, you and Kate had begun signing papers just three days after putting in the first offer. 

While you and Kate are both disappointed the Wranglers aren’t there to celebrate, you and Kate take Cathy by the house with a cheap bottle of champagne and solo cups you’d picked up from the store on the way over. You sipped warm bubbly as you took her through the house, Cathy watching with fond amusement as you and Kate talked over one another in excitement of what you’d do to the place. 

And then you guys get to work. 

Kate changes the locks on the door the next morning, the two of you spending far too long at the key copier at the hardware store, picking out special designs for each of your friends. 

The three of you drive out to what Cathy deems the good Lowe’s out in Tulsa and probably become the salesman, Rob’s, favorite customer of the year as you list out the new appliances you need. 

The husband of one of Cathy’s long-term co-workers at the hospital where she works as a nurse offers to install all of them for free in exchange for a night of Cathy’s barbecue, an exchange she makes happily with the assurance the two of you would help her. You set out with setting up the electricity and gas (and the wi-fi, Kate reminds you late one night after shooting up in bed in a panic, four days after you begin), calling all the appropriate places and scheduling installation visits. You and Kate make more trips to pick out paint than either of you care to admit, testing out different shades of greens and purples and blues. 

As exciting and fast-moving it is, it’s not easy either. Kate comments, a bit sadly, one night as the two of you sit on your kitchen floor with Chinese takeout that she wishes Addy had been here, because she loved to paint and would’ve done the most gorgeous artwork on the walls of the house. She says another night, atop your staircase, that she wishes Jeb could see how far she’s come. She mentions in the Lowe’s that Praveen would’ve probably been the best to take appliance shopping, since he would’ve just known what worked well in the space. 

It’s a sad bit of melancholy, a wound you can’t fix. You can’t bring her friends back and it’s all you can do to love Kate through it. Her grief is real, never-ending, no matter how much she grows with it. 

Before you know it, the two weeks (not even, Kate reminds you as she stocks the fridge) have flown by and the Wranglers are rolling down the dirt road, you and Kate awaiting them out in your front yard.

They’re only in town for three days this time, before Tyler flys back to Arkansas for a month and a half. Dexter is flying down to see his niece, one of his last pieces of family, for a few weeks in New Orleans and Javi and Boone would be in Miami for three and a half weeks to see Javi’s family. 

Dani and Lilly are all yours for the next month though before the four of you regroup with the rest of the crew in Arkansas for two weeks and it’s taken everything in you and Kate to not spill the news to them early, already eagerly awaiting their help and hands. 

“Okay, you two. What is this place?” Javi asks as he shuts the door to the van. Kate grins at him as he sticks his hands in his pockets, the rest of the Wranglers climbing out after him. 

Kate jerks her head back towards the house, letting them inside as they take the space in. The downstairs isn’t in too horrible of a state or chaos, save for the many boxes scattered throughout the place, and the two of you even have a vase of flowers sitting on the kitchen island. The upstairs… that’s a different story. 

“Kate…” Tyler trails off, eyebrows raised. 

“We bought a house.” You say finally and the group lights up. There’s various exclamations, all excited as they congratulate you and Kate. “Six bedrooms, three baths, and in need of serious work. I have specifically picked out keys for everyone and uh, Booney baby, you up for helping us pull the tile and carpet up?” 

“Oh fuck yeah!”

-

“A house, huh? All you need is a ring on that finger and you’re all set.” Dani teases you that night as the two of you drive back to Cathy’s with pizza for the whole crew. 

You take a deep breath as you climb out of the car after it rolls to a stop, crowding Dani by the drivers door. “Can you keep a secret?” Dani nods a bit, frowning as you thumb through your phone, knowing specifically what it is you’re looking for. You flip the phone around, showing her the snapshot and her eyes go wide. “Cathy helped me pick it out.”

“No fucking way.” She whispers. “You have a fucking ring?!” 

“Are y’all coming in with that pizza or what, man? I’m starved!” Boone shouts from the front porch. 

“Come get it yourself Boone!” You shout back and you can hear the man move towards the car even if you don’t see him. Dani giggles a bit, shaking you. 

“I am so happy for you guys. Oh my God, now you’re really stuck with us California. No running away from this one.”

-

You end up proposing to Kate a week later.

You’re driven a ways out from Sapulpa, an open field before you as the wind whips Kate’s hair around. An end of summer lightning storm thunders off in the distance, electric purples lighting up the sky as you and Kate watch on, laying on top of the hood of your car. 

Well, you were watching at one point but now you can’t help but watch Kate, the way her face lights up in awe, the way she squeezes your hand and asks did you see that one? 

Kate Carter loves storms, would follow them anywhere. Kate Carter was her own type of storm, blindly beautiful and ever-changing, magnetic and wild. And you loved that storm, would follow that storm anywhere. 

“You keep looking at me like that.” Kate says, turning her face to meet your eyes. A bashful smile tugs at her lips, a bit lopsided, like it always does whenever she catches you staring. Usually you tell her you can’t help it, that you’re just in awe that you get to be with someone as pretty or as kind or as wonderful as her, but today, the words tumble past your lips. 

“Kate, I want to get married.” 

She raises an eyebrow. “Are you- are you asking?” 

In lieu of answer, you slide off the hood, opening the passenger door to the back, digging around in the pocket on the back of the seat as Kate sits abruptly, curious eyes following you. You pull out a small box before climbing back onto the hood and Kate’s breath hitches as she catches sight of the velvet box. 

“I’m asking. Kate, I want to marry you more than anything else in this world. You gotta know, my love, there’s nowhere in this world I wouldn’t follow you.” 

“Yes, oh my- yes!” Kate exclaims, hands finding your face to pull you into a kiss. You narrowly dodge it, a laugh bubbling over. 

“But I didn’t ask yet!” You giggle, feeling a few raindrops splatter down on the top of your head. 

“Close enough.” She waves off, turning her attention to the box still clutched in your hand. You open the small box, slipping the ring on her left hand and she holds it out to examine as the rain picks up, her sweatshirt dampening. 

It’s gold, small and dainty, a small pearl set in the middle of a small cluster of diamonds but it slides on perfectly (thank you Cathy, you think silently). Kate wipes away tears (or rain, you aren’t sure) from her face as she looks down at it before glancing back up, hand resting on your knee. 

“I have a ring for you. It’s back at Mom’s. I hid it behind a bunch of fabric in that closet in the guest room.” She admits quietly. “I’ve- maybe I wasn’t always as sure about us, me, as you were but I love you just the same.”

-

Kate gets three minutes back in the house, darting up the stairs to dig out her own ring, sliding it on your finger with a chaste kiss, before she darts back down the stairs to show her Mom. 

Cathy cries, Lilly screams, Dani does a little dance, and the joyous feeling that burns bright in your chest threatens to never leave, not that you’d want it to. 

You spend a lot of time the next morning looking at it, the small diamond set in a row into the small golden band, twisting it this way and that way, admiring the way it looks on your hand, intertwined with Kate’s own hand. 

You and Kate elect to wait until you get to Arkansas in a few weeks to tell the boys, knowing this is something Tyler and Javi should learn in person. And then Dani suggests through laughter that you don’t mention it, seeing how long it takes for them to notice. You and Kate both laugh, the four of you setting a bet. 

Nine days. It takes nine days of the fifteen day trip for any of the boys to notice. 

You had gone from amused, to concerned, to amused again the longer it took and Kate was starting to threaten to just drive away, shouting the news out at them as she did. 

“What is that?” Boone asks abruptly, grabbing your hand as you pass Dani the pepper. Your ring glints in the orange glow of the setting sun, filtering in through Tyler’s kitchen. “What is that?”

“Oh man.” Kate says through a snort, her own left hand reaching up to cover her mouth. 

“What is that?” Boone demands, attention now sliding over to Kate. Javi and Tyler have both paused, Javi licking his lips as they stare Kate down. Dani lets out a loud laugh, turning to hide her face in Lilly’s shoulder as you give them a soft smile. 

“Kate- is that-” Javi starts. 

“Are you-” Tyler asks, before looking to you. “Are you really?” 

“Who asked first?” Boone demands, already tugging your hand closer to examine the ring. 

“I did.” You admit as Javi’s eyebrows shoot up. 

“Kate, you’ve only been sitting on that thing for seven months! She still beat you to it?” 

“Seven months?” You ask, eyes wide as you turn to Kate. 

“Hey man, when you know you know.” Boone says and your eyes flash over to Lilly and Dani, who are still giggling to themselves. You hear Tyler and Javi’s quiet congratulations, Tyler and Javi both standing up to give you hugs but all you can do is lock eyes with Lilly as she laughs, tears streaming down her face.

“I can’t believe it took you idiots so long to notice!” 

[aconflagrationofmyown]

but then…Gigi

Part 4 - A Big Daddy Elvis Fanfiction

Previous chapter link for context, picking up where we left off

I owe so much thanks to my friends for all their help and input and the joy they bring me, thanks to them and my precious followers this fluffy/wacky little universe even exists. I’ve never had so much fun on a collaboration before in my life, I love y’all so.

Warnings: 18+, sexual content and heavy themes… ok so this is smutty and fluffy, right? But still there are some things that might be offensive regarding narrator’s voice so I want to warn about those and distinguish them from my own opinions. For much of this part we are in Elvis’ head and, due to it being summer of ‘77 -it’s a bit of a rollercoaster in there. Please be warned there are throwaway lines reflecting poor self esteem, depression, misogyny, severe health issues and the use of the word fat to describe oneself negatively.

Enjoy

💄💄💄💄💄💄💄💄💄💄💄💄💄💄💄

Elvis feels a pang of sympathy for his boys’ hysteria when he runs into a crowd of fans as he himself sits panicked in the Stutz, engine off and his shades on, watching Gigi check that the coast is clear on the sidewalk and buzz into her apartment building -in just his jacket and panties. Her sandals are gone somewhere, too, probably back at Graceland. Only that anklet left on like some harem jangle.

Her sooties must be burning on the sunbaked concrete, maybe that’s why she’s skipping everywhere she goes like a damn foal. His blood pressure feels like it’s skyrocketing just watching this show and the fact she looks like she’s in her element terrifies and excites him and -getting to know Gigi is a dangerous hobby.

As shameless as a toddler that one, and every bit as unpersuaded about needing to give a shit about things like flashing her butt cheeks for all of Memphis.

Her tanned butt cheeks.

Which brings up all sorts of questions he’s too scared to ask and will have to address with Tammy. He’s sure she’s to blame for nude sunbathing, he just hopes that wildcat has enough decency to do it privately. Very privately. Hopefully in a bullet proof bunker if Gigi is with her. This girl has been directionless and fatherless for too long; Elvis’ mouth dries out in anticipation of being that guiding, molding, firm hand in her life -the rest of his body too sedated to respond normally although he feels that weird ass dribble his pecker has recently started to do when it’s very much willing but can’t physically swell to poke a gal. He thoroughly regrets not wearing underpants to catch some of this… horny… pre-cum…incontinence…the baby blue of his tracksuit showing a small stain on his leg. Just the size of a penny. Maybe a quarter.

He takes his glasses off and rubs at his sweaty eyes.

Gigi is standing in the opened doorway, waving him in with a huge, expectant smile on her face, and feeling something he hasn’t felt since 1955 sneakin’ into Barbra’s room, he lumbers out his side of the car and doesn’t even bother to make sure no one’s looking, even though she whipped her head around to clock their surroundings like top paid security for his sake. If someone sees and thinks he’s going into a college girl’s dorm to corrupt her then they’d be right, and it'll make far prettier gossip than what’s coming out in Red’s book next month.

He slips past her and she runs her hand along his chest as he goes by, giddy and fond. She waves to someone behind his back,

“Hey Paolo! Good afternoon!” Elvis turns just in time to see an old shriveled man in an undershirt waving wildly at her as the door shuts.

“Who’s that?”

“Our repairman. Sweetest little man.” Gigi gushes and Elvis motions for her to lead the way up the stairs while speculating with nauseating surety on what Gigi might be found wearing -or not wearing- when dear sweet shriveled perverted Paolo makes up a problem with her sink and comes into her apartment. “He’s taught me how to make Limoncello jello! You won’t find anything more refreshing!”

“How very epicurean for a regular, ole handyman.” he can’t help but grumble, usually highly self-aware and unbiased for the potential learnedness of common folks. He knows he’s one. But right now he wants to make a carpet from Paolo’s nose hair.

“What does epicurean mean?” Gigi doens’t without missing a beat as she unlocks her own front door.

Now they’re back on solid, Elvis-worthy ground, he can smile indulgently as he enters her space and explain, “Somebody who likes to in-duuulge in the luxurious and the sensuuaal, it was a whole philosophy.”

“Oooh, that explains why I didn’t understand.” she giggles, “I’ve flunked philosophy twice and I’ve got a whole pile of papers over there that’s supposed to be homework but a hero of mine invited me to go swimming at his place so, there they sit!” she shows off a rather alarming stack of papers next to the poorly made up bed, half hidden by the swim suits and cut offs strewn about the carpet. “Sorry for the mess, a lotta the girls got ready over here and wrecked it. Half of it is mine though, you should’ve seen the things they suggested I wear for you! Thongs, Elvis! Actual thongs! And here I was unsure if you felt just fatherly towards me or what so I- I didn’t wear a thong.”

Elvis takes a seat on her bed since he figures they’re now past being modest about what they’re gonna do and asks, “What’s a thong?”

“You don’t- it’s this sorta thing.” Gigi is a little shocked that this man of the world doesn't know such a thing and spins around a few times before finding a very small scrap of fabric and bending over, she picks it up. Elvis forgets what she was getting off the floor for a few minutes before she starts spreading the fabric strings apart and pronouncing, “This is a thong!”

Elvis squints his eyes as if trying to see a ship on the edge of the horizon or something, “I don’t get it.” he says at last, “How’s it work? Go around your neck?”

“No, silly!” she giggles even harder in shocked exasperation, “It’s panties.”

“No way in hell.” he sounds awed, “No way, how in tarnation does that work?”

“They’re like…very little, small, tiny panties!” she explains with a hyped tone as if the more enthusiastic she is the quicker he’ll get the mechanism.

“That -those ain’t gonna hold or cover nothin’.” he insists, “Now you’re the one pullin’ my leg.” he notices there’s a magazine with his face on it stashed under the teetering bedside lamp and makes mental note of that before leaning back against her massive stuffed bear.

“They’re not supposed to work, they’re supposed to be sexy?” she tries again before playfully putting them on her head and striking a pose.

“Sexy, hmm?” he rumbles, his eyes twinkling and she knows she’s got his interest at least, whether he’s fibbing ignorance on knowing about thongs or not, she can’t tell. Suddenly it strikes her that Elvis Presley himself is lounging on her bed, leaned against the stuffy she grinds herself on to the thought of him pretty regularly. Suddenly having his jacket zipped at all feels oppressive from the rush of heat that sight floods her with.

“If they were for comfort we’d just go without.” she laughs, “They dig up into your…” she looks about before dropping her voice and taking a couple steps closer to him, “butt crack.” she blushes furiously at having to name it and his fingers itch to do unspeakable things to this little girl.

“Show me.” he says, low and steady and a little removed, just cool enough to be commanding, just warm enough to make her feel (very) admired. He sees her sweet blush turn into droopy lidded arousal before his very eyes and with meek acceptance she hooks her fingers into her swim bottoms without a pause.

They drop to the floor in a nylon puddle between her legs. Just like that. Simple as that, her bare little pussy lips are peaking out from his jacket at him and she smiles gently at his shock as she hooks her legs through the thong’s leg holes and shimmy’s the stupid excuse for lingerie up her stems. “It’s just you, daddy.” she explains in a confidential whisper that melts his heart.

“Yeah, jus’ f’me, baby girl.” he makes a pronouncement of his own, hushed and boyish and her own heart feels too big for her chest at the way his blue eyes somehow soften in wonder at her exposed self. She had expected something rougher, ravenous, impetuous. Not this revenant appreciation that bends his whole frame towards her with open mouthed puffs of longing. He aches, wishing he’d brought his Polaroid to snap this memory forever, add it to his collection. A little something tangible he could thumb at it in the future and remember this night when an terribly hot, painfully young, big tittied woman had wanted him.

“Will ya do a lil spin f’me? Wouldn’t want that wedgie to go unappreciated, now would we? So sweet to try it on for me.” he coos and then hums deep and appreciative as she does a couple slow spins for him, that humm she’s only ever heard in amplified concert footage sending sparks to her very toes.

“You like them?” she asks, toes curling in nervousness for his verdict.

He lounges back and strokes his mouth a few times while cocking his head to the side. She’s breathing so heavy he thinks if he even blew on her she’d come. “They’re practical.” he decides definitively.

“Are they?” she sighs with relief.

“Mhmm,” he mumbles soberly, “quite. For what we’re up here to do, they’re practical.” he adds this slowly and doesn't miss her shudder or the way her eyes light up in relief that they’re getting to the point. He likes that she’s letting him lead, she’s a good girl. “Step closer baby.” he stays lounging so she does all the work and when she gets to the edge of the bed he keeps motioning with his fingers until she’s kneeling on it herself, clambering forward over his lap. “See, when a man makes a meal of a lady’s lil garden, s’real important to have unrestricted access.” he proves his point by slipping his index finger along that abominably small seam of fabric that’s poofy and filled out with bare labia lips.

“Daddy.” she wails at the contact, shaking apart already and that along with her little place has his head thudding some kinda way. She’s gripping onto his neck, near clawing whatever part of him she can grab, close to tears again like a child not getting what she wants. The art of the tease seems lost on her, she’s so hungry.

He’s gotta ask. “Honey, y-yo- honey you ain’t actin’ younger for my sake, are ya?”

“Oh no,” her face turns down again and he’s done it again, insulted her somehow, “you find me immature?”

“No!” he shouts and then tries to moderate himself, “No, no it’s jus’ that -you’re a baby, thas all.”

“Well,” her grin is guileless, “you’ll just have to bear with me, big daddy, I’m all so excited I’ve got Elvis Presley in my room! Elvis Presley! You’re Elvis Presley.”

“I-I-I am.” he admits, perturbed, “What’s wi- why Big Daddy?”

“Cause that’s what you are!” She says it like she’s assuring a pageant queen she won the prized title. “Elvis Presley’s about to eat my pussy.” she murmurs to herself as she kicks her feet and he recalls yet again that he is sat down on her fluffy pink bed for a reason. He tips her over into the sheets.

“So uh, you’ve thought of this before, hmm?” he smirks slyly and reaches out to clasp an ankle in his big, ringed hand, his tanned digits encircling it entirely and he thumbs at the veiny soft spot beneath the ankle.

Gigi moans at his slight pressure.

“That’s a pressure point for the reproductive system, did you know that sir?” she is as eager about information as he is, and clever too.

“So that’s why all the girls lose it.” he hums with a laugh, “No, Gigi, I didn’t know tha’, you like gettin’ rubbed?”

“YES!” she sighs so loudly it’s like a little wind tunnel through the room, “Though it doesn’t happen much.” That makes his heart hurt in sympathy and he adds his other hand to knead her toned calf, those legs of hers spreading jello, just like he calculated they would, “I love to rub folks though! Love givin’ people rubs.”

“Who do ya rub?” Elvis is cross at this new information.

“Oh, anybody who needs it!” she makes it worse.

“Lotta demand for that at Uni?”

“Yeah, so many sore athletes after games.” she is perfectly sober about it, while so enthused he wants to murder every person those sweet hands have descended upon in soothing kindness. “But I think you’re the best I have ever had do it to me, oh Lord you’ve got magic in those hands.”

He’s tempted to tell her how true that statement is but he can’t bear her laughing at him right now so he leans further across the bed and inches towards her knees with his squeezes and tries to elicit more of those moans.

“Oh god I can’t believe Elvis Presley is rubbing my legs.” she gasps again to the ceiling and it’s this youthful narration of her life happenings that makes him think of his Yisa and if he could he’d put both of these little darlings back into their fragile eggs to keep them away from the cruel world.

“So, you done thought of this before, baby girl?” he asks, casting a little smug look over at that ponderous stack of his records and the TV set stationed right at the foot of her bed. He knows the answer already, thanks to Tammy, but it nags him, the question of which Elvis she was touching herself to after her first visit to his house. Her closed eyes and near drooling mouth give him the idea that if he’s good enough at this, puts enough effort into being what he used to be naturally, she can keep those pretty eyes closed and he can morph back into whatever daydream she’s once had. He could give this pretty little girl a little time capsule and before she’s fully awake, slip away again, leave before she recalls it was the gift of an old man, his potency gone to seed but his love for women and their secret parts just as strong.

He bends over, gut digging into his diaphragm and knocking out his wind, presses a kiss to the inside of her knee. “Tell’me ‘bout when you thought of me.” he murmurs into her warm skin. He notices he leaves goosebumbs in the wake of his touch.

“Mmm?” she’s goners with just this firm kneading of her limbs, breathing heavy and sedated from lust.

“Have ya thought of me when you’ve played with yourself?” he’s a little sterner than he should be, just because he knows the answer and wants an honest reply.

“Oh yes.” she gives it, unabashed.

“Is it my movies? Ya watch my movies when ya touch y’self?” he prods, working up to that baby soft stretch of inner thigh that still seems like the most fragile of all God’s creation, like cotton Candy holding ligament and muscle together by some miracle. “Or ya prop up that record right there?” he pulls his head up long enough to point at the foremost record cover in the stack -Live From Madison Square Garden, it reads, and features him silhouetted against black, crouched in a white jumpsuit.

A more mature option; interesting.

Gigi opens her eyes and cranes her head to see what he’s pointing at. “Oh, yeah, sometimes that one,” she nods, “it’s the closest thing I could find.”

“Closest to what, the genuine article?” he snickers in judgment, “It’s goddamn cardboard, at least watch a movie like a normal pervert.”

“The closest to how you are now!” she pouts adamantly, “You’re so…smooth… in all your movies. Nothing like how I know ya when you drive past on the street.”

Well, that’s something else, even if Elvis doesn't quite get what that something is. It’s absurd, the fact she existed all along on some sidewalk he sped past. “How’s that now, honey?” he asks.

“I couldn’t find anything closer to what you are now!” she explains, “Nothing since Aloha and -well I like that one, don’t get me wrong but I,” she bites her lip and a skittish flinch settles into her eyes.

“What about that one, darlin?” he begs softly.

“Well I like how hairy and strong ya look but,” she doesn’t look down or away when she gets to her point, instead she bends forward to be nearer to him, to hold his hands as they lay on her legs, to peer into his eyes gently, “you seem too sad in it for me to -to use it like that.”

He’s touched, so much so he swallows hard and dips his head to kiss her knobby little kneecap. “T-that were a rough time in my life.” he admits and his voice has gone wrecked. It is odd beyond words how he feels like she’s a child to be protected but just like a child at a sleepover he can duck under the covers and admit his worst fears to her.

It all goes back to being proportionally heartbreaking as Gigi leans forward and makes him lean back, clambering methodically back into his lack as if she owns the damn space, holding his furry cheeks tenderly as she licks those luscious lips and slots them against his. This he is familiar with, nothing odd at all about this age old ritual of him being seductively depressed and a girl soothing it away with her tongue and hands in his hair.

He allows himself the liberty of stroking her bare back beneath his jacket, figuring if he’s gonna lick beaver he might as well do a little seducing beforehand, cherish her like she deserves, give them both the works. As much as he can give with this dull headache and the meds making him feel so leaden he could fall asleep in seconds. He takes a breath and tries to clear his head, focusing on kissing her well, kissing her better than any of those stupid young jocks ever managed.

Back at making a case to her that he could make her happy. He doesn’t know why he keeps trying that argument when a couple decades worth of broken hearts and homes behind him suggest otherwise.

“Wanna see what I used to pretend it was you?” she tempts against his lips as they surface for air, sounding so demure yet utterly unrepentant even as she confides, “After you petted me and sent me home I needed you so bad, couldn’t find anything that felt like you now, so I shut the tv right off. Grabbed my stuffy ‘cause he was fuzzy and had a belly like you and then I grabbed…here, wait here, don’t you move now!“

Her little butt is already bouncing out the room into the en-suite before she finishes the sentence and he is left to sit on the bed and await her return, processing the fact she had wanted hair and a corpulent figure.

Bizzare taste, definitely dealing with father issues, painfully sweet.

He groans in recognition that she’s entirely to his own taste.

She comes back holding the most bulbous bottle of shampoo he’s ever seen in his life. The size of his damn fist easily, bright yellow and shaped at the top like like a lemon an- hell it’s even named “Lemon-Something-Or-Other”.

“I used this!” she proclaims with a giggle that jiggles her whole body.

Elvis just stares, torn between impressed and horrified. “You’re tellin’ me that…thang…fit up your lil cooch?”

“Well, no,” she admits, mood immediately deflating in disappointment with herself, “but I’m working on it! Or maybe I don’t have to, now that I’ve got the real thing, as you call it!”

Gigi bites her lip and winks in an attempt to be seductive and it’s the most ludicrously jarring thing Elvis can imagine, he roars with laughter at her art of being a cock tease without trying and a total clown when she does try.

Oh fuck he’s in love. Yeah, already established that awhile back but, it’s just, it’s hitting him again.

“I think you’ll find the real thing a bit disappointin’ by comparison.” he wheezes, too amused to be insecure.

“Oh really?” she perks up in palpable relief, “Oh thank jesus! That thing’s huge and I was gonna try for you but- but -but it’s huge! And I was just gauging from what I saw floppin’ around in your tracksuit that night and I was trying to not be obvious, so I couldn’t exactly clock it real good but it looked awfully wide, like a paper towel roll when it’s halfway gone and this was the only thing I could find like it, I wasn’t going to use anything of Tammy’s and besides they weren’t fat either so I just…” She trails off with a shrug, still standing there before him holding the fuckin’ Lemon Drop Shampoo.

She’d tried not to be obvious, she says, but he’d caught her staring well below his belt half a dozen times in two days. “So,” Elvis is still wiping the tears of amusement from his eyes, “so ya used a shampoo bottle and a teddy bear.”

“Yeah.”

“And did it work?” his eyes darken at the prospect of hearing her tell him this naughty story.

“Sorta.”

“How can it ‘sorta’ work?”

“I came,” Gigi sighs, “but I felt so empty..after. Cried myself to sleep” her embarrassed giggle does not deceive him from the certainty that she’s telling the truth.

“Oh baby, what’re we gonna do with you?” he asks her and God Almighty all at once.

“Hold me, please?” she whispers.

“Course, baby. Nothin’ I’d rather do, get over here,” He holds out his arms and she cruises in at a deceptively fast speed, colliding back into his chest and tucking her face into the crease of his neck, she’s pressing kisses there into that sweaty fold and he rubs her back, traces the dip of her waist, the slow curve outwards of her hips, thumbs at the flimsy material of her panties. Feeling her soft skin and treasuring it. Wondering what she’s thinking and not knowing she’s thanking God she gets to be held by him.

“You make feel so safe.” her breath ghosts over his face and he’s not sure how it’s so fresh and lovely after scarfing down burgers and cherry coke but he can’t get enough and he grabs her face as gently as he can manage with this much wonder filling him in a rush.

He’s pretty sure she ain’t ever had a chance to kiss with tongue, she’s eager to slip hers in but she’s got that petrified immobility of a gal who’s never gotten the chance to give and take, just give while some stupid rash boy slobbers and knocks her teeth.

Elvis is quite good with his tongue.

He flicks at her tongue, he waits, taps her butt until she gets his prompt. She flicks. He trails it alongside her own, he waits. He taps. She mimics. They get a good commerce going and soon she’s squirming and writhing in his lap while he stays put, his patience and experience a buoy for her as she flounders with so much desire she doesn’t know how to cope beyond undulating against him and tugging at his hair, their mouths wide and uncaring, devouring.

It’s fun with a girl leveraging down on him from his lap, one might think it would put him at a disadvantage but it doesn’t, he turns her silly head with a firm hand at the nape of her neck, and she’s just a dolly up there for him to work against his mouth. Rather like how he’s gonna work her pussy if they make it that far. For now, there’s this age old dance and her pretty breaths.

He sucks her tongue and she lets out a cry that’s distorted by the absence of any control over her own tongue and suddenly he can feel her move more frantically, fumbling between them until he hears the zzzz of the zipper as she undoes her jacket front and frees her full breasts like the thin cloth was suffocating her. It becomes clearer what she needs when she continues to fumble between them, unsatisfied, until he feels his own taught closure opening and the fan air hits him and goosebumps spread and shame flares and then it’s unity. Their chests meeting, pressing, soft and warm and she shudders against him like she just touched a force field.

She mewls into his mouth again and traces his puffy lips with the tip of her tongue while he breathes. “Feels so right.” he realizes in a mumble.

“Mhmm.” she says as she presses more kisses to his panting mouth. Gigi reaches between them once more and he watches cross eyed from the closeness as she hefts one boob up and presses it between them more firmly, before repeating the procedure with the other until, until they are smashed to her satisfaction. Then she starts grinding, those fat titties of hers, against him with the rest of her- against his hairy, saggy man boobs, she’s dragging her nipples across him and worrying them red with his rough texture, her toes curling from the friction. Her nipples are pebbled and she’s crying out, can’t stop moaning or calling for God because he feels so good against her. Cradling her boob her fingers press selfishly against one of his own nipples and lil Elvis wants to fight against his induced state, desperate to twitch for this pretty girl’s attention. “Oh god, you’re so hairy, like a nest! So perfect and manly and, I’m gonna, let me, let me please, please oh god, feels so good!” she’s working herself up to a squealing frenzy going over one particular patch of ratted curls… from…rubbing her pretty nipples on his chest hair.

Elvis just sits there and computes, watches, like a green boy, Gigi’s cradled boobs, her gaping mouth, her long throat and her cramping widdle sooties. God, what he’d give to suck those curling little piggies.

He’s hot as a furnace, this man, and those coarse, wiry curls are zapping her already throbbing nipples until Gigi can’t seem to breathe, so much sensation crowding her senses but not where she needs. She grinds down on him, where they’ll join so perfectly, and she feels that perfectly fat cock of his wedged on top of his thick thighs that he can’t manspread for once with her on top of him. She reaches down and positions him through the silky track bottom until she can slide along, feeling the width of him parting her pussy lips even with the thong’s fabric obstructing. His pants are sticky to touch, even though he feels too heavy and floppy to be fully hard.

Elvis should kiss her again. Warn her he ain’t good for nothin’ before she gets her hopes up and he gets to humiliate himself like some useless old fuck.

“Daddy, daddy fill me up, daddy.” she beats him to it in the prettiest little beg he’s ever heard.

“Oh Gigi.” he groans compassionately before grabbing her hand and bringing it up away from his messy lil pecker, “I’s gone lick you, don’t you recall?”

“Yes but I’m past that, I need you inside me!” she gasps, grin growing by the second.

“Ah, yeah, well baby it’s a big deal, takin’ innocence and uh-“ he scratches the back of his head and she escapes his hold and her hand is back to it, squeezing his cock and it really does feel nice, in a head scratch sorta way. “Look, Gigi, honey, I’m sorry but lil Elvis is shy tonight.” he holds his breath as she slowly processes this.

She doesn’t retract her hand as she registers what he’s saying. “Aww, but I can kiss him!”

“M-m-maybe some other time?” he pleads like he’s asking a child to please let him get away with just five bedtime stories. Six is overkill and Daddy has work tomorrow.

She pouts briefly before bringing her sticky hand up to her mouth and licking her fingers like a barbarian. That sight alone almost fixes his damn ED. Gigi likes the light taste of him, humming in approval at the first taste like a baby trying candy for the first time.

“T-t-that means he likes ya, though.” he assures her like an idiot and she smiles around her digits.

She’s very sober and a little mournful, the way she keeps looking at him, not at all petulant or even the slightest bit contemptuous, just concerned and it primes some pump inside him to explain more than he ever should but he can’t seem to stop the words as they come out, “Had a migraine this mornin’ before ya came over and I wanted to be in ship-shape for some fun -fun with you- so I had to take some lil helpers for the head and they, well, they, they mess with…that.” he motions to his lap.

“Awww,” she laments, heartbroken as if he had to endure having his head sawn clean off, “you had a migraine? And you still had us over? Oh poor, sweet daddy!” she shifting in his lap to rub at the back of his head and into his hair and he tries to mumble assurances that it’s better now but they get lost in the glorious blubber of her frankly unnecessarily huge breasts that happen to be smashed in his face as she attends to his head. “I’ll put some oils on it- I’ve got a bathtub, we could put you in tha-”

“-Baby girl,” He laughs, excavating his chin from her cleavage, “it’s better now, I was just explainin’ the faulty mechanics. I ain’t always so stove up, didn’t want you thinking-“

“Oh I wouldn’t care!” she gushes intensely and he’s very worried that streak of the insane fan in her is larger than he thought but it’s too late, she’s caught him in her big tittied, huge nippled, anklet wearing trap, “I’d lick you and suck you and wiggle you inside me soft no matter what, all my days! I don’t care!”

“T-that’s real touching.” he murmurs in a daze. She’s perfect, every man’s wet dream - and he’s the damn lucky bastard that gets to have her. And he can’t even make full use of her.

“I’m gonna give you a back massage with some marjoram oil-“

“No, no you’re not.” he grabs at her to keep her forcefully on his lap, “I don’t need no hippy potions, I ain’t no witch’s experiment or an ole man. I’m here to eat beaver. Or…baby seal, with that bald thing.”

“You sure? I-“

“Gigi, be good.” he puts his finger to her lips and she freezes like a chastised bambi. “Good baby girl. Now you lay back f’me and spread those pretty legs. A man needs room to work his magic.”

“Ok.” she agrees in an excited whisper and tips out of his lap sideways onto the sheets, giving him a full view of her -nearly- naked self for the first time, completely serene and without artifice. He knew she'd be even worse without clothes, worse for his obsession and his indulgence and everything else but this -this is an Angel.

God, he really adores women. Best idea ever to make ‘em, and to make them with fat boobies and lil holes to rub peckers into and sweet faces to paint slimey and cute widdle toes to rub your balls against.

“Ok, let’s see what we’re workin’ with here.” he smirks and gets on his belly with a grunt, heaving himself up the bedsheets and in between her long legs, taking his fingers and moving aside that stupid little string they call underwear these days. “Oh lord, look at that.” he appreciates the pretty pink beauty of her and the smooth pale skin of her kitty, so delicate and girly and -he’s a little smitten. More than he expected. Which was an oversight with the way she keeps blowing his hopes out of the water.

“You’re the prettiest thing I ever did lay eyes on, sweetheart.” he swears with his whole heart, shuffling in closer and kissing her thigh.

Gigi cranes her neck and unsatisfied with the narrowed visuals says, “Wait, lemme prop up.” and stuffs a few pillows behind her back and sits up, legs spread wide and her smile pleased like she’s about to watch her favorite film, “Ok, now I can watch you. Go ahead, daddy.”

“Umm, alright.” he clears his head once more at the thought of her wanting to watch and dives in. Somehow he gets the feeling if he doesn’t go for it she’ll come in seconds anyway she’s so high strung and then he’ll have barely gotten his taste.

Furry, silky, warm -that’s how his hair and head feel beneath her hands, his fuzzy sideburns and his hair so little styled after the pool fluffs and tufts adorably and his cheeks puff out with his vigorous exertions and his sideburns chafe her thighs and his hands are everywhere at once -Gigi watches all these things and marvels in her heart at it. He’s very voracious about it while still having a great deal of -nuance- to it. Like a man who is in a watermelon eating competition, he may look rabid but if he’s won a few then he must have a calculated method down amid the mess.

The predominant feeling is comfortable intimacy. They are both surprised by it, she by the naturalness of watching the most famous face on planet earth smeared from her pleasure and rapturously content with her taste, he with the pleasant rightness of her legs squeezing his shoulders snuggly and her hands petting his hair away from his sweaty forehead. His scalp sweats the more he works and she rubs his neck as if mindful of the lurking migraine, as if she can only thank him for his touches by returning them.

She praises his tongue in breathy awe, “so long and pink and wet and oh-“

Nose buried in pink and wet and sweet womanliness Elvis hums his agreement. Peeking up through his lashes he can see the one hand not cradling his head is industriously tugging on those dark, large nipples of hers. He grinds himself against the bed on pure instinct. Another day, another night, he’s gotta get those large nipples of hers in his mouth.

She calls him beautiful. Again and again. “Beautiful, you’re so beautiful, worse in person, more than I ever imagined, in my wildest-“

Again and again. Beautiful, she says. More than dreams. More, he’s more and more till Gigi’s praise dissolve into shrieks and pants, screams that whimper out into the low apartment ceiling as the afternoon sun dims, as he keeps going until they build again. And again, her hips are nothing if not insistent on grinding up against his mouth. The room smells of sweat and pleasure and sun-in. She’s vocal in her gratitude, persistent in returning his touch, petting him to say thank you when she finds she can’t form coherent sentences.

Eventually there is no more.

Just peace, and him, heaving back his breath against her thighs in a pussy-drunk stupor, and her shaking from seizing one too many times. His scalp is burning beneath her hands, his neck too. Inflamed and angry, she thinks of how much he loves to give. Wished she’d looked at the clock, something to tell the girls about. Just how many minutes, hours, days? he’d spent pleasing her.

“Good?” he asks in a hopeful little slur and the pink of his cheeks and the shiny glimmer on his nose is so childlike and content in his pouty snooze that her heart melts and she curls over him as best she can and squeezes.

“It was everything.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she breathes into his burning ear, “I’m hooked.”

His laugh rumbles the whole bed, “Me too, baby girl.”

Their skin is sticky and tacky, they adhere to each other in their embrace. He is soothed by such a clasp as theirs while the longer he lays on his stomach the more keenly aware he is of how it hurts. Now’s the time to roll over and mention something about needing to get back. Now would be it, but for some reason the words don’t come and he lays on his knotted gut, suppressing winces and biting his lip against the pinches, trying to recall the sweetness of her, what made this worth it. Her breath fans his neck, wafting across his cheek -cuddle bug, he thinks, fond. Home, he should go home, but never has it felt so utterly foreign. Like a figment of what he wants and needs, like Christmas morning without your mama. A house is just a shell without heart. He wonders if his boys have got the front den cleaned yet of barbecue and would-be-in-laws.

“Do you need to get off your…head?” Gigi whispers softly and it startles him. She’s got a point, all his blood is rushing to his brain the way he’s laying.

“Probably should.” he grunts and slowly, like a pair of cats, they uncurl from around each other to be face to face for the first time since they shared such pleasure. They’re both a little pink and their smiles are too wide. He wonders at the happiness she’s releasing, marveling that he put it there. He’s got to be careful or it won’t be too long before this little girl realizes she’s got him wrapped around her finger already.

She rubs her nose against his. Another way to kiss.

She asks him if he needs a drink.

“I’ll help you with your philosophy homework.” He promises instead, it’s a reason to see her again. And soon. A reason to see her again and a hint it can’t be tonight.

Tonight he needs his pills, his bed, an enema and god knows what else just to make it till morning. He could cry from how badly he wants to be spontaneous, to go to a girl’s place, make love, cuddle like this and when he says he has to go and her eyes well up with tears at the prospect of his absence -he’d like to be able to say he can stay.

“Hush it’s alright, I’ll stay. I’ve got you, no one’s gonna ever leave you cold again.” something like that. Instead he says he can help with her test. Instead he tries to fool himself into being something less than heartbroken at how even the simplest thing in his life has to be a big production.

“Will you really?” Gigi’s face lights up at his piss poor offer.

“Promise.” he repeats.

“And will you promise me you’ll let me repay you?” She presses slyly, her hand petting down his chest and over the swell of his gut. Some childlike weariness in him wants her to rub it better. He remembers feeling the same way as a child regarding his mother’s touch and despite the fact that Gigi’s a baby girl - his baby girl - he trusts she’d make one Gladys Love Presley proud, doing her best to take care of him.

“Mmmaybe.” he looks down at her with playful suspicion.

“Promise me!” she demands, kicking her feet and flipping over to look down at him, swinging a leg to straddle him again.

He can’t help the wince his face flashes at the pressure of her hands from that high vantage. She flings them off him like she’s been burned, likes she’s the one who got hurt. “Oh shoot, sorry, sorry.” she gasps, her eyes wide and blue and tearful, “It’s bad, huh?”

As if not being able to get it up weren’t chastisement enough for his ego, now there’s this. “Uh huh.” he grits and the stab passes for the moment.

“Do you have something for it?” she hopes, “Do you need to go home?.”

There’s the out he needs. Didn’t even have to say it himself. Melancholy descends like fog over his soul but he reminds himself it is what is, he’s better off than most. So what if he can’t have sleepovers on whim or shit like a normal human or skip having his blood pressure checked every goddamn morning -he has a lot, and he got to eat Gigi’s silky smooth bare pussy. Today was a good day. Not even a wash, it was a good day, she made it a good day.

“Yeah, I need to get home.” he sounds every bit as despondent as he feels about it and he hopes she’ll take that as the compliment intended.

“Ok!” she chirps without missing a beat, jumping up in nothing but his open jacket, skipping out the bedroom door, left turn into what seems to be the kitchen.

Well, she handled that better than expected. Elvis almost hopes she’s still orgasm-happy and it doesn’t reflect her readiness to have him out of her place. He idly flicks at the stack of papers to get some impression of where the test is stumping her. He fidgets with his zipper and closes his jacket back up, coloring at the memory of letting her expose him like that.

She comes bouncing back within the minute holding a glass of water and presenting it with authority, “Now you just drink this daddy, it’s got fennel tincture in it and will help your stomach. You just drink that while I pack my bag. I’ll be fast, don’t worry,” she goes on as he tries to compute what she means and sniffs her concoction warily, “I pack light anyways and we can always come back for the rest of my stuff later.”

Come back. For her stuff. Don’t worry -she packs light.

The fennel wafts around him, the smell of licorice and fairgrounds and his mama’s hand in his and daddy winning him that stuffed tiger. Fennel, for his stomach. He shakes his head. His tongue feels fuzzy.

Come back. For her stuff. She packs light.

She is coming with him. That’s what she must mean, he realizes as he drinks her awful drink and watches with teary eyes her bare ass bend over to grab jeans from a dresser and throw them in a duffel bag. Like Graceland is summer camp.

Come back for the rest later, she’d said. She is coming back with him, just knowing she’s welcome. He didn’t even have to beg, to ask, to suggest, to hint. Send a limo, nothin, just eat pussy and now she’s gonna live with him. Let her press her skin against his own just once and suddenly, he’s never gonna be lonely again.

She bounces into the bathroom and comes out with the damn lemon shampoo, to match the lemon conditioner abandoned on the floor.

Cheap drug store shit.

“Hell no, you’re not bringing that stuff into my house.” he lays down the law, his one condition and the first time he’s vocalized any acknowledgment of her entitlement to his hospitality, “You’ll use mine till we get you sorted.”

“I like the way you smell.” she admits, dropping the bottles there in the middle of the floor. That's that sorted.

It’s still not sunk in fully as Elvis drives his quite recognizable beast of a car through Memphis’ now dark streets, while Gigi sits beside him with her white stack of papers catching the street lights glare as they pass. His giddy joy at her willingness and her entitlement to stay with him is overshadowed by the cold lump in his throat, panicking about how to keep a shred of dignity intact or retain an iota of her attraction for him when she becomes aware of his routines.

“You’re gonna teach me how to help, right?” she asks very soberly from her side, as sober as he’s ever seen her.

“Whatcha mean, baby doll?” he tries to keep his tone light.

“You’ll teach me and show me how to care for you, right?” she presses again, “I wanna take care of you, like you take care of me.”

Simple as that -for her. He grunts out something she mistakes for a yes.

Elvis puffs harder on his lit cigar and feels like he’s gonna choke, ends up rolling his window down, gulping in fresh air as Gigi does it on her side too, hanging her head out the window and whooping into the night. He wonders what might distract her while he slips away this evening, maybe a movie or maybe the hot tub or maybe the horses. Maybe Tammy is still there like a bad penny and will keep her distracted. Tonight Elvis would welcome that. Only tonight, and his hand tightens on the steering wheel in frustration over his own worn out body and how it just can’t walk this stuff off anymore.

She’s still hanging out the window, she looks so young like that. His vision blurs.

Somehow Gigi’s feet have ended up in his lap by the time Sam’s letting them into the front gate. She wiggles her toes under his belly, rubbing at the soft skin. Grinning at him suggestively, like a fat man’s belly is the most sexy thing imaginable. He wants to snort.

“Think they saved us any barbecue?” she grins.

“No, it’s all in Gingersnaps’s hair and I ain’t touchin’ that ever again.” he allows himself to be a bit of bastard, it can’t be wrong when it makes Gigi giggle in maniacal glee in the passenger seat, secure now in having her Daddy’s attention. “I’m in the mood for peanut butter anyway.” he retorts.

Hope y’all enjoyed! Your “bugging” and “screaming” is music to my ears, fuel to my fire and keeps me writing, please never hold back -this is a safe space for feral little Elvis loving rodents…like you and me.

If you’d like to be tagged in this particular series please drop a note below. I’ll admit I’m disorganized and have trouble keeping all the requests sorted when they’re scattered, what I do check regularly are the requests in the notes for chapters -and I do manage to get those added. So, if you’ve put in a request and I’ve failed ya, or if you’re new and would like to be added, please pop a note below. Xoxo

@prompted-wordsmith

@parodsal000

@ab4eva

@stylespresleyhearted

@presleyenterprise

@kendralavon7

@coolgirl462

@colahola

@lillypink

@stephthestallion

@vintageshanny

@landmermaid12

@ashtag2887

@notstefaniepresley

@butlersluvbot

@steph-speaks

@eliseinmemphis

@lookingforrainbows

@dkayfixates

@ellie-24

@memphisflash1935-1977

@marriedtopresley

@powerofelvis

@thatbanditqueen

@elvisabutler

@butlersxbirdy

@heartbrake-hotel

@fav-fanficssss

@austinbutlersbaby

@freudianslumber

@kxnnxy

@kingdomforapony

@be-my-ally

@crazymadpassionatelove

@that-hotdog

@missmaywemeetagain

@fallinlovewithurlove

@richardslady121

@lilycherries123

@18lkpeters

@xenaspace3-blog

@lil-mamas-obsessions

@father-of-2cats

@helen06dreamer

@returntopresley

[universeofmuses]

//Hey everyone, not sure if anyone is really looking at my blog anymore. I wanted to just say that I’m ok and doing ok. I’m sure you’ve see that I am having a bit of a hard time with most notably anxiety related to work and depression over the weekend related to being single and alone. This struggle has been difficult to bear, but I’m still marching forward as best as I can despite these feelings taking such deep hold over me and my daily life.

Tonight I saw the documentary about the dark side of the power rangers, and when the topic of Jason David Frank came up it was a bit difficult to watch because of everything that was involved, but then something came to me. We all start life simply, life is simple and the worries and problems of the world are non-existent (if we’re lucky). Though as time goes on life grows more complex and complicated, the worries and problems start to push in. Just the fascination that we start things, school, a job, a hobby, whatever and it starts out simply and then slowly things grow more complicated till you find yourself at a point and wonder how you had gotten there.

This is where I find myself tonight, thinking about a point in my past when I was happy, when things were simple, when things were good and I look at where I am now and wonder how did things evolve to where I am now. One such instance is dating and my depression with it. When I was younger I focused on my studies, made sure to get through school and then went to college and focused on getting through it. I didnt focus on dating anyone, didnt get a girl pregnant because I knew these things could derail me from that. Then when I did want to find someone I found 2 girls (obviously not at the same time) that I had to hide an interest of mine, that I had to change myself a bit to fit around them. Both obviously ended and ended very poorly for me, despite my respect for their needs and wants, not being someone who cheats or anything on someone that I love, though it seems that same respect was never paid back in any sort of way. So that leads me to today, that I dont understand how someone who could have a beautiful woman, a sweet gal, a woman that adores them to no end, and even shares the same interest, that they could cheat on the person they ‘love’, when people like me who would adore that person back and love them to no end cant find love to save their life. Meanwhile my only options are to be with someone who I am not attracted to or take in a number of kids.

The other thing too has just been how complex my life has gotten with work. When I had started this job 10 years ago, it was simple. I go in, do my job, log off. Now things have gotten complex with a manager that is a petty vindictive jerk, a history of a small # of request that had gone astray because of honest to goodness human error despite rare occurrences. And over arching questions of what will happen if I lose my job? What will happen if I cant get another job? What will happen when my parents die? How will I sustain myself? So many complex worries have grown over the past 10 years, and I haven’t the foggiest idea on how to solve or quell them. This fear comes at me every night, drives me to drink every night enough to just calm down enough to allow myself to sleep.

I have issues, but I’m working through them in therapy which is putting a strain on me in other aspects, but I’m trying to make it work. All of this to say that I have issues and I’m trying to work through them as best I can, but a lot of days are really really tough. I do want to write I do miss writing with everyone but it’s just been hard to focus on something other than my anxieties, than my depression. I want to come back I miss it. I dont know if anyone is still interested in writing with me but I am interested in writing. Let me know if you want to keep writing with me.

I hope you all are well and I miss you all and hope to get back to you all with rps and stuff again!

[fictionalsillies]

🧡💚 for Jaw Bone, Molecule and Bea, whenever u got time ^.^

Thank you very much for the asks ! :D 

🧡~ Is there a specific image/scene of your f/o that makes you especially happy whenever you see it ? ( if there is more than one feel free to add as many as you like ! ) Is there a specific image/scene of your f/o that makes you especially happy whenever you see it ? ( if there is more than one feel free to add as many as you like ! ) 

☠️ Jaw Bone ☠️

Boy - literally every single frame of his makes me happy , but I mostly love the ones where he’s smiling : he’s just so cute ://D ❣️❣️

Also one of my top favorite scenes of his that little moment of JB listening to music on his headphones … he’s literally just vibing - he’s just like me fr :’]👍💚

💫 Molecule Man 💫

Just realized that I accidentally missed him when posting this reply - I’m so sorry about that ! I’ll fix it right away :

I know I’ve posted these screenshots of his before , but there’s something about Molecule looking so soft and genuinely happy that brings so much warmth to my heart - I love this alien guy so much , he’s amazing :’//] 💕

🐊 Bea 🐊

There are quite a few moments of my favorite crocodile gal that I really like , but a scene of Bea that I’m always overjoyed to watch is when she’s laughing during the Fort Lucenne Mall hangout : she’s so precious , and seeing her having such a good time never fails to bring a smile on my face ^^ 💕

💚~ Has your f/o changed from the person they used to be before you became part of their life ? 

☠️ Jaw Bone ☠️

This one was answered here <— 

💫 Molecule Man 💫

This one was answered here <— 

🐊 Bea 🐊

It’s safe to say that after her mom unfortunately passed away during her senior year of high-school , leaving her to take care of her dad all on her own and forcing her to give up her dreams of going to college , Bea understandably gained quite a negative outlook on life : even in-game she’s constantly stressed out and full of worries , almost like she has no hopes for her future whatsoever …

I really do get where she’s coming from , which is why it’s really important to me to encourage Bea and always be there for her whenever she needs help or simply somebody to talk to : it’s easier to face hardships when you’re with someone you love after all , and I like to imagine that ever since we met Bea has grown to become more confident in her dreams and herself as a whole ❣️

She deserves to be happy and loved all day every day … she’s really a wonderful person , and it would mean the world to me to be able to make her smile and believe in a better tomorrow :) ❤️❤️

{ link to the ask game }

[cinnamontails-ff]

Writing Interview Tag Game

Thank you so much for the tag @roguishcat ❤ I love getting to chat about these things.

When did you start writing?

I know this sounds cheesy, but the answer is probably as soon as I could hold a pen. My grandma still has stacks of little stories I wrote (and illustrated ...) when I was a kid. Very cute, but I'm glad I gave up on drawing in the meantime.

I've been writing on and off ever since, but it wasn't until I was in my mid twenties that I decided I'd actively pursue a career in writing. I wrote a few original novels, none of which were ever successful in the world of traditional publishing, then got into fanfiction as a way of rekindling my joy. Once I'm done with my current fic, I'm ready to try with traditional publishing again. Maybe it'll work this time, maybe not, but I guess the bottom line is that I'll always write in some capacity.

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

I really like stories that are a little unsettling. Not horror, per se (I'm a coward), but those underlying creepy vibes, especially when they come wrapped up in beautiful language and actually end up culminating in something cool toward the end of the story. "Uprooted" by Naomi Novik comes to mind, "The Devil and the Dark Water" by Stuart Turton, and "Portrait of the Pale Elf" by @larvasmoon.

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

Terry Pratchett is the person who first sold me on the English language. Prior to his books, I'd never seen anyone use English in such a fun, cheeky yet poignant way, and it's definitely something I find myself emulating (all while hopefully putting my own spin on it). I have been compared to him a few times and it's always made my day.

Oh, and I guess Stephen Sommers because people compare my fic to "The Mummy" a lot. Which honestly, is just as flattering.

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

At my desk, with a mechanical keyboard. Not because I'm a hipster but because I have absolutely destroyed my laptop's keyboard and then the shop where I'd buy the replacement keys stopped selling my model and I refuse to replace the whole laptop.

I need a sense of quiet when I write. Usually, I write early in the morning before I go to work, and it's honestly my favorite time of the day. It's dark and quiet, I'm all alone, and the day still feels so fresh and full of possibility. I cannot write in public; I find it too distracting. Occasionally, when I'm very in the zone, I'll edit at work but it's never quite as productive.

What's your most effective way to muster up a muse?

Go and hunt that bitch down. I know many people love romanticizing their craft and if it helps them to light scented candles or play aesthetic playlists - go for it! For me, the most powerful tool is routine. Knowing that every morning I will sit down and I will write, whether I feel like it or not. Sometimes I drag my feet the whole time, sometimes things click into place and suddenly, I'm having the best time ever. But I will always put words on the page and for me, there's no better feeling than having written (past tense).

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

You probably know this, but I really, really love stories where a regular guy/gal saves the day. It makes me so happy to see the evil vampire lord taken out by the mousy accountant, the fountain pen striking harder than the sword. I think it's because I like to read about real people. People that you could have met in real life, that seem simple on the outside, but have all this strength locked up inside. It's why I dislike stories with picture perfect beauty goddesses that always have the perfect quip, always take out their opponents with 1 blow because they're just that special.

Normal people are special, too. You just need to look a little harder to see.

What is your reason for writing?

I believe it was Brandon Sanderson who said "Stories are like real life but with the boring parts removed". That has really resonated with me. I think the beautiful thing about stories is that they can portray very real issues and conflicts in a way that is infinitely more satisfying because it's all been arranged just so. It can give you closure, it can make you see something in an entirely new light without feeling confrontational. It's like a really, really good conversation with the author and I hope that's what my writing feels like as well.

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

Two things. I love when readers point out specific lines they enjoyed and I love it when they tell me they reread my work. The term "comfort read" makes me particularly happy because that's exactly how I reread my favorite stories as well.

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

I think the most important part to me is that my stories feel real. I dislike pretentious, over-the-top writing where you can tell the author is trying super hard to sound clever or sexy or just drowns you in heaps of cheap, undeserved drama that never leads anywhere. With my stories, I want things to feel earned. Natural. Maybe you wouldn't have made those choices, but it makes sense that these characters would have and now we're looking at the very real consequences of their actions.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

Character voice, specifically in 3rd person limited. My favorite type of narration because I love getting into a character's head and making you see things through their eyes.

How do you feel about your own writing?

I think every writer struggles with their confidence here and there. I've gone through so many cycles in the past 1.5 years, it's kind of crazy. Going from constant failure in the world of publishing to writing your very first fanfiction just for fun and then having it blow up out of nowhere, all these people showering you in praise, only for the vast majority of them to disappear immediately afterward is a lot to process. We write for ourselves, yes, but as a writer, you can't help but take reader responses to heart. Fortunately, I've never let it influence what I write or how I write; it really only affects my mental state. I know what I like to read and those are the stories I am going to tell, whether they're successful or not.

Aww, this was fun! Tagging @larvasmoon @davenswitcher @pickel182 @karinamay @pouroverpaloma ❤ ❤ ❤

[abitlikelemon]

Before I get any further into the 1900's, let's take a quick moment to reflect back.

For anyone just joining us, I am currently playing through a cc free (ish) decades challenge. I'll post expanding on what the (ish) means at some point, but I'm doing this for a number of reasons, the big one is I want to know if you can do it. Can you dupe the vibes well enough to feel emersed during each decade? I've got all the packs. This is easily a thousand-dollar game I now have. Yes, I am ashamed saying that. But, with all this money spent, I should be able to make this work.

With the 1890 decade complete, I wanted to share how I dressed or wished I had dressed my sims during this decade. Posts like this, shout out to out to Ashubii, really helped me along the way- so I want to return the favor to the community.

To start: -I am using zero CC clothing, hair, accessories etc. -I do have some "body" cc (lashes, skin overlay, body blush) -I am not a CAS simmer, so I'm not revolutionary in my styling -Between the limitations of what is available in game and my basic knowledge of the decade, don't expect accuracy just inspiration -If you want to know what pack an item is from, please ask! I am very WCIF friendly

I think it's also a good callout that I played the 1890s very 'country' focused. The 1900s outfits I have planned, I think, could easily work for 1890s if you were starting in more of a 'city' so come back for that post if you need fancier inspiration!

Here we have our main man, Bobert Pancakes showing off his everyday, formal, athletic, sleep, party, and cold weather outfits. He was a farmer, so his outfits were simple, and repetitive. His swim wear was his sleepwear, minus the socks, and his hot weather was his athletic wear plus the bandana from his every day- so I just saved a little room and left those off.

Here's Eliza 'I don't have a favorite child' Pancakes rocking an extra outfit because you know she has to be showing off. I have her everyday, formal, athletic, sleep, party, hot weather, cold weather outfits. Eliza is pretty country, maybe a little more than she would have liked. So, her outfits are also simple, repetitive, but with an extra bow. Her swimwear was a dress from Eco Lifestyle- but she never swam so I'm leaving it out, though you can see mouse nose Nora wear it in some gameplay screenshots.

Speaking of Nora! I grabbed her to show off some teen outfits. Though, these are more outfits I wished I dressed her and Hazel in. I also grabbed Arthur, Herbert, and Walter to show off their actual outfits. I've got, for the boys, an everyday for Walter and Arthur and party for Herbert. Nora is styling everyday, hot weather, and party. I dressed the teens, mostly, like adults because teenagers weren't really a thing in 1890, so I imagine they are wearing a lot of hand-me-downs. What I like about the outfits above is that they blend in the 1890s with newer fashion I will be including in the 1900s, I wish I did more of that sooner. I imagined those pieces were the few new items Eliza made for them.

So! Here we have Thomas rocking everyday, formal, party, hot weather, and cold weather. Hazel is wearing everyday, sleep, and formal. Children are tough to dress. Or, rather, dressing Hazel and the gals in this age group was painful. Some of her outfits are so bad, I won't share them. If you wanted to get a little CC in your life, this would be a spot I'd consider adding to. I was feeling so limited because all the skirts are short or very themed to Island Living. Swatches also were very modern, so there just felt like a million restrictions. You can see in the rest of the outfits, I have a preferred color pallet, so Hazel stands out (to me) like a sore thumb in comparison.

I'm grouping infants and toddlers together and, for the first time, showing off Aunt Sylvia and Uncle Harold's children. This is where my lack of interest in CAS really stands out. I do actually think this age group has good options but... I don't careeeeee. Again, I'm not a CAS simmer and this is where it shows. Generally, my toddlers and infants aren't going to events or honestly even leave the house. They are also this ae for only a few days. So, I repeated these looks for almost every little one. This is also probably why I couldn't tell the Pancakes' kids apart until they hit childhood/teens.

I hope this was as fun to skim over as it was to compile! Again, super open to questions or honestly suggestions. I'm having so much fun with this challenge I'm already thinking about doing it again, so I'd love ideas for the next round!

[softguarnere]

HEY BABY GIRL!!!!

It's your girl, your sweet cheese, your good time gal (someone please shut me up omfg). Now...you know i am a Joe Toye lover, and if you've seen me recently...he is the only man on my mind. I was wondering if you might indulge me a little with a Joe Toye x reader where they're besties since young and both end up being paratroopers together but then something happens and he thinks he's lost her but she's actually fine and maybe like fluffy reunion...idk tbh i'd take anything you write and eat it up so do whatever. Love youuuuu xx

Seven

Joe Toye x reader

A/N: OMG BELLA I MISSED YOU!!!! 💖 WELCOME BACK BABE! And of course we have a fic with a T Swift reference for you hehehe (This is written for the fictional depictions from the show - no disrespect to the real life veterans!) Thanks so much for the request, and I hope you like this 💕 Warnings: mentions of war, death

You would kill him if you knew where he was right now. And yet, here he is. Trying to reassure and comfort your mother while sipping coffee from her finest set of teacups. The same teacups, he’s now realizing, that you used to serve him water in as children, calling it tea while the two of you played house, discussing the workplace as if you had any idea what went on there, while the adults around you struggled through the lack of those very places during the thirties. It could just be a coincidence, but after spending most of his life around her, Joe Toye would like to think that he knows your mother better than that.

“And you know how hardheaded she is,” your mother is ranting, cutting a fresh slice of poundcake and placing it on Joe’s plate. “She isn’t going to listen to me. Or anyone for that matter, now that her mind is made up.”

Oh, Joe knows exactly how hardheaded you are. In no small part thanks to the times that he accidentally clobbered that very head during neighborhood football games.

“(Y/N) feels good about this, Mrs. (Y/L/N),” Joe says, unsure of what he’s supposed to say during your mother’s hour of need. She’s right, after all – your mind has been made up, and it will not be changed.

“But do you?” Your mother fixes him with a hard gaze, raised brow and all.

You were with Joe when he went to enlist. He had watched your eyes sparkle when they fell onto the sign stating that women should inquire within about an exciting new opportunity that would allow them to serve their country like never before. And he had been by your side when you both left the building, both holding papers and smiling at the thought that you would be becoming paratroopers – together.

“Yes. (Y/N) is strong. She’ll be good in – “

“Joesph,” your mother interrupts. The façade finally falls as she collapses into the chair across the table from him, head in her hands. “She’s my baby! What if something – oh, God forbid! – happens to her? I couldn’t live with myself.”

Joe is by her side in an instant. When he announced that he was joining the Airborne, everyone had clapped him on the back and congratulated him. You have not had the same experience. While everyone keeps assuring Joe that he’ll do great things, the same people have been cautioning you to be careful. Some have even warned you that you should just give up now. And it’s all only served to strengthen your determination, with every underestimation making you more sure that this is what needs to be done.

All that is to say, Joe has no clue what to say to your mother. She needs to be comforted. But he’s out of his depth.

“I’ll watch out for her,” he finally manages.

Beneath the comforting hand that Joe has placed on her shoulder, your mother freezes. Watery eyes gaze up at him. “You – you will?”

“Of course.” The two of you have grown up together. You’ve always been friends. Why would he stop looking out for you now?

Your mother throws her arms around his neck, wrapping him up in a tight hug. “Oh, thank you!”

Joe is struggling to come up with something more to say when the sound of the front door opening and shutting saves him. Your footsteps echo through the front of the house as you call out in greeting.

“Ma! I’m home!” Stepping into the kitchen, you cross your arms, leaning onto the doorframe as you let out a loud sigh. “Wow, you would almost think that Joe is the child that you’re sending off to war instead of me.” You smile, and anyone could see how much you love your mother.

She wipes her teary eyes and pats Joe’s arm as he stands, returning to his seat. “I’m going to miss having someone around who doesn’t get into trouble all the time,” she teases as she cuts a slice of poundcake for you.

Something about the change of topic tells Joe that she would rather not have you find out about their conversation. His watching over you can be their little secret. And a job that he’ll readily accept.

After all, he tells himself as he watches you laugh at something your mother says. You would do the same for him.

--

The adrenaline from taking Brécourt Manor still hasn’t worn off yet. Joe is laughing at something that Guarnere said as they head back down the road. Something about this moment makes him feel invincible. This is why he chose to become a paratrooper, he realizes.

More men and women have congregated in the town since he’s been gone. Finally glancing at his watch reveals that he’s been gone most of the day. Wow, really? It didn’t feel like the assault took that long at all. At least it kept him busy, instead of sitting around here, waiting.

Joe scans the crowd, hoping to catch sight of you. When he doesn’t immediately spot you, he stops one of the other female paratroopers as she passes.

“Hey, Lilian. You seen (Y/N) around?”

Lilian pauses, her pretty green eyes widening slightly. “Oh. No.” She bites her lip, holding back something more.

“What is it?” Joe presses.

Her hesitation is not a good sign. Then she blurts out, “No one has seen her since the jump.”

“You mean – “

“She was supposed to be in my drop zone – but she wasn’t.”

The reality of it all sets in. (Y/N) didn’t reach the drop zone. Did she even make it out of the plane? God, he promised your mother that he would look out for you. Yet, here he is, with no clue where you might be.

He may have only just reached Europe, but he’s already failed his mission.

--

The dust is settling over Carentan when the incongruous cheer and subsequent peel of laughter hits Joe’s ears. Somewhere off in the distance, someone is celebrating. Meanwhile, he’s guarding Doc Roe as the medic moves along the streets, inspecting the bodies strewn over them to see if there’s anybody still alive that he can help.

“Thanks for doing this,” Roe says as he stands once more, moving on to another body.

“Hmm?” Joe snaps his attention back to the moment at hand. “Oh, no problem.”

Except there is a problem. He’s trying to catch a glimpse of every face as Doc Roe checks the bodies. He tries to make out names on dog tags, dreading that one of them might belong to you. He couldn’t stand it if he found you here, like this. What would he tell your mother? How would he ever erase that awful image from his mind? Of the little girl that he once played house with, lying motionless on these cold streets? It’s no better to imagine you going down in a plane doing a fiery corkscrew as it nosedives to the unforgiving soil of a foreign land. But at least he didn’t have to see that.

The terrible job done, he follows Roe back to the rest of the company. Despite everything that just happened, a few smiles can be expected, along with congratulatory words. But this is more than that.

A small group of men mill about, talking, smiling, as they watch a smaller group of the female paratroopers huddled together in a group, all talking loudly and looking excited. From the corner of his eye, he can see Doc Roe glance at him, but before the medic can ask what’s going on, the crowd parts and Joe freezes.

There, in the middle of it all, is you.

“(Y/N)?” It comes out louder than he means for it to, and his feet are already carrying him, double time, in your direction before he realizes what he’s doing.

You look up, your eyes widening. “Joe!” You launch yourself at him, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him in close.

Something rushes through Joe’s chest like a flash of lightning, too many feelings at once. There’s shock, relief, and something that he can’t quite name. Not caring about getting written up for fraternizing, Joe hugs you back, holding you close, lest you slip away from him again.

“Jesus Christ. I thought I lost you,” he says into your hair.

“I’m fine, as usual. Can’t believe you would doubt me like that.” Your voice is light, teasing, but your grip on him tightens. The usual confident swagger doesn’t leave your voice, but you admit in a quieter voice, “I, uh – I missed my drop zone. Had a hell of a time trying to find the rest of the company. But here I am!”

When the embrace ends, Joe still isn’t ready to let go. He leaves his hands on your shoulders, studying you. And you, for your part, hold onto his webbing. “I was just worried about you, is all.”

You nod. “I was worried about you, too. I – “

“Easy Company!” A booming voice interrupts. “We’re moving out!”

Quickly, while everyone is distracted, you raise yourself up on your tiptoes and press a kiss to his cheek. Heat rushes to Joe’s cheeks. He feels his eyes widen. You just smile at him, casual as can be.

“We’ve been friends since we were seven. You can’t get rid of me that easily, Joseph.” Then, you rejoin your friends, leaving him to replay the scene over and over in his mind.

He turns to watch you go, unable to move his feet from where they suddenly appear to be stuck to the ground. He’s held in place by the weight of his realization – the emotion that he couldn’t name was love, for you.

[youcouldmakealife]

Books of 2023

I missed a year, but I’m back with my books of the year. This year there was a pretty big dip in reading from me (75% of my reading in 2022, and only 60% compared to 2021), partly because, well, eye recovery, but also, you know. Life.

I’m just going to do a top 10 this year — unfortunately I hit a bit of a slump in how many standouts I read as well as how much I read, but I do heartily recommend everything in that top 10. They’re in no real order, except for the first, which is a cheat in the form of a series.

The Thursday Murder Club, Richard Osman

So this is a weird thing where I rated the first 3 stars, but figured it was good enough to read the second, which got 4 stars, as did the third. Finally the fourth, which was my only 5 star novel of the year, and made me weep like a baby. So if you read the first and didn’t bother with the rest — this gets so much better as it goes.

The Trees - Percival Everett

This is actually the first book I finished in 2023, and it set a tone that the rest of the year sadly did not match. I mean, other than the tone of the book, which is razor sharp, over the top satire, which this year did, in fact, live up to. I just discovered Everett in 2022 with Telephone, which I also enjoyed, and am looking forward to going through his many works.

Time Shelter - Georgi Gospodinov

Really enjoyable literary fiction that reminds me of a lot of my favourite works to come out of Eastern Europe in the 70s and 80s.

How to Survive History: How to Outrun a Tyrannosaurus, Escape Pompeii, Get Off the Titanic, and Survive the Rest of History's Deadliest Catastrophes - Cody Cassidy

This is the kind of highly specific and irrelevant barring time travel information I need (not sarcasm).

Middlemarch - George Eliot

It took me like 5 months to read this monster and I enjoyed every minute of it. Eliot is so fucking good at characterisation. Absolute masterpiece of a book. Only thing that kept it from being 5 stars was, well, see; five months.

Doppelganger: a Trip into the Mirror World - Naomi Klein.

As surreal as it is fascinating.

Giovanni’s Room - James Baldwin

A reread. Still absolutely devastating. Still has some of the sharpest lines I’ve ever read.

Ultra-Processed People - Chris Van Tulleken

Should have changed my eating habits. Did not change my eating habits.

Strong Female Character - Fern Brady

Not much of a memoir gal, but this was an exception.

Gentle Writing Advice - Chuck Wendig

My favourite book of writing advice from a horror author. Genuinely a lot of shit that I needed to hear.

Speaking of advice, I read a whack ton of self-help adjacent books for various reasons this year, and these are a few standouts:

How to Keep House While Drowning, The Perfectionist’s Guide to Losing Control, Unmasking Autism: Discovering the New Faces of Neurodiversity, Unbroken: The Trauma Response is Never Wrong.