#elise series 1

[untouchvbles]

Lotus Elise at Waukesha Cars & Coffee (2024) - Meet 4 in Waukesha, WI.

[girl4music]

Finished Season 1 of CARMILLA. I didn’t expect this web series to be so plot heavy. But I can take plot heavy so long as the characterization doesn’t suffer. Which it definitely didn’t. Not only do the two main protagonists get their due with this, the side and recurring characters get some good representation and development too. Which, for a short series, is pretty impressive. Told you it can be done if intended.

There’s also (surprisingly) really good writing in this web series. Like the pacing is good, the execution of the plot lines and arcs are well-written. Obviously because they can’t have a lot of action (low budget web series, after all) a lot of what actually happens to evolve the plot has to be off-screen and explained. Which isn’t my favourite thing in the world because I do prefer interpretation over exposition. Still - as the theme song for the series goes - love will have its sacrifices. I simply have to accept and embrace this factor due to the format and nature of the content.

I wouldn’t say I’ve fallen in love with it by any means - at least not yet - but I did enjoy what I watched. And the slow burn progression for Hollstein was A++!

Really great chemistry between Carmilla and Laura. I liked the whole enemies-to-lovers vibe with them at first with Carmilla being the uninvited guest/roommate evolving into caring and loving friends, culminating in a romance in the end - which was the obvious and logical progression for their dynamic. And honestly, that’s all I want from WLW representation. Not just the depth and fleshing out of characterization for both characters in the relationship, but also the reason and logic for them to be lovers in the first place. Which you rarely ever get these days because of the whole representation anxiety/ticking boxes issue. Just like there’d be reason and logic for straight characters to be together, there also should be for gay/queer characters to be together too. Or any romantic/sexual relationships represented in TV art/entertainment. You can’t just put them in just because it ticks a box. Thankfully this web series knows how to provide all of that so their relationship makes far more sense and doesn’t feel like it comes out of nowhere.

Great stuff! I’ll continue on to Season 2 tomorrow.

[ace-malarky]

👎 Is there someone your OC can’t stand, despite them being on the same side or sharing basic values?

🪤 What is one thing that could be used to lure your OC into a trap?

🔪 What does your OC think how they’ll die? 

:3

hey Monday!!

so I know I muttered in the tags about probably answering these for Maverick, but have you considered. I might have lied?

Anyway, Elise! Magic Thieves!

👎 Is there someone your OC can’t stand, despite them being on the same side or sharing basic values?

I've probably mentioned before, once or twice, but she really can't stand Skir, and. well. the feeling's mutual (ish). He mostly thinks she's a child who will never understand what he's getting at so why should he explain.

She mostly thinks he's puffed up and self important and too concerned with making money and a name for himself

Obviously, they're the main grift team and have to spend a lot of time pretending to be related (normally as uncle and niece)

(for the record, they absolutely can get past it For The Grift until Elise thinks "wait, maybe I'll get more sympathy points if I paint him as the uncaring/distracted uncle" ala sotp and then he just. Seethes. but can't do much about it)

🪤 What is one thing that could be used to lure your OC into a trap?

Elise tumbles into traps regularly because uh. well. some people aren't fond of their items being stolen, you know? Sometimes the tumbling into traps is planned, but largely it isn't. So; magical and cursed items that people don't just hand over to get fixed

Outside of a work circumstance, if Skren is threatened/missing, she will throw caution to the wind and hang the consequences

🔪 What does your OC think how they’ll die? 

Magic Thieves-era Elise thinks it'll be Skir's fault. She'll get too far into a heist and something'll go tits up and that'll be it for her, but she's really hoping that it'll at least be dramatic. maybe Lisetta will level the building for her

post Magic Thieves, she doesn't think about it too much. She's survived meeting dragons, so she might. think she's a little invincible actually? She flips between "nothing's worthy enough to kill me" and "at least make it dramatic AF"

[masoncarr2244]

[babysukiii]

fallingforyou (2)

// lottie matthew’s does not like you. you’re annoying, preppy, and way too nice. lottie doesn’t fail to show you time after time just how much she hates you. you finally get the message and steer clear of her, until senior year, when you both get paired up for a science project. //

warnings: asshole!lottie, sweet!reader, enemies to lovers, allusions to lottie’s shitty home life, lottie doesn’t know how to deal with her emotions. i picked random names for y/n’s siblings lol.

(this is part 2 of the series, read part 1 here.)

i read between the lines (i’ll take it one day at a time)

when you tell lottie ‘whenever’, you didn’t actually think she’d show up unannounced on wednesday evening. she’s wearing her soccer practice clothes, and her hair is tied in the usual pigtails it always is in whenever she practices. “y-you’re here.” you stutter a bit stupidly; you’re wearing an oversized sweatshirt and biker shorts that are so short lottie assumes you aren’t wearing any pants. your glasses are off, and your hair is let down in unruly curls. she’s never seen you so… unguarded. she isn’t used to it. usually you’re wearing some girly outfit and those glasses that are almost as dorky as misty quigley’s.

“you told me to come whenever. it’s whenever.” lottie blurts out, as she attempts to walk past you but she stops herself. “sorry.” she mutters as she leans down to untie her cleats. you shake your head quickly, stopping her, “oh it’s okay! you don’t have to do that, my mom doesn’t care about shoes.” you assure her and lottie slowly stands up straight, stopping herself from taking her cleats off. her parents would reprimand her time and time again for wearing shoes in the house. she always thought the rule was stupid, considering her parents didn’t even clean their house. the maids did it for them.

right away lottie notices your house is very loud. there are two younger boys watching tv in the living room, screaming as they talked to each other. “those are my brothers. ignore them. i do.” you dismissively explain as you begin to lead lottie towards the hallway. you stop halfway, turning to gaze at her, “did you want anything to drink? i have soda, water, apple juice…” you trail off, and lottie’s cheeks tint. she’s thirsty; she just finished practicing after all. she nods, “apple juice.” she answers. you nod as you rush to the kitchen, leaving her standing alone.

“y/n!!” a loud, angry, feminine voice from the end of the hall causes lottie to look over in the direction it’s coming from. she sees an older girl standing by an open bedroom, waiting for you to respond. “y/n!!” she shouts again, “she’s in the kitchen.” lottie answers bluntly, in order to avoid from hearing the college student shriek again. “i was getting juice! do you have to yell so loudly?” you ask cattily, in a tone lottie has never heard from you. lottie immediately remembers what you said the other day, about your older sister being a bitch.

your older sister marches up to you, fury in her eyes and for a second lottie is afraid the older girl might punch you in the face. “i need you to tell me if this outfit makes me look fat.” she says sternly and lottie watches the interaction in shock, as you shake your head. “no, i think it’s cute— hey is that my top!?” you shriek, and the older girl lets out a tinkling laugh as she rushes away and retreats back into one of the bedrooms. “elise!! i haven’t even worn that yet!“ you whine, but the only response you get is more obnoxious laughter.

you sigh, handing lottie a glass of cold apple juice. “i told you she’s a bitch.” you point out as you begin to lead lottie down the hallway. the room all the way at the end is yours, and as soon as lottie walks in she sees all the books on your shelves above your bed. she then notices how pink your bedsheets are, and how much color there is around the room. it’s not too much color, but it’s clear you’re unintentionally a very colorful person. there are polaroid pictures of you and your siblings around the room; some on your desk, some pinned on the wall. you even have a few of you and nat.

lottie sees the baby pictures and the ones of you and your older sister as babies in a bath tub together. another little girl who looks just like you seems to appear in the pictures after elise is already three, and you’re one. then after that, the little girl is by your side in every picture; practically glued to your side. you always look so happy in each snapped moment, even in the ones you aren’t smiling in, your eyes show you’re happy and safe. another thing lottie realizes she envies about you. your house is twice as small as hers, with twice as many people… it’s loud and the living room is messy…

… yet lottie likes your house more than hers, and she’s only been here for ten minutes. maybe that’s why natalie’s always over here; always talking about hanging out at your place after parties. you never went to any parties… lottie’s only seen you at one and after that you didn’t come to any more. you’ve never shown up at any of hers that’s for sure. “that’s my little sister.” you interrupt her thoughts, as you notice her eyeing the pictures. “you two look… close.” she observes, and you giggle as you take a seat on your bed, reaching for your backpack on the floor. “yeah, don’t tell elise but sabrina was technically my first friend ever. i tell her everything.” you admit and lottie nods.

“i’ve seen her around school. i didn’t even know she was your sister.” she confesses, causing you to shrug. “she’s working on being the most ‘popular’ girl in school. she’s been a little busy.” you half joke and lottie nods, “she’s on the jv cheer team, right?” she asks curiously as you flip open your chemistry notebook. “yup. she’s been following becky martin around like a puppy since the year started.” you answer curtly and lottie snorts at the obvious change in your tone. “what? jealous your little sister is becoming more popular than you?” she questions with a taunting sneer, and you frown.

“no, i don’t care about that. sabrina is pretty, of course she’s gonna be more popular. i just don’t think she needs to be like becky martin to do it.” you explain, and lottie is a bit surprised by the truthfulness of your response, and before she can reply, you’re beating her to it. “so i was thinking you could do all the physical presenting, and i can just recite everything and write it all. of course you’re gonna help by giving me your ideas and what you think…” you trail off, before looking at her. “is that okay with you?” you inquire, and she nods. “yeah, that’s fine. whatever.” she sounds like she doesn’t care and this makes you shake your head, holding yourself back from saying something snarky.

lottie isn’t the only one who gets snappy when she’s annoyed, you’re just better at biting your tongue than she is.

over the next few days, lottie shows up at your house after practice ends, and she stays until after the sun sets. she doesn’t mean to stay for that long. the first day she came over, she genuinely just lost track of time. for some reason being around you isn’t as torturous as she thought it would be. in fact, being around you, especially in a cozy home that seems full of lightheartedness and noise… is shockingly nice. particularly because she knows what’s waiting for her at home. absolutely nothing.

right away the other yellowjackets notice a change in lottie’s behavior. she isn’t snappy or angry anymore; sure she still talks shit whenever someone tries her, but that’s how lottie’s always been. natalie is the first who notices lottie isn’t scowling or grumpy anymore. mari is especially thankful for it during soccer practice. “so, y/n told me you’ve actually been a decent human being to her.” natalie starts, as she walks out of the locker room with lottie. it’s monday, and practice had just ended a little later than expected.

“if that’s what she wants to call it, then yeah, sure.” lottie mutters, as she makes her way to the parking lot. “hey, before you go, y/n told me to tell you not to show up to her house today. something came up.” natalie causes lottie to stop in her tracks, not even caring that her driver was waiting for her in the car. “what do you mean? she didn’t tell me anything.” lottie says and natalie chuckles, “said she couldn’t find you after lunch.” the blonde’s response is simple yet it doesn’t seem to satisfy lottie. “what came up? she literally said she was free every day after school.” lottie sounds annoyed now.

natalie looks a bit puzzled for a second, before a wave of realization hits her. “wait… are you actually upset you can’t go to y/n’s today? i figured you’d be thrilled.” natalie says in this unrecognizable way that makes lottie glare. “i’m not upset about anything! excuse me if i just want to get this project over with.” lottie hisses defensively, and natalie only smirks in response. “uh, okay matthews; whatever you say. just don’t show up at her house today, okay?” she asks warningly, making lottie roll her eyes. “i heard you the first time.” the raven haired girl snaps.

and just like that, lottie’s bad mood returns. who would’ve guessed that charlotte isobel matthews would actually enjoy being in your cramped house, and inside of your girly bedroom.

lottie knows you didn’t cancel yesterday on purpose. she knows you’ve been smiling more at her in the hallways, and she knows she’s definitely been nicer to you over the last few days than she ever has in her high school career. maybe it’s because instead of being stuck in her big empty house after school, she’s spending her days cramped up in your room, or noisy living room… the smell of whatever your mother had made for lunch still lingering in the air. lottie enjoyed it. perhaps that’s why the next day at school she takes her bad mood out on you. she bumps shoulders with you when you try to talk to her in the hall, walking past you as if she didn’t even hear you.

she didn’t even look back to see the frown on your face. you couldn’t help but feel confused and a bit sad; you figured you both were over this silly, pointless feud. this stupid, meaningless battle. but it was like lottie had other ideas. right when you thought you two were on the same page, she proved to you that you weren’t even reading the same book. you try not to think about lottie the entire day, but it’s hard. you notice her at lunch; she doesn’t even look at you. that isn’t abnormal, but she has this everlasting scowl on her face. when fifth period finally rolls around, you can’t help but feel a bundle of nerves budding inside the pit of your stomach. seeing lottie matthews always has this affect on you.

lottie’s already in class when you walk in, and this time, her head tilts to the side, and her dark eyes lock with yours. your breath gets lodged in your windpipe, and your step falters on your way to your seat. you try your absolute hardest not to look at lottie, or her insufferably pretty face. you take your note book and chemistry book out, along with a pencil, before averting your gaze forward. (even though the class hasn’t even started yet.)

the bell rings, and the rest of the students shuffle in, taking a seat before your teacher starts blabbering on and on. it’s usually easy to keep yourself busy during class; easy to focus… but for some reason, sharing a class with lottie matthews seems to be a curse. you can never seem to concentrate fully. when someone taps on your back, you turn around and jenny myers hands you a folded note. you furrow your eyebrows, as she gestures to lottie who’s not even bothering to look at you. you take the note and face forward again.

“you skipping out on me again today?”

you turn your head to glare at the raven haired jock after reading the note. she only smirks at your clearly agitated expression, feeling a wave of satisfaction at being the one to frustrate you. you quickly look down at the note, and scribble something back.

“i was at my grandmas house yesterday. sorry, jerk.”

you pass the note back to lottie, and you avert your attention onto ms. weinstein again who is now talking about another subject. you mentally curse lottie matthews for being so fucking distracting.

[marigold-hills]

june 1: incantation | @wolfstarmicrofic | word count: 546

Remus speaks carelessly. Mouth framing words like each sound is comfortably familiar – not rehearsed but known, something in his bones and blood and given to him by his ancestors. Broad vowels, silent t’s.

Sirius watches his lips move, the scar bisecting them stretch. Hangs on every dropped consonant like it’s a missed step in the dark. Something in him rejoices at the way Remus disregards elision: a flagrant defiance to Sirius’ childhood elocution lessons.

The joy of watching Remus speak is more than subversion from his upbringing – the moments when Sirius can do it like this (undisturbed and unnoticed)? They rebuild something in him he thought irreparably broken. He wants to fall asleep to it, make a cassette and listen to it on repeat, pretend he’s struggling with the material just to have Remus read to him.

There is something else, too. When he’s Padfoot and wants to chase a rabbit, a part of him feral and untamed – this want he can’t name occupies the same space. Something like this: to eat, to devour, to sink his teeth into flesh. Unnervingly, he thinks, he wants to hurt Remus.

“Cùram-slàinte,” Remus mumbles, “loiceadh.”

The part of Sirius that wants to bite him whines.

To hear him speak in English is a comfort. When he throws Latin-based spells it’s a thrill.

Listening as he builds incantations in Gaelic is the same as watching a storm approach with nowhere to hide. Sirius will stand in a clearing, wait for it to drench him, welcome each heavy raindrop. Thank it, afterward, if it deems him worthy to strike.

“Pads, do you have spare ink? I’ve run out.”

“Anything for you Moony, my love,” he jokes, endearment making Remus roll his eyes at him.

The library is quiet at this time of the evening. The other two of their four are playing Quidditch and Gobstones, respectively, as they always do on Fridays. Sirius keeps the days open, ostensibly so he can study (NEWTs are fast approaching, he should be). He brings his books along but doesn’t keep up with the pretends of actually opening them.

“You know.” Remus looks up from the borrowed ink pot, “you won’t get any studying done through osmosis.”

“Could do.”

Remus pretends to consider this. “Even if, won’t do you any good to learn this.”

He’s right, of course, as their Moony so often is. The dissertation he’s working on has nothing to do with Sirius’ work – Gaelic in the creation of new offensive spells is significantly different than his Exploring antimony and its reference as Grey Wolf in Ancient Runes. He doesn’t want to tell Remus he’s already finished his one (and got a tattoo to match) because then his excuse to hang out in the library would become even flimsier.

(Something he should consider: why the excuse and why the need to be there in the first place. Why watch Remus with such closeness, so differently than he does Peter, or James? But approaching these thoughts makes that feral part of him whine me a wounded dog, so he stays clear and indulges himself.)

“At least take your books out, you big mangy dog,” Remus laughs (sunlight falling onto old moss-covered stone) and reaches out to swipe a hair away from Sirius’ eyes.

NEXT PART

NOTES:

this is Part 1 of a 30 part series of standalone shorts which together make a larger story “The 30 ways you found me. Let me know your thoughts!

in the UK at the end of education equivalent to Hogwarts you can opt to do an extended project - essentially a semi large research paper on your chosen topic. I like to think it’s the same at Hogwarts, and that’s what they are working on here.

Oblivious Sirius is one of my favourites

[silverthehedgehoganalysis]

The Prima Strategy guide for Sonic 06 notes that Silver must use mind to overcome obstacles and sure enough, every major role of Silver’s has involved him using his (thinking) mind to to solve problems in some fashion, which has included:

Solving various puzzles throughout Sonic 06 (one of the main focuses of his gameplay)

Using his Teleport Dash to sneak past Soleanna Guards

Overcoming the Test of Memory

Figuring out how to revive Sonic with the power of Elise and the Chaos Emeralds in the Final Episode of Sonic 06

Seeing through Eggman Nega’s disguise in Sonic Rivals 1 & 2 (which he is noted to be very perceptive for)

Turning his fight with Sonic into a race to collect Chao in order to advance his goals (which shows on the fly thinking)

Getting the Chao in the audience to act as look outs which leads to the discovery of Zavok in Team Sonic Racing

Prodding through and exposing Eggman’s plans in Team Sonic Racing

Despite his reckless and emotional nature Silver is not a total brute and has shown to be quite intuitive and even crafty throughout the series.

[sleepis4theweak]

WARM UP SKETCHES YAYYAYAYYAYAYYYYYY

Except plot twist: all of them are based off of posts I have saved as reblogs in my drafts.... I like to save stuff there to look back on! And so I was scrolling through them for doodle inspo!

So credits:

1- @trashyandtiredsol ! From their ref of themselves here! <3 2- @cuddlebugmonster 's Usagi <3 <3 <3 Whom I love so much.. his design is so amazing I'm in love with it AH! Ref post here. 3- @bulbabutt 's Mona Lisa! I've been following their comic and I'm so so interested in seeing where it is going....... here's the one I have saved (tho theres a third one now!) and here's the first in the series!

4- @scarylarry376 's rottmnt oc Elise!! I just think she looks really cool hehehehe... I've been wanting to draw her for a while! Post here! 5- @winkwonkblog 's Leo from this post!! LISTEN LISTEN I JUST LOVE THE WAY THEY DRAW THE TURTLES OKAY??? IM OBSESSED AND LEO IS SO PREEETTYYYYYYYY <3 6- @probably-not-a-rutabaga 's aberration au Leo!!! I LOVE HER SO MUCH AND ALSO HERE'S THE POST I AM FASCINATED BY THIS AU

7- @junoinouterspace ... listen this au has been in my head for weeks now it feels.... teacher mikey.... and also his design.... it rotates in my head constantly... mayhaps an unhealthy amount even..... I adore it. Here's the post! (Also I forgot Mikey's nose ring OH NO-) 8- @defnotnoodle 's Miku Donnie!!!! EXCEPT I COULDN'T FIGURE OUT HOW TO DO THEIR LITTLE BROWSER FACE COVERING IM SORRY AHHHHHHHHH) Post here!! <3 9- Little note cat <3.... Its a cat that I doodle on all of my notes... he's stinky :/

10- @sha-biest 's GF MIKEY AND AMMI!!!!! BECAUSE I LOVE THEM AND THEIR DESIGNS!!!!!!! I've been wanting to draw them for a while and they were just as fun to draw as I imagined..... anyways posts here and here! <3

SORRY FOR ALL OF THE TAGS AND NOW I'M OFF TO DRAW BYE BYE <3 <3 <3

[joelletwo]

reading thru the The Final utsuro fight visuals with the vocabulary i gained while liveblogging gintama

[VD: the section of the fight that has gintoki and utsuro-in-takasugi's-body slide through reanimated flashbacks to past scenes of the series that cast them as past versions of themselves, shouyou, and takasugi]

bc the maths is insanes

the initial flashback is to their immediately previous silver soul fight - the casting of the conflict as unending, progressless, in utsuro's favor. have either of them appreciably changed since then? is anything different? what is initially an incomplete brief flash - with utsuro still inhabiting takasugi - solidifies when he regresses to his original body and begins to more effectively counter gintoki. utsuro remains on the right throughout.

direct cut from there pulled further back in time to gintoki's immediately previous fight with takasugi's body in shogun assassination - takasugi on the right, giving utsuro in his body the power of Unconscionable Violence (senseless, gleeful, and knowing you well enough to perpetrate it) (joelletwo tags on squeaky toy video, 2023, repeated endlessly every day since)

but it's mutual - gintoki also knows you well enough to turn the tables and get the upper hand back

(not that this meaningfully stops you for long).

direct cut from there slightly forward in time to gintoki's first fight with utsuro in the immediately following farewell shinsengumi, where the revelations overwhelm him and reduce him to being fueled by the pure instinctual anger of The Demonic, a state of losing yourself and your ability to fight effectively (reductionisms, 2023),

conditions where it's all you can do to hold out against an enemy that represents something so big in your psyche,

which he knows about, since he's been that for you before. back in time again to the first (onscreen) takasugi confrontation, right before taking advantage of your precarious mental state to punch you out of the plotline (kraniumet tags on yamameta post addition, 2022)

but utsuro keeps a vice grip on control of the story, surfacing back into the present to stop and reverse his fall mid-air so he can stay anchored in the battle with gintoki,

meaning he remains vulnerable to the weaknesses of the body he's in, which only ever exists anymore in one memory - you're unable to move, only to witness. a third figure is introduced, who is more you than you here, while gintoki remains himself.

the you more you than you accepts death while you watch it approach with helpless despair and terror.

the collapse of utsuro back into the body he inhabits in present invites a re-examining of the series of flashbacks thus far - where the perspective of who controls the focal memory seems to flip from utsuro to gintoki back to utsuro here, does it? the farewell shins->festival transition is 1:1 substitutional, working out so that utsuro-as-takasugi winds back up on the right.

but it isn't utsuro borrowing a strength of his like Violence here - it's, just like in the execution, succumbing to one of his weaknesses. flipping between the two scenes, takasugi's derailing fear of gintoki as a figure becomes gintoki's of utsuro. there's a double elision of takasugi (missing from farewell shins due to his fight with gintoki) so that utsuro becomes both gintokis - making him both the one who looms large, and the one who is destabilized by.

gintoki signifies something huge to utsuro, after all.

he takes up the role he had back then, the one you assigned him from the start, because half of his time always exists in that one moment now as well.

being the one who acts on the story and moves it forward, brings it to an end.

the regression through history continues to child against unbeatable teacher, again the question of if either of you has grown since you met. gintoki becomes the underdog challenger on the right.

the refusal to give up an unwinnable fight, no matter how many times it's tried, the even-back-then way that gintoki becomes a shouyou figure for others, fluidly shifts you forward in time.

the reverse shot, the perspective flip - the identity lines cross.

he drags you through time with him, until you're someone he knows how to beat.

(because, again, you know each other so well as to be losslessly interchangeable, for two opposing souls in the process of finding themselves - conquering themselves - to become indivisible.) (reductionisms translation, 2024) (yamameta ouroboros poem, 2023)

and even when you win - earn by ceaseless trial and effort the right to play his trick back on him and dethrone/defang him by pushing him literally out of frame - ...

he learns from you as well and pulls himself back in by your anchor.

[untouchvbles]

Lotus Elise at Waukesha Cars & Coffee (2024) - Meet 4 in Waukesha, WI.

[girl4music]

Starting the CARMILLA web series. Very excited.

Perhaps this is where WLW representation really is because TV art/entertainment for it these days sucks and I was quite surprised at the level of detail and development that there was for them in the movie.

We’ll see. I’ll keep my commentary on-going for this.

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

THANK YOU, EVERYONE, FOR 1000+ FOLLOWERS!

Thank you, everyone, for your comments, reblogs and likes. Thank you for your asks. Thank you for your support.

😊😊😊

And, as a little celebration, I want to start an 'event'.

Self-Aware BSD AU x SAGAU Imposter AU Crossover

"If you weren't alone"

What would happen, if Reader were transported into Teyvat with someone from BSD Cast.

I want to write a series of headcannons/short imagines.

Rules:

1. If you want some general headcannon/prompt, send me next ask: "BSD Character Name, SAGAU"

2. If you want to see some specific interaction, or characters being in specific region, send me next ask: "BSD Cast Name, SAGAU, Region, and/or, GI Character"

3. You can ask for organisations (ADA, Hunting Dogs...), smaller groups (Flags, Buraiha...) and specific characters.

One ask - one organisation

One ask - one group

One ask - up to three characters

4. Oda's kids are considered as a group and as one character at the same time. You can ask for two more characters with them.

5. Elise are Mori's 'plus one'. She won't fill a character spot. You can ask for two more characters with Mori. Same with Elise, Mori is her 'plus one' without taking a spot. However, you can ask strictly for Elise/Mori. In that case, they will take one spot.

6. You can ask for both OG! Manga and BEAST! Characters. Character list are under the cut.

7. It's short fic/imagine or pure headcannons event. While I will keep this ideas in mind for a future, I won't write full fics for now.

8. Karl and Ayatsuji's cats are viewed as 'plus one' for Poe and Ayatsuji, and won't fill free character spot, leaving two more spots. You can ask not to include them.

9. You can ask solely for Karl or Ayatsuji's cats. In that case, they will fill characters spot. Ayatsuji's cats viewed as one character.

10. Mii-chan and Natsume Soseki are fiewed as one independent character. If you choose Haruno and want Mii-chan with her, you also should ask for Natsume.

11. Buraiha is fiewed as one group. You can ask for specific Flag characters.

12. You can ask for Zenku/Soukoku/Shin either as one group, or pick characters separately and have a chance to add one more character.

ABOUT READER:

You can ask for GN/Fem/Male Reader.

You can ask for Child/Teen/Reader.

Specify in ask, if have some preference for Reader.

If you don't specify, Reader will GN and Adult.

List of characters and their organisations:

1. Adam Frankenstein (Others)

2 Akutagawa Ryunosuke (Port Mafia, Shin Soukoku)

3. Albatross (Port Mafia, Flags)

4. Louisa May Alkott (The Guild)

5. Ango Sakaguchi (The Government, Buraiha)

6. Atsushi Nakajima (Armed Detective Agency, Shin Soukoku)

7. Aya Koda (Others)

8. Ayatsuji Yukito (The Government)

9. Bram Stoker (DOA)

10. Chuuya Nakahara (PM, Soukoku, Flags, if clarified in ask)

11. Dazai Osamu (ADA, Soukoku, Buraiha)

12. Doc (PM, Flags)

13. Fyodor Dostoevsky (Rats and DOA)

14. Elise (PM)

15. Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald (The Guild)

16. Fukuchi Ouchi (Hunting Dogs, DOA and Fukuzawa/Fukuchi Duo)

17. Fukuzawa Yukichi (ADA, Zenku Soukoku and Fukuzawa/Fukuchi duo)

18. André Gide (Others)

19. Gin Akutagawa (PM)

20. Nikolai Gogol (DOA)

21. Ivan Goncharov (Rats)

22. Nathaniel Hawthorne (The Guild)

23. Ichiyou Higuichi (PM)

24. Icemen (PM, Flags)

25. Saigiku Jouno (HD)

26. Tanizaki Junchirou (ADA)

27. Motojirou Kajii (PM)

28. Karma (PM)

29. Katai Tayama (ADA)

30. Kenji Miyazawa (ADA)

31. Kirako Haruno (ADA)

32. Kouyou Ozaki (PM)

33. Kunikida Doppo (ADA)

34. Kyouka Izumi (ADA)

35. Kyuusaku Yumeno (PM)

36. Lippman (PM, Flags)

37. Howard Philips Lovecraft (The Guild)

38. Lucy Maud Montgomery (The Guild)

39. Herman Melville (The Guild)

40. Margaret Mitchell (The Guild)

41. Mizuki Tsujimura (The Government)

42. Mori Ougai (PM, Zenku Soukoku)

43. Naomi Tanizaki (ADA)

44. Natsume Soseki (Others)

45. Oda Sakunosuke (PM)

46. Oda's orphans (Others)

47. Oguri Mushitarou (The Government)

48. Piano Man (PM, Flags)

49. Edgar Allan Poe (The Guild)

59. Alexander Pushkin (Rats)

60. Ranpo Edogawa (ADA)

61. Arthur Rimbaud (PM)

62. Shibusawa Tatsuhiko (Others)

63. Sigma (DOA, can be added to ADA, if clarified in ask)

64. John Steinbeck (The Guild)

65. Tachihara Michizou (PM and HD)

66. Santouka Taneda (The Government)

67. Teruko Okura (HD)

68. Tetchou Suehiro (HD)

69. Mark Twain (The Guild)

70. Paul Verlaine (PM)

71. Yosano Akiko (ADA)

_____

BEAST Characters

1. Atsushi Nakajima (PM, BEAST Shin Soukoku)

2. Akutagawa Ryunosuke (ADA, BEAST Shin Soukoku)

3. Dazai Osamu (PM, BEAST Soukoku)

4. Chuuya Nakahara (PM, BEAST Soukoku)

5. Oda Sakunosuke (ADA)

6. Gin Akutagawa (PM)

7. Mori Ougai (BEAST Others)

8. Elise (BEAST Others)

9. Kyouka Izumi (PM)

_____

Maybe, you will be interested. Tag list: @withered-blossoms , @myluckymoon @cocodrilofeliz @c4xcocoa @vvyeislazzy @whisperingwinters

[masoncarr2244]

[beevean]

The whole "you're just sexist" response to Lanolin really rubbing a lot of fans the wrong way is the last thing I want to hear from a fandom that spent over two decades perpetuating shit like portraying two female characters being catty and antagonistic towards each other over a guy when it came to Amy and Elise(and still do it to this day), and Amy and Sally, when the characters in question never did any of that to each other in canon.

I may be old lol, but for me sexism in the Sonic fandom was (is, in some instances):

reducing Amy to an insane stalkerish yandere based on one (1) line in Sonic Heroes, a game that did everything but take itself seriously. Did anyone portray Espio as a callous gangster for lowkey threatening Cream to give away her pet? Yeah.

slutshaming Rouge to the point that even in Archie she was written as a cold, manipulative femme fatale willing to kiss the likes of Locke to get her way - ignoring that she uses far more than her feminine charms to achieve her goals and she can be kindhearted

reducing Maria to Shadow's trauma button, fully indulging in the "Stuffed in the Fridge" trope. What do you mean, we could flesh her out? She's only good to cause a man pain!

treating Elise like the worst character of all time for the crime of being a perfectly normal girl with a crush on a cartoon animal. The first part is what I want to focus on right now: Elise didn't karate chop her way out of Eggman's grasp, so that makes her a weakling. She is not #girlboss enough. Women can only be physical badasses and mean af.

Flynn himself propping up Blaze and Tangle as the only worthwhile female characters in the series purely for their fighting prowess, while dismissing Amy, Rouge and Cream for being "all over the place", too sexy, and too young (the same not said about Tails and Charmy: this is reflected in his writing, where only Cream gets infantilized).

So forgive me if I don't feel guilty for pointing to an unlikeable character who happens to have boobs and saying "wow, that character sure is unlikeable". Because I remind you, the stuff most people say about her was also said about male characters when relevant. Sexism would be slutshaming her for her big chest, for example, not pointing out legit grievances in the writing.

[aconflagrationofmyown]

Prima Nocta (or the right of the first night) Part 1

Warnings: so so so so many for thematic material. This is dark. Quite dark. This is freshly divorced and verrrrrry bitter and disillusioned Elvis helping himself to the bride of the newest Memphis Mafia initiate. Hugely unreliable narrator, belittling and objectifying of women, dub con because of that, sanctimonious chauvinism, reference to his marriage going very south. no actual sex yet but definitely 18+.

Notes: this got so long from just lead up that I figured it was worth publishing on its own and seeing if there’s interest for a part 2. Sorry for going bonkers on this one, sometimes you just gotta tap into the villain side of yourself. Also, this was inspired by many talks with my previous mutuals about THAT picture of Elvis holding a gun to George Klein’s head at his own wedding…I’m using it for solely for vibes, sorry George

Series: Sky High Lovin -reading Honeymoon might make this even better but not necessary

Dedicated to: Sweet Christi with the wayward mind and all my thanks to Ally and Jane and Elise for spitballing this into existence.

There was a time, not so long ago, when Elvis enjoyed life affirming events like weddings, believe it or not. He enjoyed facilitating days to celebrate love and loyalty and vows before God, promising everlasting devotion. That is, until he learned that “till death do us part” meant about as much to most as a “bless you” did when someone sneezed.

It makes surveying the pink and white festooned hotel ballroom something of an eyesore for him as he lounges back, dressed in black velvet, a sore thumb of ominous derision amidst the pastels, viewing the merry reception through moody, tinted lenses. The familiarly charming table accents of champagne and flowers and paper mache hearts twist his own into something a little furious and decidedly bitter.

A man’s wife betraying him and leaving him and stripping him of his pride and his joy and all his best intentions for her and your child will do that to a man.

Couldn’t even make it a whole decade before she found fault and spread her legs for another and turned his child against the father that loved her.

Sorry for being away so much baby, I was just singin’ myself hoarse to buy you that fuckin ring and car and hair and face and keep you in the style you’d married me for.

Cause it was obvious as all hell that honoring and obeying hadn’t been first and foremost in her mind when she promised forever. Forever to riches and fame, maybe, but not forever to him. She has those now, and he hasn’t got the family he’d prayed an Old Testament God for.

Rather like the pretty lady currently allowing her rodent of a groom to feed her their wedding cake, fake giggles and batting lashes adding to the nauseating act of pretending she can stand being in his company for longer than a couple hours.

Forever, my ass.

Elvis watches her through his shades and with each passing minute the anger burns brighter and his justification steadily builds for the liberty he’s about to commit.

The groom is here for Elvis’ paycheck, the lovely bride is planning to suck that idiot's cock till death doth them part (or a good four years) for the status of being a Memphis Mafia wife, and even the guests now stuffing their faces with pasta and alcohol are here for what Elvis’ money buys.

Loyalty is dead and what’s left is the goddamn food chain, like they’re the animals school tells them they’ve evolved past. In the recent months since his divorce, Elvis has felt a near Devine calling to bring this wicked devolution of morals and motivations to light, to humiliate these homosapiens until some level of shame is regained by mankind. If this is a pack of animals that surrounds him, he is King of the Jungle, and it is a careless and heartless king who lets his subjects run amuck.

He has no appetite for pasta, the hours of frivolity pass him by and he remains aloof, crouching in wait in his chair, running off righteous indignation and primal sufferance. Good things come to those who wait.

That’s what the bride is thinking, Elvis suspects, as the reception winds down and her luxurious honeymoon full of sunbathing and spas, good food and rich wine and the obligatory playing hooky to get out of sex draws nearer. Just a little more time letting fuckin’ Ronnie feed her cake and paw at her, then she’ll be on her way, securely locked into her future of privilege. He’s got nothing against Connie, uh, Sandra, -oh hell what was her name? he consults the gold embossed invitation at his elbow,- He’s got nothing against the newly minted Mrs. Kemp, nothing in particular, except that she’s a woman. And Elvis has a bone to pick and a point to prove with the whole, whorish lot of them.

Elvis opens the limo door for the bride himself, gallantly ushering in the happy couple before joining them as arranged, the whole merry band of his boys piling in after.

The new Mrs. Kemp, unlike some of his boys wives, had had the good grace not to whine about the lack of privacy and alone time to be found in and around Graceland’s inner circle. As a result Elvis allowed her to choose the more expensive flowers and gold embossed invites and french vintages, even if he knew why knew she’d been disgustingly eager for any chance of her intended husband being distracted from her. Elvis is certain, thanks to first hand accounts from fuckin’ Ronnie himslef, that the groom has sampled the bride already. It’s the way of things in this decadent decade, and she’s no fresh outta the nest baby chick. The fact Ronnie could give no further details about his encounters with his betrothed beyond the mechanics of thrusting above her till he blew his load, made Elvis despair of humanity and suspect Mrs. Kemp had a serpentine pragmatism about this entire arrangement.

Oh my buddy my pal, he thinks to himself as the limo flies through the never dark streets of Las Vegas towards the airstrip, I gave my wife everything and that wasn’t enough, how can you compete? God gave Eve the whole of Eden ‘cept for one measly apple tree -and what did the mother of all mankind do? She took, she ate, she damned them all with her disloyalty.

Ronnie is a damn fool, and while Elvis’ warnings were not needed during the engagement and this marriage has progressed to a limo ride and honeymoon, Elvis is not to be thwarted in his determination to save Ronnie the slow disillusionment, the slow death of any pretense of love in his wife’s eyes, the crumbling of all faith in anything such as Elvis has endured. Better to rip the bandage off now, five years is a long crucifixion.

As the limo parks on the tarmac and the gleaming hulk of the private jet looms over them in the night sky, no doubt Ronnie harbors some pathetic hope Elvis has forgotten his promise.

Elvis proceeds his guests up the jet bridge, cane thumping and carefully harnessed excitement radiating through him as he enters the opulent space, watching with benign magnanimity as the newlyweds board his jet, the boys providing a rollicking group to ferry the new couple to their honeymoon destination.

This was Elvis’ treat, he had insisted the jet drop them off before he heads back to wherever it is he’s supposed to be tomorrow. He’s not lost his appetite for spoiling folks. Only this time, he is gonna get repaid in currency a little more tangible than ephemeral, transient, fleeting loyalty. And Ronnie, kiss-ass, weak-spined fuckin’ Ronnie wasn’t man enough to hold out more than a few minutes when Elvis told him his new bride was the price for being inducted into the inner circle, the intitiation to prove his loyalty to The King.

Predictably, after some pathetic and scandalized objections, some monetary threats by Elvis and some judgmental snickers by the guys, fuckin’ Ronnie had caved and betrayed his loyalty to his own wife before he’d even walked down the aisle to marry her.

“B-b-but d-did the rest of t-the g-guys h-h-have to do this?” Ronnie had protested while they were shootin some pool, leaving the gals the other rooms to wedding plan, “Is it a-a-always this w-way?”

It hasn’t always been, no. Because Elvis hadn’t always been so astute. He had allowed his taste for pleasure and innocence and childish notions of fidelity to cloud his perception of women and the men they married. Elvis once was blind, now he saw, and now there was a currency of wedding nights established in the jungle.

“No one’s forcin’ ya to stay in this group.” Elvis had pointed out while lining up his pool cue with the ball, “you’re mighty welcome to go right on out that door, never receive another check from me or a glimpse of Vegas again, you’ll lose that girl, too, cause she sure as hell won’t be stickin around when all your bells and whistles fall off and it’s just you she’s left with. She don’t want ya Ronnie, she wants what I give ya, which makes me her provider, don’t it?” he reasoned before making his shot, the clatter of the balls deafening against the green felt as the older members of the mafia held their breaths in sick fascination with this new form of hazing. “And now, if I’m her provider,” Elvis had straightened up his posture to watch Sonny mark the score on the board, “that makes me a husband of sorts, an authority, a protector. A sugar daddy. Don’t it? You gonna tell me I should throw you guys a damn weddin’ and honeymoon, buy ya the house you live in and the cars you drive, the clothes she wears and the food you eat cause you hang around me an’ promise to protect me if the time comes? Bodyguard my ass, I could turn anyone to chopsticks before you even woke up long enough to realize a threat. Face it Ronnie, there’s a totem pole in this here life, and no one blames ya for bein’ a few notches down than most in the scale of things, but it don’t give ya much leverage bein’ down there. I give you that leverage. And I’d like to compensate myself for my generosity with a lil marital privilege. Jus’ once, just first night rights.” he took a swing of his coke and watched Ronnie closely, licking the sugar off his lips with deliberate swipes of his tongue, “Or would ya prefer I just wait and fuck her in six monthes when she comes knockin’ on my door sayin’ she just got lost in this big ole place?”

Fuckin’ Ronnie was a coward and a cad and he essentially agreed that he’d rather Elvis fuck his wife on the wedding night and be done with it than always be watching his back, suspecting her of carrying on an affair. Ronnie was a little bitch, Elvis surmised. Gone was any protest that he couldn’t do that to her, that she was a good gal, that Elvis wouldn’t do that to a friend.

Kings had no friends. And tonight Ronnie was oh so close to being officially inducted into the Memphis Mafia, he’d do nothing to jeopardize that . Elvis figured he’d wait until the plane took off to sample the goods, make her husband squirm guiltily over it while his new bride puzzled over why he was so tense.

Out of consideration for her downer of a groom, Elvis handed her a drink, playing the gracious host and taking her mind off her husband's stiff bearing and sweaty pallor.

“Don’t mind him, honey,” Elvis whispered hot and wet in her ear as he handed the drink off, “Ronnie boy here’s just scared of flyin’. You’re not scared are ya, honey?”

Honey….he couldn’t recall her name, Mrs. Kemp’s name, his fatigue and apathy too strong. He stood straight and dug in his pocket for a pick-me-up as he watched her smile and blush under his attentions,

“No sir, Mr. Presley, I’m not scared.” she smiled, “One could think we’re sat in a living room, it's so spacious here.” she added a compliment.

“I’d like to show ya the rest.” he says sitting down next to her, his arm heavy and warm around her shoulders and his gaze intent on her, knowing the effect this has on an ignored woman.

He recalls using that same line on his young bride during their honeymoon, eager to show his own new wife everything he had to offer. Beauty and luxury and care and a damn good fuck in front of the mirror back there. And it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t enough.

He can feel Ronnie tense further against the back of his hand where he clasps the bride’s shoulder, knowing that the “rest” of the plane beyond this lounge is a conference table, a toilet and a bedroom. Ronnie has had the privileges of being part of the TCB and now he’s about to pay his admission fee, and Elvis smirks at the thought that the man will never ride aboard this jet again without thinking of getting cuckolded by his boss.

The Bride is trying to make sense of Elvis' sudden shift of mood along with her husband’s. Both of them seeming to have swapped bearings, changing from the reception as if the jet’s air pressure had doused Ronnie’s merriment and finally revitalized Mr. Presley from the rather sullen attendee he had been. Elvis can feel her hesitancy to agree in her body language and the way she keeps looking over to Ronnie, as if to figure out his nervous ignoring of her and the way Elvis makes up for it in touches and attention. Beneath them the jet rumbles and takes flight, her little gasp at the heart swooping feeling of take-off a taste of what’s to come, of what he’ll pull from her body, willing or not . He’d rather lure her, try that first, the other can always be resorted to.

There’s an unspoken agreement to wait on this lil tour till the jet reaches cruising altitude, and Elvis spends the wait rubbing her arm and watching her try to make conversation with her groom who finds discussing the latest baseball stats with Red far more interesting than recalling the beauteous memories of the last few hours with his now introspective and mildly panicked bride. It’s funny to hold a woman whose mind is racing, Elvis can almost feel the frantic thoughts and conflicting emotions battering her frame from the inside out like a caged bird against its bars.

Elvis allows the minutes to trickle by and work for him, the soothing sweep of his hand slowly melting her rigidity, the continued abandonment of her husband's attention going from hurtful to frustrating, the innocuous chatter of the fellas talking and laughing around them, the cool air of the jet’s cooling system kicking on, and his warm and broad chest already pressed against her, now beckoning like a little haven for her to cower inside until the confusion passes. He clocks all these developments as the minutes go by, fully aware the boys are making small talk with their minds as preoccupied as Ronnie’s about when Elvis will make his move, their anticipation mounting while her guard drops, finally accepting his closeness without question. The jet rumbles and her drink kicks in and with the wedding fever abated it leaves her drowsy, unmoored.

Elvis waits for the perfect moment to pounce and is rewarded for his patience. The cool blast of the AC has made her begin to curl towards him and he’s met her halfway and it’s not till her head almost nods weakly to lay on his shoulder that her sensibilities prick her and she jerks it back up, another little gasp. It makes his repeated,

“Lemme show ya round, honey, got all sorts of remarkable stuff up here”

sound like a gallant cover for her lapse of decorum. Predictably, she shakes herself upright and gives him a polite nod of thanks, their first mutual, unspoken communication acknowledging something the rest of the room isn’t privy to. Her loyalty is slipping and all it took was a few minutes of heating her up with his embrace, a few whispered teases and buying her a whole damn lifestyle. To her credit she looks to Ronnie as she rises, asking him to come along in a coaxing voice Elvis knows is her trying to get her new husband to even look at her.

Elvis watches her try and fail at this from the curtained doorway leading to the back of the jet, thinking it makes a striking picture. A bride still dressed in white, bending over to try to catch her husband's eyes as he watches TV in his rumpled tux, the entire plane’s worth of masculine attention directed on her, except for the man who swore to worship her. Perhaps the disillusion will go both ways tonight, maybe women aren’t all merley bitches in heat, maybe some start out intending to be faithful and good and content.

Elvis has yet to meet a woman faithful and good and content once he puts his mark on them, they spend the rest of their lives day dreaming and closing their eyes when their husbands are in them and clogging his phone lines, kidding themselves that they’re special. He’s saving her the sin of coming to his room in a couple of months or years and saying she got lost while dropping her silk nightwear down her frame, an old and familiar expression of invitation on her face. She might not know that’s in her future otherwise, but he does. And he’s gonna save her the wait. When she wants something she’ll come to him now, not her husband, and he will have the discipline to make the right choices for her.

Elvis holds the curtain aside and beckons her with his fingers, and she would be angrier that he has the nerve to summon her away from her husband if she weren’t so humiliated at being ignored by the man. Frustration at their man makes women very susceptible to comfort, Elvis knows this intimately, and in their strong desire to be understood and soothed, they’ll spread their legs for the first person who tells them they deserve that attention.

She ducks under his arm, into the shade of the conference room with an attitude written on her face. Elvis drops the curtain behind them, the prey corralled. Nothin so easy as a woman scorned, nothin’ quite so hungry and quite so fierce. He hopes she’ll take out some of that miffed little ‘tude out on his back with those fancy nails his money bought her. It makes him smirk in anticipation and he can tell she finds that unsettling, her huffy bearing faltering once she notices him just watching her move round the glossy table top, suddenly aware of their seclusion and the fact she left her groom behind for a tour of the jet. She’s beginning to doubt her choice, doubt her loyalties.

Honeymoon off to a damn good start, she thinks sourly.

It’s innocuous, standing at opposite ends of a conference table with a man who is your husband's closest friend and at whose house you’ve eaten multiple dinners. There’s nothing wrong with it, but she feels her skin prickle none the less like she’s in danger, like those eyes observing her through shaded lenses are not fully human, not fully beneficent. She curses Ronnie for humiliating her, for his weird mood these past weeks making her feel isolated, for her past making her paranoid of this assessing male gaze.

She’d met a panther in the woods on an Appalachian bike ride once. They’d stared each other down as he had crouched and observed, his eyes fathomless and intent, the muscles of its body undulating in readiness beneath sleek black fur. Her mouth had dried out exactly the same as it does now when her shy smiles aren’t met with anything besides those assessing eyes and that crooked smirk that holds no fondness for her, no pride in his jet, no amusement at her awe of his wealth. A smirk of pure and smug knowingness.

Then he calls to her and the warmth of his voice melts her fear. “Check out this icebox, honey”

Her face lights up like a kids in the yellow glow of the refrigerator light as she bends over to look inside, white stain skirt hugging her perfectly and he gathers that all that athleticism has done her good, she could probably ride a man for hours without tiring, judging by the firm curve of that ass.

“See anyhtin ya’d like?” he asks her casually, laying a light hand between her shoulder blades as she reads rows and rows of labeled refreshments.

“Oh, uh, no, no, the drink was enough for now. Thank you Mr. Presley.”

He used to correct folks when they called him that, and used to punt the honorary title to his father. But nowadays he finds “Mr. Presley” might be closer to “your majesty” than mere “Elvis” -in which case he’s stopped putting little floozies at ease by asking them to call him by the name his mama gave him. That’s a name used by a wife back when he was happy and respected and alive.

“C’mere, I wanna show ya this television back here.” he beckons again, removing the heat of his hand from her back and she breathes easier with him taking the lead, she’s able to watch his imposing figure unobserved as he leads her past the conference table and into a small hallway with a large, showbiz style mirror.

Elvis swaggers right on by the marvelous monstrosity with its low counter and doused bare bulbs, but she can’t help herself. A flicker of childish glee taking over as she flips the switch on the wall and makes the bulbs buzz to life, brilliant as a spotlight in the inky gloom, illuminating them from the knees to the ceiling in a gaudy reflection. The sudden blast of light makes him pause on his trek to the bedroom and he joins her in looking at their reflection.

“Hell, honey,” he drawls amused as he takes in her fresh little wedding set and his decadent black suit, “we look like cake toppers.”

She laughs at that, a sweet unaffected thing that is music to his ears, and no doubt a screech to Ronnie’s. Elvis finds his grin growing at that thought and she mistakes it for joy. She laughs again, aborted little chuckles tapering out.

“There’s a tv back here, too?” she asks, embarrassingly at ease with entering a bedroom in the company of Elvis Presley.

Interestingly she doesn’t even glance at the bed when he ushers her in, she’s peering at the walls and the built in furniture for a peek of a screen.

“Mhmm, keep lookin, it’s hidden.” Elvis follows her and shuts the door behind him, a quiet click she doesn’t hear as she’s got her back to him, busily creaking open dresser doors and clapping in commendation upon finding the tastefully camouflaged TV set.

“How wonderful!” She praises and his heart does something funny and nostalgic over unpretentious enjoyment of what he has to give her.

One day it’ll be old hat to her and she’ll be like all the other wives, naggin’ and bitchin’ over keeping up with each other, forgetting about what it was they ever wanted, consumed with one upping each other and dominating the pecking order, spending Elvis’ money not for pleasure but for bragging rights. For now he watches this young woman bounce in her heels over a hidden TV set and makes a pact with himself to be nice, to gentle her into this ruination.

Then he recalls she married Fuckin Ronnie, and that twists his gut in reminder she’s a practical gold digger like all the rest. And he doesn’t mind that about her, he just hates the dishonesty of pretending she’s in it for more, and her ignoring him for a tv irks him as disingenuine.

“Wanna kick back and watch somethin, doll?” he asks her and sees the exact minute his words make her back and shoulders stiffen beneath white silk.

“Uh, on this one?” she’s scared to ask, scared to sound like she’s accusing him of suggesting it, scared to suggest it and give him ideas.

“They got the damn game on the other.” he answers her smoothly, coming up behind her and reaching round her to power it up.

“Elvis.” she dares to sound reprimanding when all he’s done is stand behind her and punch a button, she’s the one who walked into a bedroom with a man who isn’t her husband.

“Gonna be a long flight, three more hours I reckon.” he is patient with her.

“Y-yes.” she hesitantly agrees, watching the screen flicker to life, “And I wanna spend it with Ronnie, exc-“

Liar! He doesn’t let her turn around, he puts his hands on her shoulders and keeps her facing the TV, keeps her away from the closed door she’s not yet noticed, he nuzzles his nose into the crook of her neck telling himself, gently, gently, tempt her, tempt her. “Doesn’t seem like Ronnie is eager to spend it with ya.” he mourns low and sympathetic in her ear and she gasps at his brutal honesty, at the fact he’d have no tact to pretend he didn’t notice.

“Elvis, t-this isn’t right.” she parrots her mother or her favorite tv show or some rote set of rules she doesn’t really embrace.

“What ain’t right, honey?” he rumbles, keeping his hands on her, moving them from her shoulders down her arms, then swooping them up again and fingering at the sides of her neck, delighting in the shiver her body yields up to him.

If he hadn’t been so aloof before, she figures she might not feel so electrified by his sudden, all consuming touch. But it’s not just that, he’s kept his distance from her since she started dating Ronnie and in her star struck insecurity she’d made no move to become friendly with him.

Now this, this intentional hovering and the petting that tastes like something she’s only ever heard about. It’s Elvis, Elvis petting her in her wedding dress on the way to her honeymoon destination and that’s simultaneously about as predictable and uncredible as can be. Elvis, who’s been the ephemeral host for countless of lovely parties, Elvis who’s been the presiding specter over all their schedules since she became part of the group, Elvis who has been the magical name on the credit card used for everything she ever wanted. Elvis Presley, the man who achieved all there was in life by 21, and has been bored by it ever since. What did she expect him to be, a fatherly figure?

“Did you like your weddin’ honey?” he asks her after her raging thoughts consume the time she should have spent answering and protesting him.

The hands descending to her hips and squeezing there hint a warning prompt even as his gentle tone reminds her of all he has done for her, his inexhaustible benevolence -which it seems something has finally exhausted. She begins to panic, no need to see those panther eyes when the heat is radiating off of him, sexual intent potent from his aura alone, no need to feel a crude gesture or have it spoken out in clunky declarations of desire. Ingrained self doubt takes hold of her for one brief moment before the scratch of his sideburn rubs against her cheeks and the hot press of his lips against her neck tells her it is not vanity making her project on him, Elvis Presley really is trying to seduce her mere hours after her vows, a few yards away from her new husband and his friends.

“Mr. Presley!” she resolutely stiffens in his embrace and tries to turn and leave his hold of her and he lets her so far as she’s spun round and facing him, her stern tone wobbling out when she’s met with the hypnosis of his expectant stare, “Y-yes it was lovely, thank you.” she stammers out, fear and primal instinct kicking in and guiding her to cower and simper her way out of this, her boldness having bounced off him like shotgun shells off cement. Nothing but damaging to her. “T-thank you for all you did.” she tries again, her tone unsure as his face remains unreadable, his eyes burning and unblinking behind his shades, lit with white hot something in the glow of the tv screen. “You’re very generous.” she admits, tacking on every obeisance she can think of while resolutely ignoring the feel of being held to his chest, near eye level with the gap of his shirt and the chains glittering on his skin. “I need to rejoin my husband, sir.” she begs, begs that she doesn’t want this, denies she’s ever hoped for this.

Idly he wonders if she’s being honest, then he watches her swallow thickly as she catches a whiff of his scent.

Suddenly he crushes her to him, her mouth smashed to the metallic, skin warmed nest of his chains, pinning her there with a hand to the back of her head as his other reaches for the hem of her skirt and drags it up and over her ass, palming it even as she shrieks in shock, “Tell me, Mrs. Kemp,” he growls in her ear, “did you go after Ronnie cause he was near me, or did ya come for the money and stay in the hopes I’d pay attention to your little self? Was you countin’ on me gettin lonely some night an’ sendin’ your husband on an errand so I could get my fill of his wife? Is that what keeps ya from gaggin when he’s on top of ya? Is that the hope?”

Elvis’ fingers find the band of her lacy panties -honeymoon lingerie his money bought her- and he snakes his hand in, down the warm curve of her ass and along her crack, dipping between clenched thighs to rake through predictably sopping wet folds. She gave the whole resistance act a good try, but her womanly body responds to dominance, and Elvis is dominance incarnate. It’s in her weak nature to drip for him, plain and simple, and so he swipes and dips and drags his fingers through her as she fights against his chest, pounding her fists impotently against the velvet of his coat.

“Shhh, shhh honey, I know, it ain’t your fault.” he is magnanimous, gracious as King Solomon. “This, honey, this is what hope tastes like.” he brings his glistening fingers to her snarling mouth and shoves them in against her tongue, savoring the way her choke distracts her from the obvious defense of biting him, “Taste that? That’s how hope tastes, and there ain’t anyhtin’ more harmful than hope. Makes a purgatory of your life. Doesn’t let ya be satisfied with what ya got, won’t let ya get dissatisfied enough to wanna change anythin. You just hope and hope and your life goes by, while you’re hopin.”

She whimpers around his fingers, wilted white silk in his arms, dress bunched up obscenely in the screen-lit room. He strokes her cheek with his spit wet hand, the ring faces of rubies and diamonds and priceless gems caressing her tears away, lulling the creature back to her basic instincts, hypocrisy and futility purged away beneath Elvis’ healing hands. “I ain’t gonna let you go on hopin for years and years,” he enchants her with whispers, rocking her now as she whimpers in catatonic fascination, “I’m gonna gift ya with knowledge.”

Everything she’s given up while fighting to get herself on a jet like this, married to a man of means, with a house and a steady future and a predictable timeline stretching out before her -security at last! -all of it crowds her mind, the devil and the angel on her shoulders whisper in a traitorous debate. Of course life isn’t how she wanted at eighteen when she expected to marry for love, yet of course her mature self is pleased with this match. Those can both exist, and she planned for them to exist in a tidy world where Elvis Presley wasn’t an option, because he’s not. He’s not offering himself, doesn't even have enough dreams of his own to bother with lying about it to buy them both a minute of reprieve from the disillusioned hellscape that is life in one’s thirties when you comforted your starry eyed twenties by telling yourself it gets better. Then to no one’s surprise -it didn’t. The one last insupportable piece of this maturing puzzle that would cement her growing up forever is tasting this then going back to Ronnie. It’s out of the question and she doesn’t give a shit what he’s going through right now, or what Ronnie thinks about her angering his boss, what she needs is the peace of mind that comes with not knowing.

“You can take your knowledge and shove it.” she snaps out of the pliant heatstroke his embrace caused her and shoves him away, only succeeding at making room between them because he’s so surprised by her sudden surfacing out of the trance.

One final thrash of the prey and he watches with amusement as she stumbles in haste across the flickering room, yanking open the closed door and steadfastly booking it to the front of the jet. Headed to the shelter of a man who promised to protect and defend her and cherish her and swore it all while counting his bonus for selling her out.

Elvis watches her till she and her crumpled white dress fly past the brightly mirrored hallway and disappear from his vantage point through the doorway. He picks at his nose and thinks about what he might like to take on this little experiment, and having procured a few items of use saunters after her at a leisurely pace. He sets them on the conference room and table and watches as she pulls back the curtain and steps into the lounge, her whole being vibrating in a way that is not subtle or discreet about what just occurred between them.

It’s warmer in the lounge, just pulling the curtain back wafts warmth into the ice box chilled areas of the plane that Elvis frequents, it makes her tremble with relief. She’s back in public, back where he won’t try anything. Ronnie, to her angry bewilderment, is still glued to watching the TV like he didn’t even register her absence. But his mere existence will still work for what she needs. She needs to belong to someone and sit beside that person for three hours while his boss cools off.

She is not prepared for the way everyone in the lounge spins round to look at her once registering her presence, looking with absolute surprise as if her reemergence was the surprise, not the lengthy plane tour to the back bedroom. It makes her seethe inside, they thought she’d go through with it, damn animals that they are, all “what happens on the road stays on the road” and carefree chauvinism inherited from their boss. She has to remind herself why she wanted this life in the first place, has to recall the perks and the wages and lavish reception.

Red and Joe now flank Ronnie and her seat beside him is taken up by those two manspreading oaf’s. Desperate, she decides to play at being cute and makes to sit on her husband’s lap, spinning round to find Elvis watching hehe from the curtained doorway as she tries to lower herself down to perch.

“Babe, I can’t see the damn screen with you like that.” Ronnie has the churlishness to complain and she wants to scream at his denseness, the way pushes at her lower back to tip her out of his lap.

To save herself the humiliation of face planting on the plane floor she chooses to stand of her own accord and catch herself from the shove. She sees Elvis’ lush mouth frown behind the cigar he’s lighting up.

“Don’t be an ass to her Ronnie, she’s your wife.” he reprimands and she gets a funny feeling of appreciation for being defended in all this. Her loyalty teeters towards the man she has to remind herself she needs to escape from. “Or have ya forgotten, ya unchivalrous bastard?”

That’s a little harsh but the memory of Ronnie not giving a damn about the fact she was almost assaulted -that’s harsh word for that too, her traitorous mind supplies- reminds her that she isn’t happy with him at all. But in fact, come to think of it, she isn’t pleased with any one them, and there’s no where to go on this damned plane. It starts to make her skin crawl, the realization that she’s surrounded by men who would either not believe or else not care if Elvis went through with the forceful attentions he was showing her back there. Who would believe her if she said he forced her?

“Ronnie I’m tired and my seat’s been taken!” she argues with him, “I just wanna sit down. Lay down, even!” she begs, thinking of how best to clear the couch of anyone but him so that no one takes liberties and sits down beside her.

“Then go lay down in back where there’s a fuckin’ bed? Why’d you come out?” he snaps.

“Cause-“ because Elvis Presley tried to take liberties, that’s why, but she feels strangled watching how all the men await her answer with a little too much investment, the way Elvis is still watching her behind tinted shades and a haze of cigar smoke.

“You get all bitchy when you’re tired, go lay down and take a nap, honey. I’m watching the game.” Ronnie suggests her worst fear and it infuriates her how he’s changed just since he slipped a ring on her finger.

“Ronnie please-“ She whimpers and would give anything to know why Joe is leering up at her with a sly grin. There’s no time to think on it as Elvis’ ringed fingers close around her elbow and tug her back towards the curtain.

“C’mon honey, ya heard your husband, let’s get ya situated.” he coos and her fingers turn to ice from the shock of it all.

“I don’t wanna!” she protests, “Ronnie!” she tries one more time while being backed away from her husband by his boss.

“Oh for fucks sake just do what he wants!” Ronnie begs with something akin to frustration but the red hot blush sweating up his neck suggests he’s humiliated to be caught saying it.

“Beg your pardon?” she hisses in disbelief, feeling Elvis’ hand clamp on her arm just a little more, maybe to keep her from marching up to Ronnie and smacking him.

“Just, just give him what he wants. Just tonight.” Ronnie spills the beans far sooner than needed and Elvis wants to roll his eyes at how fast they went from taking her for a nap to admitting to something far more sinister.

The bride’s head swivels from viewing her husband to Elvis and back to her husband and the room full of men who’s thrumming interest in her makes her wanna bolt straight out of the plane now she knows why. It’s sickening yet so strongly in character for them she doesn’t waste many moments in disbelief, it all makes sense in a horribly predictable way. Every one of these fella’s grinning at her discomfort are pathetic in her eyes, as pathetic as men who’d prefer to watch naughty movies than better themselves as lovers. Somehow in the mess of it all, Elvis alone stands out as something a little less deplorable. Even if it’s just his brash and demented honesty she admires.

“Y’all planned this?” she asks dully, scanning each lip licking face, ending with her husband’s sullen one, “This was all planned out? You offered me up? You goddamn, two faced bastard-“

Elvis loops his arm around her waist to prevent her from launching at Ronnie and clawing him to shreds. His chest is searing her through the silk on her back and his hands grab at her more than they need to in order to restrain her. It makes her pulse pound and fury swirls inside her, battling with the cold dread of weakness and helplessness.

“Ronnie made a little deal with me.” Elvis is drawling in her ear in so soothing a way it almost counteracts the nauseating confirmation, “And now, we can watch you runnin’ round this plane for hours to get away from me like a Junebug in a bottle but that ain’t gonna change how this night ends. How bout ya just be sensible, hmm? Just cause he’s a lyin’, no good sunnuvabitch don’t mean you gotta turn bad yourself, ya know? He gave ya instructions, ya can still be a good lil wifey and honor and obey him, can’t ya?”

“Why?” she persists, but feebly this time, not knowing if she’s asking her husband who keeps his face averted towards the screen or the man whose hands are mapping out her body in full view of his friends. “Why y’all gotta do this?”

“I told ya honey,” Elvis murmurs, rucking the hem of her skirt up passed her knees, “hope’s a dangerous thing. I don’t allow it in my house. An’ you’re part of my house now, ain’t ya?” he pets at the damp plushness of her inner thighs as the men stare and she struggles to find a way to empower herself while caught in such a feeble position. Hurting Ronnie, twisting the knife a little more like he’s done her is all she can think of at the time. “Don’t you belong to me, sweetie?” Elvis is prodding once more and his cheek is clammy and hot against hers, the cigar smoke pungent around them.

“Yes sir.” she agrees while sneering at Ronnie’s reddened face.

“That’s more like it.” Elvis’ voice gentles to something a little less frightening than before but all the more terrifying for how sure and smug it sounds. His hands grab at her breasts and she can’t help the whimper she lets out from the presumption, no doubt it’ll only get worse. “Since you’re so eager to stick close to ole Ronnie and include e’rbody in our private business, I reckon it’s only fair we conduct this lil interview on the conference table, hmm?”

When she cranes her neck to look behind him and past the curtain, she can see the shiny table top littered with items it didn’t hold when she made her hasty exit passed it; scarves and a strange sort of plastic wand, that stupid police flashlight and a box of cigars are clumped at its foot in an ominous hodgepodge.

Admitting to being frightened by it would strip away her last bit of autonomy in this and so in a bid to act unbothered she slips out of Elvis’ hold and walks on her own two feet into the room, turning her back to Ronnie before shifting herself to sit on the cold, hard surface of the table.

“Is this what you had in mind, Mr. Presley?” she asks him meekly and makes sure to let her legs fall apart just so. She thinks she’s going to have some control in all this, the silly little thing, thinking he’s a man with regular tastes and base preoccupations, easily distracted from the purpose of this like any other. And the purpose is not pleasure -though he intends to draw it from her till she is broken from it- but purity of intention and nature. A lie dressed in white no more, but a wanton woman giving in to her true nature. Only he has the power to bring this out in every one he meets, and to purge it all the same.

Elvis Presley eyes her, as do all the men in the lounge just past him, until with an approving little hum and smile that is almost pleased, he steps towards her, yanking the curtain closed behind him and leaving them (somewhat) alone together in the dimly lit room, full of anticipation.

And maybe dread.

[sacredhyacinth]

sorry for the yapping lately but here’s bm’s official playlist IF it did get a series :0

1: in love with the moon by peppermint ollie

I LOVE LOVE LOVEEE this song and it also helped me write a ton of gabriel/Loretta’s conflict, also how I think mel/amara think about eachother

2: duvet by boa

3: christmas kids by roar i

I feel like this is the official anthem of the bm universe at this point

4: I wanna by yours by artic monkey

mina and raquel coded stuff PLUS I really like it and it flows really well with the whole theme and vibe of BM

5: teenage dirtbag by wheatus

yeah YEAH I KNOW

6: Clarence theme song

7: little fang by Avery Tate I LOVE YOU

8: blue hair by tv girl

pronouns

9: using you by mars argo

10: angry by mars argo

11: any song by mars argo

12: carino by the marias

13: from the start laufey and specifically the goodkid cover

14: es by crying

15: me and my husband by mitski

DUH

16: becky by be your own pet

we have to stand up for the national anthem

17: still feel by half alive

18: for elise by saint motel

poor Elise her screen time is so low nowadays

19: animal by sir chloe

20: cooties by Melanie Martinez

21: aristocrat by poppy

22: American kids by poppy

23: money by poppy

24: existential crisis hour by kilo kush

25: fell in love with a girl by the white stripes

never let Gabriel get the aux cord