#finding references has been a struggle but again at least i know the direction i want to take this in

[willczek-art]

Not a final option or anything, I just colored this one variant for a thumbnail, may as well post it here :V

Update on the Concept Art assignment, I know where I'm going with the vibe I want them to have, I just haven't Gotten There Yet™~

(not having the world's technology/magic level established yet really doesn't help, but oh well...)

[sweetbans29]

Friendship Bracelets - CC

Pairing: Caitlin Clark x Reader

Summary: After getting out of a 2-year relationship, your friends encourage you to get back in the game by putting your phone number on some friendship bracelets for the Taylor Swift concert. You decided to make just one and that one ended up on the one and only Caitlin Clark.

Warnings: Swifties lol, this is like a major cliche but I do not care I am also going to change the order of the setlist to make this fic work better please don't come after me, cheating (not involving Caitlin)

Word Count: 2.3k

Sweetbans Masterlist

AN: This is nothing other than a figment of my imagination.

2 years. 2 years down the drain. 2 years you gave to this guy only to be left heartbroken and angry.

It had been two weeks since you found out your long-term boyfriend had been cheating on you. Something was off with the two of you for a few months before you found out but when you did it all clicked. That was no excuse for what he did, it honestly only made you hate yourself for not ending it when things started to change.

When you found out, you left quietly.

He was expecting you to lash out and make a scene. He expected you to break things and hit him and show all signs of what he did had an effect on you, at least any sign that you were affected. You gave him none of that.

When you found out - you packed up your things while he was at work and left without as much as a note. He tried calling and texting you for the better part of a week before you finally decided to meet with him.

The two of you sat down at a local diner. You barely looked at him as he tried to come up with any sort of excuse. It was miserable. when you were done sitting there watching him struggle, you finally spoke.

"I don't want to hear any of it. All I want is an apology and I will be going my own way. That is the least you can do for throwing away the last five years," you say making direct eye contact with him now.

He sits there, speechless. He tries to find words and you sit there watching him try to form an apology. Before he can form any coherent response, you get up and walk out not wanting to give the man in front of you any more time.

The next week was a rough one for you. You were incredibly thankful that you have a solid group of friends who have been nothing but supportive. They watched over you like a hawk, making sure you were always with someone and were kept busy.

That leads you to sitting at your friend's kitchen table, listening to Tayor Swift, snacking on some Chick-fil-A all while making friendship bracelets for the concert you guys will be going to in a few days.

You are focused on getting the beads threaded on the string in front of you when your friend hits your elbow causing you to spill all the beads you just put on.

"Cas! I was just about to finish this one," you say frustrated as you are on bracelet 20. Your friends told you you had to make 50 before you could even think about leaving the table. You gather the beads you were just using and begin to start making it again.

"I'm sorry!" She says as she grabs a nugget. One of your other friends chimes in after looking at your pile of bracelets.

"You know, it might not be the worst idea to put your number on some of those bracelets." She says as if you didn't just get out of a long-term relationship. You just give her a look.

"This could be good!" Another one of your friends yells as she points at you. "You will be in a stadium full of girls, singing their heart out to Taylor Swift - it has been a minute since you've been on the fun side." She says referring to your last relationship being Jacob, before him, you were dating a girl and were so much freer.

"Guys, it has literally been 2 weeks. It hasn't even been a month since I have been single. Let a girl heal," you say getting annoyed at your friends.

"Come on, it doesn't have to be serious. This could be a good distraction for you!" One friend says. Another pitches in, "Ya! That's actually a good idea, just something fun, a little distraction!"

"I am not going to put my number on a beaded bracelet," you say. "That seems desperate and I am not desperate, I am healing," You whisper the last part.

"Come on, just a few." You are now being passed the number beads. You make no move to grab them.

You know your friends mean well but this was a little much. They were lucky you were even going - the thought of going to a TSwift concert right after a breakup is daunting.

"No." Is all you say.

"Yes, you are going to make a few, you don't have to give them out if you don't want but if you make them then at least you have the option." One of your friends says.

"Fine, I will make ONE that has my number," you say so they would all shut up. "But I have no plans of handing it out."

The rest of the night is spent finishing up the bracelets. You made so many bracelets, you felt like your fingers were going to fall off.

The day of the concert is pure chaos. Your friends wanted to get there like 10 hours early to get in line for merch and make sure you have plenty of time to take photos. You follow along with your friends, letting them do whatever they want before the concert starts. YOu are a Taylor fan, but not nearly as much as they are.

Once you all make your way to your seats you are on the end of your group of friends. The group of girls next to you is already sitting. You take a seat next to a girl in a light sage dress. You say a quick hello as you get yourself situated.

Part of your group decides to go grab drinks and snacks while you opt to stay and watch over everyone's stuff. You tell them to grab you a drink and whatever looks good.

You sit there looking around at all the girls wearing their Taylor themes outfits and getting to have the time of their lives. Meanwhile, you are just trying to survive the night.

"Hey, I dropped my chapstick, would you mind grabbing it?" The girl next to you says.

"Ya, no problem," you say and lean down and grab the little stick that made its way under your legs. You pass it to the girl next to you who you notice is now alone. "You're friends also head to get snacks?"

"Restroom," she says with a little laugh. "Yours go to get snacks?"

You nodd also letting out a little laugh. "Can't leave the stuff alone."

You introduce yourself as you are about to be screaming song lyrics right next to this girl all night.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Caitlin," she says.

The two of you enter into some small talk and learn you both attend the same school. It is big enough that it doesn't surprise you that you haven't seen each other before. What once started as small talk, turns into talking life. She tells you how there are some big decisions that she is going to have to make coming up - she keeps it pretty vague but mentions it has to do with her career. You mention your recent breakup and how you the guy cheated. Her hand comes to yours as she apologizes that you had to go through that. You give her a small smile and tell her it was for the better.

She sat there listening to the most beautiful girl in the world talk about how someone treated you like trash. All she wanted to do was hold you and show you what love really is. It seems cliche that she is having all these thoughts at concert with a girl she just met but they way you talked about life had her thinking anything is possible.

The conversation continues as you talk about growing up and how you both chose to go to Iowa for school. You learn she plays basketball and you tell her you dance. She slides the comment of how you should come to one of her games. Of course, you say yes, not thinking anything of it.

Both of your groups of friends get back around the same time and you both turn back to conversations with them.

When the concert starts you get mesmerized by the performance. Everyone is standing and singing along to all of the songs.

The first time you cry is when Taylor sings The Archer. You try to hide it to the best of your ability. Your friends are too into the concert to notice which you are thankful for but as your arms wrap around yourself to provide any sort of comfort, you feel a hand come up and give your arm a little squeeze. You look over to see Caitlin's hand on your arm, rubbing it with her thumb. The part of you that once felt so empty, is now a little fuller.

Neither of you say anything about the little moment. You both just continue to enjoy the concert.

It is during Cruel Summer that you are back screaming at the top of your lungs. When Taylor gets to the bridge you grab Caitlin's hand and use it as a microphone, pretending you are on stage. She just laughs at you and takes in the sight of you living your best life. At the end of the song you pull her in so you can say something.

"I would apologize but I am not sorry at all," you say with a laugh. She leans over to your ear.

"Please never even think about apologizing for that," is what she says with a little wink. You just look at her and shake your head with a smile.

The night continues with you singing with your friends, both the ones you came with and the new ones you met at the concert.

The next time you cry is during Tolerate It, your friend that you came with brings you into her side and just holds you. While she is holding you, you feel a hand come and take yours, intertwining your fingers and giving your hand a squeeze while rubbing her thumb against your skin.

You don't know what it is about the girl but her comfort is one that you haven't felt in a while. It is peaceful, not forced. She brings a calmness to you and you haven't known her for more than 2 hours. Anyone else would be mortified with your sea of emotions - going from screaming at the top of your lungs to sobbing about your cheating ex-boyfriend but not her. She has embraced it all and continues to embrace it.

It is during You Belong With Me that you notice she is looking at you more than usual. You decide to sing it with her and turn to her during one of the verses. By the time the chorus comes around, she is singing it right to you. You sing along trying to not let the words of the song cut too deep.

She is the one to grab your hand during this song and belt out the words to the bridge. You just watch her in awe, seeing her let loose for what you feel like the first time this evening.

At the end of the song, you put your hand on her shoulder to help steady yourself as you reach up to whisper in her ear, "That was adorable, carefree looks good on you."

She leans back down to you, "You make it easy."

The rest of the night is filled with singing your heart out and making little comments here and there to the girl next to you.

One of Taylor's final songs is one that you have been waiting to hear all night, Enchanted. She does a beautiful acoustic version that has you whispering it along with her. You don't know when it happens but Caitlin takes hold of your arm and turns you to face her. Caitlin is now singing with you (to you). You can't take your eyes off of hers as her hand doesn't leave you. Caitlin, in nothing above a whisper, is singing the bridge of the song hoping that you know she is not just singing the song but means every word.

"Please don't be in love with someone else, please don't have somebody waiting on you." She sings looking right into your eyes.

Who in the world would have imagined this, a beautiful girl singing Taylor songs to you at a Taylor concert. Picking up the pieces of your heart all while only knowing you for less than a day.

When the song comes to an end, you don't know what overcomes you but you bring your hand up to her cheek and just stroke her cheek with your thumb. You then bend down and grab your bag, looking for something that you buried it in before the concert.

You find what you are looking for and give it one look before grabbing Caitlin's wrist and putting the bracelet on her. She gives you a slightly confused look, not understanding why you pulled the bracelet out of the bag and didn't take it off your wrist like you had with all the other girls around you.

You give a nod down for her to look at it and she does. When she sees the bracelet you gave her contains 10 digits on it, she instantly smiles.

The concert comes to an end and everyone begins clearing the stadium. You say goodbye to your new friends, making sure Caitlin is the last of them.

When saying bye, you bring her into a hug.

"I am not ready to jump into anything, but you are truly incredible and I would love to get to know you more. I only made one of those bracelets and wasn't planning on handing it out but you are something special." You say and begin to release her. She doesn't let go of you but rather squeezes you tighter.

"You are worth waiting for," she says, and your heart rate increases. "I will take it as slow as you need.'"

She releases you and you just smile at her.

This night marks a new beginning, one that you can't want to dive into.

AN: Yes, there will eventually be a part two. No, I do not know when. But I promise it will come. Let me know what you think! And as always, thank you for the love and support 🤍

[projectdrow]

How the Bad Batch can end well

So here are my 5 thoughts on season 3 and what’s to come after. I recommend @eriexplosion if you like reading interesting thoughts, analysis and ramblings, a lot of their recent posts inspired this one.

First of all, the trailer was a work of art. It gave us some really random scenes, but also some very direct information that we can speculate on like crazy, if we want to. Also, the title-episode list comes in handy, I will refer to it.

1.) Episode 1-3 one go

I’ll come back to why the show needs to end before May the 4th later, and that’s another reason for the multiple episode days.

When a streaming service like Disney drops more than one episode, they often do so because they think viewers might be lost, because the single (first) episode does not have the full “boom-bang-drama” potential.

I think we’ll see the liberation of Crosshair, maybe even Omega, in the first three episodes. The trailer makes no secret of the fact that Cross will rejoin the team. So this story will not be the main focus of the whole season and the first episode might built up solely for the climax of the escape/liberation in episode 3. At least something heavy will happen at the end of “Shadows of Tantiss”

2.) Omega as the main character

Omega’s character is a very typical tool in storytelling. Throw a character who knows nothing into an established system, so she learns everything with/for the viewer. Sure, the boys are main characters, too, but Omega is the point of view of the kids(! - I’ll come back to that later)-show we’re watching. She can’t be gone for that long, because I don’t think season 3 will be a “Omega’s adventures on Mt. Tantiss”. I think episode 6 and 7 (“Infiltration” and “Extraction”) the latest will bring her back.

3.) So what’s the story?

Actually, and some might say that’s a big take, a lot of the first episodes will be about Tech. I don’t think I need to elaborate to anyone why it makes no sense for him to be dead and never had.

When we first saw this Clone X, there were some interesting “Undercover-Tech” ideas, but after analyzing the trailer in more depth and especially what appears to be an attack on Pabu led by this Clone, well, I think that’s Tech. And not undercover, no, the full on brainwashed, highly dangerous Imp!Tech. Episode 10 is called “Identity Crisis”, which could very well be Tech’s. But they’ll get him back, don’t worry, also because the second part will be about the BB finally deciding what to do with their lives. Which leads directly to 5.), but first:

4.) (Almost) no one dies

Two reasons. First: We already had that devastating Tech-death scene. He AND Asajj will be brought back from the dead this season. Any further death this season wouldn’t convince anyone anymore, not even the kids.

Second: The kids. It’s still a children’s show. Yes, Star Wars kills of characters in them too, but @eriexplosion made a very good point in this post: That’s not what this show is about. TBB has been about the struggle of Clones finding their place, finding family, finding a meaning. All of that would be for naught, and that’s why I think everyone survives.

Also: The last episode is called: “The Cavalry has Arrived”.

5.) About the future

I think the Bad Batch was intended to be released earlier. As well as the trailer. But with the strikes and Filoni being promoted, their was a lot going on. With the triplet opening and the double episodes, we’ll finish on May 1st. And that would be just to perfect to announce the follow-up-project on May 4th. I see another Clone series on the horizon. The Clones work, the people love them, it’s all there, the characters, the stories, the animation. It’s a safe bet for Lucasfilm. And sure, it would work with Rex, Cody and more as main characters, but the Batch was intended to be and is a stark contrast to the “Regs”, especially if they get Cross and Tech back.

Sure, Omega could be the leading figure again, but… nah. I am writing this because I’m absolutely convinced that we won’t have seen the last of the complete BadBatch after season 3.

Star Wars is about Hope. So I hope.

[rebelscums]

You Drew Stars (Tech x Jedi reader)

Ratings: Angst | Fluff

Summary: Unrequited love is a real Bantha

Pt 4 of You Drew Stars

Feel the force around me… Use the force within me… I am one with the force and the force is with me… Be one with force.

The breeze swayed around me as I could feel the heat of the sun beat against my face. I sat in an empty field close to the Marauder, trying to find a moment for myself.

Be one with the force.

Be one…

Be one…

I felt the surge of the force within me. I opened my eyes to watch the energy surge through the tree a feet feet in front of me, a crack forming through the center.

“For the love of all things!” I yelled as I fell into my back.

“I’ve never seen you do that before.” Hunter’s voice sounded from behind me.

“I’m…” I sighed.

What do I even say? I’m struggling to handle my emotions? I have formed to much of an attachment? That I feel like I’m falling further and further away from the path of the Jedi?

“I’m alright.” I finally said, keeping my gaze on the sky.

I have to be.

I could hear the shuffling of his footsteps before he settled down beside me.

“No one has heard from you or seen you all morning. Omega is getting worried, Wrecker too.” Hunter explained.

“I didn’t want anyone to see me like this.” I muttered, “I’m trying to reconnect myself as a Jedi… It takes time and isolation.”

“I’m sorry again that he stood you up last night.” Hunters gaze couldn’t meet mine as he stared at the group of trees ahead, “Maybe he forgot.”

“He doesn’t forget anything.” I stated Tech’s words every time one of the boys tried to test his memory.

“I know.” Hunter relented.

“I wasn’t the one he…” I felt my throat begin to tighten, “It’s fine really.” I wasn’t sure if I was reassuring him or myself, “I now know where his heart lies and… I’m happy that he’s happy. I just need to move past this, that’s all.”

It wasn’t find though was it? Hunter could see the wrecker look upon her face. Clearly Hunter’s senses went beyond the physical realm as he studied the way the Jedi seemed to want the ground to swallow her up.

“You don’t have to burry your feelings. Trust me, Crosshair buries his feeling for all of us.” Hunter replied.

“If he were here right now, he’d probably say something like, I told you so.” I laughed lightly.

“Something like that.” Hunter grinned, “And most likely start a brawl with Tech.”

“I miss him…” I sighed, remembering all the fun times we all had when we were together.

“Me too.” Hunter replied solemnly letting a quiet settle upon us.

My stomach began to growl, causing us both to break into a small chuckle.

“I probably shouldn’t have skipped breakfast.” I joked before I glanced nervously to the direction of the Marauder.

“Has he left?” I didn’t have to say his name for Hunter to know who I was referring to.

“No… He’s been quiet all morning working on the ship.” Hunter answered truthfully.

“I’m going to go into town then and grab something to eat.” I stated as I pushed myself off of the ground.

“You don’t have to hide yourself away.” He stated as he stood as well.

“I know.” But it doesn’t mean I couldn’t try.

“At least take Omega with you. She needs a girls day having been cooped up with her brothers all morning.” Hunter tried to make a joke while taking care to make sure I wasn’t alone.

I smiled gently at the kindness and care he showered me with.

I patted him gently on the arm, “Thank you, Hunter. For being my friend.”

“Of course.” He nodded, “I’ll go get Omega.”

I watched him walk back to the ship, nerves creeping along my skin at who was inside.

He hasn’t tried to find me at all since last night… Did I really mean so little to him? If not romantic at least as friends? Now that I think of it… Were we even friends? Have I been fooling myself this entire time?

I closed my eyes and let out a soft sigh. I could really use your wisdom right now master…

“I’m ready!” Omega yelled as she ran out of the ship.

I suppose sometimes love is just a hopeful dream.

“Hi sweetie! Where do you want to go eat?” I asked as she grabbed my hand.

We began walking into town, her eyes scanning the buildings.

“I’ll know it when I see it. I’ve been wanting to try this place for a while, but it’s too fancy for my brothers.” Was all she replied and I couldn’t help, but wonder what she will pick.

What I didn’t expect was it for her choice to be the same cafe that I was at last night. Great now I’m even more embarrassed. We entered the cafe I sat in miserably for a couple hours last night. The staff here would have changed right? Please don’t let anyone recognize me. Please… Please… Please-

“Hi hun.” greeted me and I could see the pity in her eyes.

“Hello.” I greeted back nervously, “T-table for two.”

“And who is this precious thing?” She smiled down at Omega.

“I’m Omega!” Omega greeted.

“Hello again.” A familiar voice spoke behind us.

Not him too… Why did Omega have to choose here of all places?

“Indul.” I greeted him with a small nod, “You’re working today too?”

“Yeah.” He chuckled, “I have to pay my rent somehow.” He joked as he reached for the menus, “Just the two of you then?”

“Yes.” I gave him a polite smile.

Omega looked between us before settling her gaze on me, “You know him?” She asked as we followed Indul a few steps away.

“He was my waiter from last night…” I trailed off not really wanting to get into it.

“So this was…” She whispered.

“Yes.” I nodded.

“And you waited…” She pieced two and two together.

“Yes.” I sighed.

“I’m sorry.” She said as we sat down.

“Don’t worry sweetie, not all was lost. The food here was really good.” I smiled as I took my menu, “I liked the small cakes.”

“She’s right there.” Indul smiled as well, “I assume your date didn’t show up after all?” He spoke gently.

Oh I wish you wouldn’t have remembered that.

I shook my head, “Seems like he found someone else.”

“For someone who’s considered a genius, he’s an idiot and also my brother.” Omega placed her chin in the palm of her hand, elbow resting against the table as her eyes skimmed the menu.

“You must be really close then if you’re here with his sister.” Indul acknowledged.

“We are in a way. Well maybe not so much he and I anymore, but our group have always been a family.” I explained.

“Well if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s missing out on the chance to get closer to someone as beautiful as you.” He took a step back leaving me to manage my blushing cheeks, “I’ll give you two a moment to choose your drinks and a possible appetizer.”

The second Indul left, Omega was staring at me with wide eyes, “He likes you!”

I shushed her, praying to the force that no one especially Indul had heard the small girl.

“He does not.” I countered quickly, “I barely even know him. He probably just feels bad for what happened yesterday.”

“Doesn’t matter. I can tell he likes you and I don’t like it.” She crossed her arms, “You are suppose to be with Tech, maybe Hunter, but not with someone who could take you away from us.” She blabbered as she waved her little hands around.

“What do you mean Hunter?” I questioned her, but she continued in her rant.

“You need to stay with us because we’re a family.” Her voice was heated and I could tell she was beginning to get emotional.

“Hey hey.” I reached across the table to grab her hands with mine, “I’m not going anywhere you hear me? Nothing in this universe will take me away from you sweetie. Not even your idiot brother.”

That seemed to calm her down, a small smile beginning to form on her face.

“Promise?” She asked, her pinky held out in front of her.

I wrapped my pink around hers, “Promise.”

“Ready for your drinks?” Indul asked.

I sat back in my seat, “Bring us the most colorful non alcoholic drinks you have and some of those desserts from last night too.”

“Coming right up.” He smiled.

By the time the check arrived, the two of us had smiles and full bellies.

“Will I see you around here again?” Indul asked as I stood up.

I thought for a moment before nodding, “I think so. This will be our new favorite spot now.” I wrapped my arm around Omega’s shoulder as she grinned.

“I’m glad to hear that.” Indul smiled as well, “See you soon and have a lovely rest of your day.”

“Thank you!” I said before we walked out of the cafe.

The rest of the afternoon was spent with laughter and girl talk as we explored more shops around here. I ended up buying Omega a spring dress with the few credits I had and she wore it, skipping all the way back to the Marauder with her hand grasping mine.

The sun was beginning to set by the time we got back, Omega running over to Hunter and Wrecker who were sparring in the open field not too far away. Echo I’m sure was inside the ship probably tinkering on something with Tech. I couldn’t help, but smile as I watched her girl in her new dress and raving about it to her brothers.

“General.” The voice I least wanted to hear spoke up from behind me.

“Tech.” I spoke his name softly as I turned to greet the less than intelligent clone, at least in my opinion right now.

He walked down the ramp of the Marauder to stand in front of me.

“I wanted to apologize to you.” He glanced to his right nervously, “I didn’t mean to stand you up last night. I completely forgot, even if that sounds absurd coming from me… It is the truth.” He stated.

I nodded slowly, “Apology accepted.”

“Hunter told me you felt hurt by my actions and I don’t want you to feel that way because you’re my friend and I hope we can reschedule grabbing food another time? Perhaps a lunch date…” His voice trailed off as I gave him a confused look.

“Hunter told you I was upset?” I furrowed my brows. I tried to ignore the stab at my chest as he mentioned us only being friends.

Was that the only reason why he’s apologizing to me now? What does he mean lunch date? Was that what he thought last night was? Me just asking him to dinner as friends?

I felt my hurt turn into anger as I glared at him, “So if he didn’t say anything you would have just assumed that what happened last night was alright?”

“Well naturally yes. I don’t see how it is a big deal.” Tech adjusted his goggles.

“Don’t see?” I scoffed, “You don’t see how standing me up would be a big deal?!” My voice got louder, “What happened to us being so called friends? Huh?!”

“I have read that it is common for friends fo forget certain dates.” He elaborated, “I don’t understand why you’re so upset about it? I said we could grab lunch tomorrow.”

“I don’t want lunch! I want you to realize what you did last night was mean! And I’m not that kind of friend either, I wouldn’t forget you.” I seethed.

“That is highly implausible.” He stated with a slight wave of his hand, “It is natural for one not as intelligent as I to forget things.”

I’d never forget you!

I wanted to scream as my heart cried out. I felt the pebbles around my feet begin to shake, representing the anger I currently felt.

“Seriously?!” I was yelling now, “Says the one who had his tongue shoved down Phee’s throat while I waited for you for hours! Seems more like a stupid move to me!”

He rolled his eyes, “What happened with Phee and I last night has nothing to do with you.”

Ouch…

He continued, “And I didn’t ask you to wait.”

“You didn’t have to!” I practically friend out, “I don’t understand why you can’t see through your unintelligent brain that I would go to the ends of the galaxy for you!”

“Unintelligent? I can calculate and solve the most unsolvable problems with a gun pressed to my head.” He stepped forward, “What can you do General? Throw rocks?” He glared.

“Watch it.” I snapped, “I have saved you and your brother countless of times, I use to be your general.”

I could feel my blood begin to rise as the love I felt for the man in front of me began to boil over.

“If you are so great at saving us then how come my brother isn’t here right now? You couldn’t even get Crosshair on the ship that day.” He questioned.

“I…” I turned away to hide the fresh tears coming to my eyes, “That wasn’t my fault.”

Tech huffed, “Of course it wasn’t.”

I scoffed in return to cover the tightening feeling in my throat, “Some friend you are… Have fun with your girlfriend.”

“I will.” He stated it so surely that I wished more than anything that I could vanish in that moment, but he didn’t stop there, “At least I’d be a more supportive friend than you.”

“Tech that’s enough.” Hunter glared approaching and stepping in between the two of us to stop the argument, “Look at what your doing, your scaring Omega.”

I quickly glanced over to find Omega in tears, huddling behind Wrecker.

“Oh sweetie…” I said brokenly as I quickly walked up to her taking her in my arms, “I’m so sorry.” I spoke to he as I lead her back into the ship.

“She has nothing to be sorry about.” I heard Hunter seethe at Tech, “But you do.”

[whositmcwhatsit]

PART TWO

A/N: So, this has kind of unravelled... or unfolded... or collapsed like a... collapsing thing.

It's a silly, spooky, smutty love letter to Elvis, motels, small towns, ghosts, mysteries, and, erm, pine trees, with a ton of Elvis references and easter eggs that I think only I'm sad and nerdy enough to get.

Putting this out into the tumblr void in the hope that someone else might find some enjoyment from it too.

Catch up on Part 1

Everyone had congregated to eat in one of the other guys’ rooms. Elvis was reclined on the bed with his shoes on but wearing an entirely different outfit to the gray slacks and dark blue shirt he had been clad in while driving. Now he was all in black, but the captain’s hat was still in place. 

Cheryl had heard girls outside, she was sure of it. She had even turned up the radio to drown out one particularly shiver-inducing shriek that could have only been made by someone overcome with emotion. From all the racket, she had been sure that she would see at least a hundred girls in a crowd outside. She surveyed the road and the trees beyond, trying to fashion a scenario that made sense. 

After watching them devour their food like a pride of lions over a carcass, Cheryl understood why Elvis chose someone else’s room to eat in if he wanted all his guys around him. She picked at the overcooked meat and nibbled on some fries, but her stomach was too tense to allow much food inside. She had a strange feeling, like she had forgotten something or left it behind, but she couldn’t think what that would be, outside of her poor crumpled car by the side of the road.

Spreading out the paper napkin to cover her largely untouched meal, Cheryl brushed off her lap and fixed the group with a pleasant smile. 

“Well, thank you so much for your hospitality. I should probably be heading back to my room, I’m going to have a long day tomorrow.” 

“You can’t be going to bed yet!” Elvis teased. “It’s early! It’s not even little Billy’s bedtime yet!” The slight man he nodded towards pulled a face and made as if to swipe at Elvis, but was never in danger of making contact, especially after Elvis dodged with a raucous laugh. 

“Goodnight,” Cheryl said quietly to a background of banter and manly tussling. She turned as she stepped out onto the sheltered walkway and gasped as someone brushed by her in a canvas raincoat. 

“Oh, excuse m-” The walkway was empty in both directions. 

Cheryl’s arm still tingled from where the stiff material of the coat had brushed against her skin, but her brain was struggling with the contradiction given by her eyes. She briefly considered turning and knocking on the room door again, but then she caught sight of neon behind the squat little motel office and made a new plan. 

Forty minutes later, she was sitting at a table in the bar/restaurant nursing a martini and some barbecue wings. A couple of the patrons, men in rumpled shirts sitting at the bar, had given her a long look when she had walked in, but they had since gone back to their beers. 

The waitress made conversation with her, saying that she was a nice change from her usual clientele and she got excited when Cheryl explained what she was doing in the area. 

“Oh my grandma had the sight!” she whispered, glancing towards the bar before dipping onto the seat beside Cheryl. “And, you know, my folks said that when I was a little girl, I wouldn’t walk past one of the houses on our block? Just flat out refused to do it. I always said a strange man was staring at me, but there was never anyone there.” 

Cheryl nodded and smiled, eager to keep her companion for a little longer so that she could stay in the warmth and light without worrying about the heavy-set gentlemen at the bar deciding that she needed company. 

“How about here?” she asked, trying to look nonchalant as she blotted barbecue sauce from her lips with her napkin. “Did you ever see anything here? Or at the motel?” 

The waitress scoffed as she lit a cigarette and waved it airily at the barman to let him know she was taking a break. 

“Here? Nothing happens at the Cozy Pines. Just truckers and the odd tourists who didn’t stop in time in Portland but can’t quite make it to Seattle. The same family has even had the place as long as I’ve been alive. Old Bob Rochelle was manager for years until he had a hunting accident by the river. Still lives there though in the old honeymoon suite. His son Steve runs it all now.” 

Cheryl thought about taking a walk over to the office and having a chat with Steve. She weighed up her curiosity about the figure in the raincoat and the screaming girls against the potential awkwardness of the conversation. She could try the reporter angle and pretend she was writing about local history for her college newspaper, that one usually worked without making people stare strangely at her. However, Steve was a businessman, a man whose trade relied on people looking at his establishment and seeing comfort and respite. He probably wasn’t going to be forthcoming about events traumatic enough to leave an echo. 

“Say, did you hear that Elvis Presley is staying at the motel right now?” the waitress asked her. “I don’t know how true that is, but I heard it from Betty, whose husband is the manager. Didn’t sign in under his name, of course, but Steve thought he caught sight of him in the group. I’m going to head over after my shift and see if it’s true.” 

“Elvis? Really?” Cheryl grimaced doubtfully. “Wouldn’t he stay in a fancy hotel in the city? I didn’t realize that times were so tough for him.”

The waitress ground out her cigarette and took out a compact and her lipstick from the little pocket in the front of her apron, reapplying her lipstick. 

“Well, it’s probably bullhockey,” she agreed. “Still, I’m not taking the risk. My high school steady wouldn’t let me go back when Elvis did a show up this way. He was jealous, like all the boys.” She rolled her eyes and twisted the cap back on her lipstick. “I should have gone, the memories would’ve lasted longer than Teddy Davis, I’ll tell you that.” 

Another couple of guys walked into the smoky, noisy interior of the bar as the waitress returned to work. It took Cheryl a little while to recognise them out of their coveralls. A lot of her work involved reading people, taking in the lines and details; she wasn’t much of a ‘big picture’ or whole face person. 

Still, she was a woman alone in a bar and she sensed their interest, their attention on her as they strolled past her table. One of them took a table in the corner, while the other headed towards the phone, hung into a visored cubby beneath a stark bare light bulb. 

A few minutes later, he was standing at her table. 

“Hey, uh, Miss, the Boss has been looking for you. He wanted a word before you turned in.” 

Cheryl smiled into the rim of her martini glass at the play pretend and the subterfuge. ‘The Boss’, ‘wanting a word’. She had half a mind to stay and order another drink, but she hadn’t been lying earlier: it was going to be a long day tomorrow if she intended to get her car at least roadworthy and travel the last few hours to Seattle. 

“Of course,” she replied demurely, rising and leaving some rumpled bills on the table. She waved to the waitress on the way out, followed uncomfortably closely by Elvis’ guy.

Walking through the scrubby boundary between the restaurant parking lot and the motel, Cheryl paused as she took in the sheer number of automobiles now parked outside. There was a large mob of teenagers and even some older adults standing at the foot of the stairs to the second floor and a couple of cops looking bemused beside a tall, lean man in a striped shirt that Cheryl supposed was Steve the manager. They stopped her and Elvis’ friend/employee as they approached the steps. 

“We’re staying here,” her escort informed the officers, shaking his key with the room number etched into it. Cheryl took her cue from him and fished her key from her purse. After examining the fob carefully as if he suspected her of sitting in the woods painstakingly whittling a forgery, the uniformed officer stood aside and waved her on. 

The crowd started to chant as she climbed the steps and she wondered how she was ever going to get any sleep. 

“You go to your room,” her charming companion instructed. “I’ll let him know you’re back.” She unlocked her door and gave his retreating back a sarcastic salute before stepping inside. 

As she turned on the lamp, Cheryl had the strongest feeling that someone was waiting for her. If she had illuminated a figure sitting in the chair beside the dresser, she would not have been surprised, her sense of a presence was so strong, but the light thrown against the walls by the lamp just showed the spartan furniture and its shadows. 

The interconnecting door opened again. Elvis tapped on it once he had opened it and caught sight of her. She had never known anyone to knock as a greeting instead of a request to enter. 

“Come on in,” she said dryly, placing her purse on the nightstand and kicking off her shoes. He did, his vast aura engulfing the room and smothering the sense of that other presence she had felt. She raised her eyebrows as she registered the forcefully bland expression on his face and the way that he seemed to be grasping for words. He was annoyed. 

“Goddamn weasel in the office ratted us out,” he snapped finally. He paused in the center of the room and encircled his wrist with his other hand, flexing his fingers. “Hate that underhanded shit. We’re customers just like everyone else, we deserve some damn privacy.” He shook his head and sighed. “Guess it don’t matter, they always find out anyway.”

“That must get annoying.” She perched on the edge of her bed. “A policeman down there tried to stop me from coming back to my room and I found that irritating enough.”

Elvis thought about it, his thick black lashes fluttering as he blinked. Cheryl felt a little fondness for the way that he seemed to consider her comment so carefully. 

“No, uh, not annoying. Being sold out by that sonovabitch down there gets me heated, but people coming out… I mean they care enough to get in their cars and drive on over here in the cold and dark and everything… I appreciate that. It means something.”

“You’re grateful,” she put in, thinking back to their conversation in the motor home. 

“Sure…” He knocked the side of his fist against his thigh, looking around her room. “Sure. Uh, you know, a couple of my guys saw you at the bar across the way. I tell ya, you gotta be more careful, honey. A good girl like you shouldn’t be going to places like that all alone. People might get the wrong idea.” 

Cheryl’s eyebrows shot up and she had to rein in her laughter when she saw that he was serious. Deadly, earnestly serious. 

“The wrong idea,” she parroted instead, glad that her voice didn’t quaver. 

“Uh huh,” he shifted uncomfortably, looking somewhere near her right knee. “They might think you’re- That is-” He cleared his throat. “You just gotta be careful. You’re lucky you ran into little ole us, really.”

Cheryl’s mind was whirling with responses, most of them sarcastic and some of them resentful, but she discarded them all as he bit his lip and came to sit down next to her on the edge of her bed.

“Now don’t go getting yourself all worked up,” he murmured, fingers grazing her kneecap. “I ain’t saying nothing bad about you, baby. I know you’re a good girl-”

“I’m not that much of a good girl,” Cheryl interjected, putting her hand on one of his thighs. She felt the muscle tense and twitch against her palm. 

Her hand flexed on his thigh as the other ran up his chest and grasped his collar. He wasn’t even touching her and yet her skin was tingling all over; all over. When his hand finally settled on her waist, his thumb kneading into the curve as the heat radiated through her cotton blouse, she let out a helpless moan. Then the lights started to flicker. 

“W-w-well, there’s such a thing as too good,” he murmured, and they both laughed a little under their breath as they drew closer. His lips were soft, full and he used them skilfully like a tool he had mastered.

Most men, at least the ones that Cheryl had kissed, thought of kissing as a trailer for the upcoming feature: tight lips, plunging tongue, unrelenting pressure that she had to yield to.

Elvis’ kiss was gentle, not timid but playful and tender. His lips brushed against hers, nuzzling and massaging. Then he pulled back slightly, tilted his head and she caught the slightest hint of a smile as he parted his lips and his tongue teased its way into her mouth.

With her eyes squeezed shut and her mind otherwise engaged, Cheryl barely noticed, lost in a maelstrom of soft breath and tickling, warm pressure, but, as the bulbs grew brighter, they let out a loud buzzing like a swarm of angry bees. They pulled apart, looking around, and suddenly the lamp beside the bed gave off a loud pop as the bulb exploded and left them with an image seared on their retinas and a cluster of broken glass over the nightstand. 

Cheryl couldn’t quite comprehend what had happened, but she sensed Elvis’ head turn from the lamp to her face and he nuzzled into the line of her throat, his nose cold against the skin behind her ear. 

“Did I blow your bulb too, baby?” he rumbled in a deep bass, and they both broke into giggles. She enjoyed the way he laughed with his whole body, dragging her into it, his arms tight around her shoulders. 

“What happened, do you think?” she asked, staring at the glass fragments as she finally calmed down. 

“Power surge maybe?” He sounded like he was used to objects exploding and the rules of science and technology bending around him. He probably was. “The hell if I know.”

He let out a little boyish moan as he once again buried his face in her neck. The nerve that twitched at the feel of his hot breath went right down her spine and between her legs, which she was already clenching together. 

“I should go out there,” he said, words almost entirely muffled against her throat. 

“You know, the waitress told me that Elvis was staying at this motel,” she told him, angling her head as he nipped at her skin and then soothed it with a kiss. “I said that I didn’t realize he was that hard up.” 

Another huff of a laugh right into the crook of her neck and she had to cross her legs, feeling far from being a good girl. 

“Hard up,” he murmured under his breath as he rose, the emphasis he put on the words made her cheeks rapidly heat like that lightbulb. She tried to busy herself clearing up the mess on the table to hide her embarrassment. 

“Hey Cheryl?” It was the softness of his voice, almost breathless, that made her look up as he turned into the doorway between their rooms. 

“Yes?”

“Can you.. uh, see a spirit around me?” 

Cheryl had seen that same look he was wearing countless times before on many other people, a cocktail of hope and fear, and, just like always, she tried not to disappoint. 

“Well, um, let me see.” She squinted and focused on the empty space around him, letting his handsome face blur and fade with some regret.

“I can’t be sure,” she hedged, “but I’m picking up something, a strong feeling… love. You’ve lost someone you loved very much… No, someone who loved you very much…” She quickly let her eyes zoom in on his face, checking for the tiny tells, tension around the eyes, tightening of the mouth, and movement of the pupils.  

This should have been easy, he was one of the most famous men in the world and every aspect of his life was publicized, but Cheryl had never been much of a fan of popular music. She had never even seen one of his movies.

“You don’t see nothing, do you.” His jaw muscle flexed as he turned away and she thought she glimpsed a sheen in his eyes, but he was blinking very rapidly. “I-I guess I knew you wouldn’t. I don’t feel-” He shot her a fast, rueful smile and crinkled his eyes. It was the smile of someone who was always careful not to make people uncomfortable with their emotions. More than the promise of money, this made her want to tell him comforting lies. 

“I don’t always see what’s there, not straight away,” she said. “Especially if the spirit was very close to the person in life. They tend to cleave closer and blend with the aura of the person I’m reading, because they’re cut from the same cloth, so to speak.”

He nodded, that socially appeasing smile still faint on his lips, and she knew he didn’t believe her.

As Cheryl was scooping the last of the glass into the wastepaper basket, a communal shriek went up that signaled Elvis’ emergence from his room. Now that she had heard it, she realized that the screams she had heard earlier were not excited, not hysterical with joy and desire, they had been terrified. 

“I heard you,” she said quietly into the stillness of the room. You have terrible timing, she thought very loudly in her head. 

With a sigh, she jammed her aching feet back into her pumps and yanked on her jacket, peering through the net curtains at the window. It was an information gathering opportunity too good to pass up. Half the town was down there milling beneath the window, including cops who might be distracted enough by having to wrangle wailing women that they might answer her strange questions without getting too interested in her. 

It sounded like a carnival as she stepped outside her door. There were car radios blaring the same Elvis songs, presumably the local radio station showing deference to their prestigious visitor. People were laughing and talking and rushing backwards and forwards like they were lining up for rides.

It took a moment for Cheryl to locate Elvis in the center of it. He seemed to have changed into his third outfit of the day before venturing out and was now accessorizing his captain’s hat with a light blue neckerchief. She found herself imagining untying it with her teeth and she flushed even though no one could have possibly known what she was thinking about. 

Nearly all of Elvis’ guys were clustered around him in a knot, a tense and frowning wall of boys that could not have been more in contrast to the man they were encircling, who was grinning and laughing and glowing in the center of them. She supposed they were employed to do the worrying for him. 

Hopping from the last step, Cheryl took a wide arc around the main action and scanned the faces. Finally, she sidled up to a little group of girls who were leaning against a car and giggling over a folded magazine. 

“Hi,” she smiled and tried to look innocent. For some reason, she always had to make that effort, something about her natural resting face always made people suspicious. “Do you know what’s going on over there?” 

“Elvis Presley!” one of the girls cried. “He’s stopped here, of all places, on his way up to Seattle for a movie!” 

“Oh wow!” Cheryl marveled. She was putting on a voice, why was she putting on a voice?! “That’s wild! I love Elvis!” 

“He’s really the most!” one of the girls agreed. 

“I’m just so glad I was listening to the radio when they announced it,” said another. “Can you imagine if we had missed it?!”

“I’m just glad it’s happened now and not when old Mr Rochelle was in charge. My folks would’ve never let me come!” 

Recognition pinged in Cheryl’s mind and she zoomed in on this girl, who was blithely kissing the scrawled autograph on her forearm. 

“Why wouldn’t they have let you come?” She kicked herself for the intensity she heard in her voice, but luckily the other girls were too distracted to notice it. 

“What? I’m not saying they’re true, just that people talked. They said that old Mr Rochelle was…” Even this girl seemed to demure suddenly, glancing around as if someone might overhear. “He was just creepy.” 

“Because of the stories,” the girl replied absently. One of the others hissed:

“Jane!” 

“Was?” Cheryl prompted, wondering how far she could push without drawing suspicion. “He’s still alive, right?”

“Yeah, but he can’t walk. Not after… what happened.”

“Jane, that was just an accident. You are such a storyteller! You should be careful that people don’t start telling stories about you!” 

Seeing them descending into squabbling, Cheryl moved on in case they reconciled by uniting against the outsider who instigated everything. She tried a few more girls, but they were far too distracted by the object of their desire standing in the parking lot to put words together into sentences. 

Finally, Cheryl caught sight of the waitress- She wished she had asked her name- and she wandered over, having to focus on making her steps seem casual and not rushed. 

“Hi there!” she smiled. “Seems like the rumors were true!” Cheryl watched recognition flash in the woman’s eyes. 

“Had to happen eventually!” she agreed. 

“So, have you spoken to the great man himself?” she asked, feeling a little bad at the deception since the waitress had been so nice to her. 

“Not yet. I’m biding my time, it’ll be curfew soon and the cops will chase the teenyboppers out of here. I don’t want to risk having my eyes clawed out before then!” 

“Ha, yes, probably wise.” She shook her head as the waitress offered her a cigarette. “Are you from here originally?” 

“Born and raised. Why? Can you see the hope draining out of my eyes?” Cheryl really liked the waitress. 

“I was just wondering how much you know about the Rochelle family. You mentioned they’d run this place for a long time, and the girls over there were saying there were some stories about them?”

The waitress squinted across the parking lot. “Oh yeah, well, their mothers listen in to the party lines instead of watching television. You know how small towns are.”

“And no girls ever… disappeared or anything?” Cheryl wanted to reel the words back in as soon as they flopped out of her mouth and floundered in the dark, cold, damp air. The warmth rapidly cooled in the waitress’s eyes and Cheryl gave her an awkward, grimacing smile and edged away. 

“Of course,” Cheryl murmured, though all she knew of small towns was what she glimpsed as she passed through them with her family when they were on the circuit.

“I know what the gossip says,” the waitress said shortly. “But Bob was always nothing but polite and kind to me. He gave me my first job as a maid at the motel back when I was in high school.” 

That left only the police, but they all seemed very busy now that curfew had fallen and some kids were trying to defy it, lingering in the parking lot, trying to talk themselves out of having to leave. Cheryl slowly rotated, looking for a younger officer, maybe someone who looked like they had something to prove and would open up to someone willing to be impressed. 

Cheryl’s eyes instead snagged on Elvis, who had glanced up from the crowd of people surrounding him, eyebrows raised inquiringly, almost as if she had called him. He flashed her a smile, not the irrepressible grin she had bathed in back in her room, but the crooked ‘Elvis’ smile that was almost his trademark. She realized she might well have never seen him in a movie or attended one of his shows, but she had certainly seen a performance now. His attention was drawn back to the older ladies who were taking their turn now that the teens had been forced back home, and she finally managed to blink. 

“You should go on and head upstairs now. He’ll be done in a minute.” She flinched at the low voice to her left. 

“Joe, right?” she asked of the man who had appeared at her side.

“He’ll be done in a minute,” he repeated in a flat tone. 

“That’s nice,” she returned, turning away. 

Cheryl’s mother always said that Cheryl’s biggest weakness was her stubbornness. And she was right, but Cheryl was obviously never going to admit that. 

Likewise, she had just been about to head back upstairs to puzzle over this little mystery she had found herself wrapped up in, but now that Joe had told her that she had to, she had to force herself to stand in the cold, dark parking lot until Elvis and his gang went back upstairs. Those were the rules. 

Cheryl made one last attempt to talk to one of the police officers, but after all the excitement of the evening they seemed to have got their fill of young women and coolly told her to be moving along. She risked a glance back and Elvis was still talking, flanked by adoring middle aged fans he had his arms around. 

She rubbed her own goose-pimpled arms and swore under her breath. She was going back to her room because she was cold, she told herself, not because some lackey ordered her to. It didn’t make her feel any better as she stomped up the concrete steps and she kept her head high in case she looked down and saw them smirking at her. Ugh. 

“Who are they to be telling me what to do,” she muttered, unlocking her door and switching on the overhead light. “I’m a grown woman, do they think-” 

Tossing her jacket onto the chair, she looked up just as a girl with a swollen, tearstained face started to run at her, her face contorted by a soundless scream. Letting out a shriek, Cheryl collapsed back against the door and braced for impact, but it never came. She opened her eyes and took in the empty room. 

“Stop doing that!” she snapped, trying to sound like her heart wasn’t positioned somewhere in her windpipe, racing a hundred miles an hour. “I’m trying, okay?!” 

It wasn’t like people imagined, Cheryl didn’t even think it was much of a ‘gift’ as such. There were no silvery silhouettes standing in a line waiting patiently to pass on reassuring words to their loved ones on the earthly plane. And Cheryl wasn’t some mystical disk jockey taking messages and playing them out over the airwaves. 

“This one goes out to Barbara from Rod: sorry for the fifty years of marital neglect, and my will is hidden under the floorboard beneath my easy chair in the den. Next up, ‘Earth Angel’ by The Penguins.”

If only! No, instead it was silent, sepia, mimed mirages and flashy, nausea-inducing replays of trauma and horror. Other times, it was voices that sounded like they were being played at half-speed while underwater in the next room. Her ‘gifts’ had never been intended for use as a career and the more she tried to pretend that she was a worker on a production line, cranking out the latest in comforting and reassuring products, the more they acted up, twisted and turned on her. 

“God gave you this talent,” her great grandmother would tell her in the old tongue, refusing to speak the language of the cursed invaders. “Not PT Barnum, God.” 

Unfortunately, God hadn’t given her any other talents or inclinations she could profit from, so she had been forced to disappoint Granny O’Donahoe, but then poor Granny had been disappointed from the moment she first breathed air in that little stone peat-roofed cottage back in the old country, that was nothing new. 

Cheryl was still trying to shake the icy fear that she had walked into like a fog, or like a fog that had walked into her, and she didn’t hear the knock or register Elvis standing in the doorway at first. She tuned in halfway through his sentence, which was something about an autograph. 

“Sorry?” 

“I said, you went all the way down for an autograph, but you never came over, honey. You scared of me?” 

She forced a weak smile. “No, I just didn’t have any paper… or a pen.” 

“That’s never stopped me before, darlin’. Come on in here and I’ll show you.” He dipped his head, looking at her through his brows with sparkly eyes; his radiant smile half a second away from breaking out across his immaculately made up face. He was a goddamn movie star, standing in her motel room in the middle of a podunk town in Nowheresville. The screaming spirits were the least weird part of this whole situation. 

She crossed the floor and stopped in front of him, still a little shaky. He seemed to see it, rubbing his hands slowly up and down her arms, soothing her even as he was leaning in to shake her up all over again with his soft lips. 

The flat of his hands left the relatively platonic zone of her arms, sliding against her rib cage as he bent her backwards like they were in some romantic Hollywood epic. She gripped his shoulders for balance, feeling his palms travel the outline of her waist and hips before moving back to join in cupping her ass, tugging her against him. 

When he drew back, leaving her gasping for air, all the blood rushed to her face and… other places. She could only stare at his lips, the curves and creases, as he said:

“I’d like you to come into my room. Will you do that, sweetheart?” 

Cheryl’s heart gave a squeeze at the ‘sweetheart’, and the soft, gentle way he said it. That didn’t mean that she was going to make it easy for him though. 

“Why can’t we stay in my room?” she asked. She noticed that he hadn’t ventured any further than the threshold. She wondered if he felt it too, that lingering miasma of terror and pain. 

“I’m doing you a favor, honey, there’s faulty wiring in here or somethin’. You’re liable to get yourself fried if you stay in here.” He backed into his room. “No way, that ain’t how I’m going out, zapped by a thousand volts with my one-eyed peter hanging out.”

“Oh, I can’t wait to see that quote printed up on a nice poster in the office,” she returned. 

The laughter burst out of him like his body couldn’t quite contain it and he dropped backwards onto his bed, laying spread eagle.

“You are too much, honey, get over here!” He propped himself up on his elbows and wiggled his legs invitingly.

Even as she was ambivalently drifting closer, he snorted again, thinking back on her words. She paused with her knee on the bed and struck what she hoped was a seductive pose, pulling the pins and combs from her hair. It gradually unlooped and fanned out across her shoulders.

A smile, absent and unforced, tugged at the corner of his mouth, even as it was falling open, his bottom lip glistening invitingly. 

With her hair now loose and unencumbered, Cheryl’s fingers trembled a little as she lifted her hand to the lapels of her blouse and began to unfasten the tiny buttons. Yet again, Elvis seemed to sense her trepidation and shook his head slightly, giving her a little closed-mouth smile. 

“Come sit down, honey,” he coaxed, patting the bed beside him. “Let’s get comfy and cozy.”

“As cozy as a pine tree,” they finished together. He winked and nodded. 

“Exactly.” 

She clambered onto the bed as gracefully as she could in her tight knee length skirt and sat beside him, tucking her feet beneath her. 

“See,” he murmured, brushing her hair back over her shoulder. “Ain’t that better?” She was in no position to reply as he rained down warm, wet kisses on her face, snagging her mouth and tangling her tongue with his own. 

With almost painful slowness, he cradled her across the shoulders and gradually let her descend against the pillows, even while his other hand was unbuttoning her blouse.

Cheryl shivered and tried to ground herself, exploring the shape of him with her hands, marveling at the heat that radiated through his clothes, the firm softness of his sides and the sharpness of his shoulders. 

Awkwardly moving his arms around hers, he slipped her blouse off her shoulders and expertly unfastened her bra with a flick of his fingers, his twitching eyebrow and twinkling eyes almost requesting her awe. Instead, she rose slightly, bending at the waist, and entwined her arm around his neck, pulling him down onto her and hearing him moan softly, boyishly into her mouth. 

It took almost all the restraint she had not to rub up against him like a bear with an itch, her core almost aching for the feeling of pressure, a satisfying answer to the throbbing between her legs. She knew, however, that her skirt was too tight to allow her to spread her legs, to entwine them around him as they longed to. 

When he tugged her slightly onto her side so that he could get to the padded button at the back of her waistband, she started to unfasten his shirt, smiling slightly at the sight of the sparse hair curling against his chest. Unable to help herself, she leant forward and licked a strip from the middle of his sternum to the hollow of his throat, moaning as her tongue tingled from the salty taste. She finally got the chance to tug at one end of his neckerchief with her teeth, but all that served to do was tighten the knot and almost strangle him. 

“Sorry! Sorry!” she whispered, as he paused in his task of tugging down her skirt to loosen the bind around his neck. He shook his head, his apple cheeks brimming as he fixed her with a boyish smile, and deftly tied the scarf around her bare throat, using the ends to pull her forward, crushing her mouth against his own. She reached over and grabbed the captain's hat by the brim, placing it on top of her head, letting it sit jauntily over one eye.

Elvis smoothed down his hair with his hands, grinning at her as she struck a pose and saluted. Finally, he grabbed the hat and frisbeed it onto the dresser with impressive accuracy.

“You want your autograph now?” he murmured, voice almost slurred. She gazed without comprehension into his heavy lidded eyes. In response, he drew back and she whined a little, making him huff a laugh as he tugged her up too, the both of them facing each other bare chested and flushed. 

With tantalizing slowness, he traced his nail along the inside of her thigh, swirling and skating across the skin as he signed his name.

“There ya go, now you’re mine,” he murmured, smiling lazily with sleepy eyes. 

“Uh uh.” She shook her head; he mirrored her and pouted

“No?”

“Just that leg,” she informed him, her lips somehow both tingling and numb. “Just that leg belongs to you.”

“Aw man, well, I can’t have that.” His long fingers flicked the top of her panties and she squeaked, but then he scrawled his ‘autograph’ in large letters across her stomach, before doing the same with her other leg. 

“Now, see,” he hummed meditatively, “normally I give out a kiss with my autograph.”

“Oh, you do? Well, then you gotta be fair.”

“Yeah, gotta be,” he murmured, leaning in and missing her mouth altogether. Instead, his lips and the delicious scrape of his stubble grazed the velvety skin of her breast, dragging with delicious sharpness across to her aching, pebbling nipple. 

When he looked up at her cheekily through his brows, his dark blue eyes murky against the shadow of his black eyebrows and his smudged mascara, she started seeing double; it was too much for her mind to comprehend. She wasn’t sure whether she was going to succumb to pleasure or unconsciousness.

He stuck out the tip of his tongue, painstakingly slowly extending it towards her pink nipple as she held her breath and started to see stars. 

“Elvis, please,” she mouthed, her voice almost gone. When he still didn’t take that final step, she tugged on his hair at the nape of his neck. 

“Ow, watch it!” His eyes flashed with genuine anger for a second and she panicked. Her sex-drunk brain was able only to think of simple solutions, so she petted his hair where she had pulled it, gradually increasing the territory of her hands to include his back and his shoulders and his chest. Yet even in her simplified state, she was surprised to see how he basked in the affection, the loving, tender light back glowing in his gaze. 

Finally, he closed his lips around her areola, sucking her breast into the warm, wet cavern of his mouth. She continued to stroke and rub her fingers into his scalp and along the lines of his neck and shoulders as he turned his attention to her other aching breast. 

At the same time, one of his hands began to trail down from where they had both been pinning her hips hard to the mattress, like he had been afraid she would float away otherwise. He might have been right. She felt him slide a finger under the leg of her panty and pause, tracing along the line of her lower lips. 

“Okay?” he murmured, his words damp and hot against her ear as his mouth had moved back towards her head, nipping at the flickering pulse in her throat and the soft line of her jaw. She nodded, exhaling loudly through her nose. 

She felt his finger slide in deeper and her face throbbed as she felt how little resistance he was encountering. What must he think of her, dripping and clenching around his fingers so eagerly, so hungrily?! She tried to look away, craning her neck to try and bury her face in the pillow, but he grabbed her chin with his other hand and pressed his forehead against hers, his eyes still twinkling, but his expression otherwise as serious and real as she had seen all day. 

His jaw was clenched and she could make out the sound of him almost grinding his teeth as he pressed his pout against hers like he was trying to control himself and manage the flow against the flood of affection he wanted to give.

He grunted softly and she heard the clink of his belt being unfastened and then felt the material of his pants rustling and brushing against her bare legs. She was impressed by how quickly and gracefully he had managed to whip them off and was about to tease him about it, when she discovered that Elvis did not wear any underwear. 

Because she was human, Cheryl tilted her head, trying to get visual confirmation of what she could feel, the heavy, velvety length of him poking and prodding against her slick entrance as he adjusted his position over her. Instead, he lifted her leg behind the knee and pulled it tighter against him, like he wanted to feel the pressure of her around him. It meant that her bent legs were encasing him and blocking her own field of vision. 

“So pretty,” he murmured, wiping her hair back from her face with a splayed hand and tickling her cheek and ear with his prickly stubble and lips. “And you feel so good.”

She smiled, wondering if he knew he was talking; there was kind of a mindless automaticity to it, like he was soothing a fretful, wild animal. Her laughter caught in her throat as the pressure increased and a rod of heat slid inside her. 

Elvis froze between her legs, obviously feeling her discomfort in the tension of her muscles as they resisted him. 

“Shhh, shhh,” he murmured, “It’s okay. Kiss me, baby, just kiss me.” He caught her mouth with his and for a moment, he was everywhere and it was too much. It was just too much.

Cheryl wanted to fight him off, to separate them to reassure herself that she could, that there would still be a her left after they were done. Then, her body relaxed and she found herself again, wrapping her legs around his hips, feeling the round curves of his ass against the backs of her calves as she crossed her legs at the ankles. 

Again, she lapped at the line of his throat as he moved over her, nuzzling her nose into the curve of his shoulder, her mouth watering at the musk and the salt and the faint tang of a long-since applied cologne. She explored his body with her hands, enjoying the fact that he was solid and yet soft at the same time, it seemed to fit him somehow. He flinched and let out a muffled squeak as she traced her own autograph down the length of his side. It threw him off his rhythm, but when she whispered into his neck, ‘Now that part is mine.’, his only response was to nod and mumble:

“Okay.” 

Regaining his pace, Elvis adjusted his hips, tilting them somehow and the heavy, warm feeling tingling below Cheryl’s belly began to unfurl, to radiate and to send out sparks. Her toes curled, the insoles of her feet tingled and at the deepest, warmest, fullest part of her, waves of pleasure began to ripple outwards with a rush that was almost painful, it felt so good. She couldn’t stop the moan from tearing from her throat, even though she was also trying to heave in a breath. Her thighs spasmed and clenched; She arched her back, pushing her breasts, already flushed and sensitive from his close attention, against the coarse hair of his chest. She could feel his chest shuddering against as he tried to suck in air. 

Abruptly, roughly, he wrenched himself free from the grip of her arms and legs. More importantly, she gasped as he pulled out, taking with him the warm, heavy feeling of fullness from within her. She watched in bemusement as he stroked himself a handful of times, before wet warmth splatter onto the surface of her belly. 

“Oh God,” he mumbled, his voice soft and high, utterly free from pretense. 

For a minute or two, there was only the sound of their breathing as they struggled to fill their aching lungs. Then Elvis leant down and snatched up something from the floor, handing it to her for her to wipe her stomach. It was only afterwards that she realized it was her own blouse. 

He pressed a hard kiss into her forehead, practically ramming her head into the pillow, and then he climbed off her and grabbed his robe from the chair by the dresser. Wrapping himself in the dark silk, he padded into the adjoining bathroom and she glimpsed his silhouette in the bright light and shiny tile, before he closed the door behind him. 

Cheryl wondered if she was supposed to leave. Was that what all his other conquests did, the Hollywood starlets and the glamorous models? She could well imagine them wrapping themselves back up in their Parisian dresses and fur coats and sweeping out the door. Those types of women probably always knew the correct thing to do. 

Cheryl, for whom this had been her first time in a bed and only her third time with a man, had not quite mastered the classy departure. In fact, she was still wallowing in her inferiority when the bathroom door opened again and Elvis clicked off the light. She wondered if he was disappointed to find her still there, clutching her ruined blouse to her chest and staring balefully at the tiled ceiling. 

Elvis gave nothing away as he climbed back into bed, Cheryl felt the mattress shifting beneath her as he shuffled across to her. He plucked the blouse from her hands and tossed it onto the floor, then maneuvered her onto her side, pulling her back against his robe-clad front. She felt the weight of the blankets being tossed over her and he snuffled endearingly into the crook of her neck as he got comfortable. 

“Mmm, the coziest pine tree in the forest,” he yawned, his minty breath telling her that he had even brushed his teeth in the bathroom, while she was laying naked, sticky and decidedly unfresh in his bed. “Goodnight, darlin’.” 

Cheryl felt him peck the outside rim of her ear and had a frightening rush of tenderness for this stranger that felt more like danger than anything else she had felt, seen or heard that day. Spirits she could handle, ghostly apparitions in her bedroom were hardly uncommon; lightbulbs exploding right next to her was a little rarer, but caring about a boy was a worry. Caring about Elvis Presley was downright terrifying. 

Once she was sure he was asleep and after she had stared in wonder at his profile and taken in the details of his straight nose and pillowy lips, the curve of his chin and the slope of his forehead. After all that, Cheryl slipped from his bed, gathering her discarded clothing to her chest and hurried back to her room. She didn’t bother turning on the light, not wanting to see if a distressed ghost was about to rush her. Instead, she made sure that the adjoining door was locked. 

As she showered, under a trickling, tepid spray, she let her hands follow the pathways that his had taken, scratching at the warm beard rash across her chest, pressing against the slight ache above her pubic bone, her palms flat against her still blushing cheeks. She grinned secretly to herself, thinking about the cresting of that achey, pleasurable wave, her toes scrunching against the slick wet tiles at the memory. 

Taglist: @deniseinmn, @vintageshanny, @be-my-ally, @missmaywemeetagain, @ellie-24, @peskybedtime, @thatbanditqueen , @lookingforrainbows

All of which shattered like a sheet of ice when she heard a shout- Elvis’ shout- loud and panicked- and something began pummeling furiously against the locked door. 

TO BE CONTINUED (AGAIN) (SORRY!)

[bungalowbear]

eighteen.

ranger!nanami x psychic gym leader!reader, pokémon au, wc: 900

there’s a line that references part four, but isn’t necessary to understand this part if you haven’t read it. as always thank you to the lovely @likelilacwine for inspiring this series 💜

Nanami takes you into the next room and sits with you on the velvet loveseat. His arms continue to hold you until you’re no longer trembling. Lucario sits at your feet, his red eyes studying you closely. Eventually, you find your voice and tell Nanami about the man you encountered in Yuji’s mind.

“He said Yuji is his vessel,” you explain.

“Who is he?”

“He didn’t tell me his name. But his face, Kento.” You adjust your position so you’re facing Nanami. His arms fall away from your body. “He wasn’t human.”

Neither of you say anything for a minute. Nanami’s expression is pensive. You worry your bottom lip.

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” you whisper.

“Do what?”

“That…man told me I helped set him free when I entered Yuji’s mind.” You lean forward, clasping Nanami’s hands with your own as you plead to him. “But I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t. Please believe me, Kento. I’d never want to hurt Yuji.”

Nanami carefully removes one of his hands from your hold. He lifts it up, gently holding the side of your face is his large palm. “I believe you.”

“You do?”

He nods. 

“I wasn’t fair to you before,” Nanami says. “So much time has passed, and all this time I’ve been holding onto the person you were back then and refusing to understand who you are now.” He says your name. His eyes bore into yours with a warm intensity. “I’m sorry. You had your own struggles, and yet, I only thought of myself. I can’t imagine what it was like for you in that gym. With her. I was just so hurt that you wouldn’t talk to me, that you left without saying goodbye.”

“I’m sorry, Kento. I’m so sorry,” you repeat, lowering your gaze. “I was scared that after our match you wouldn’t want to see me again. I was so ashamed of myself.”

“We’re different people now.” Nanami takes your chin between two fingers. He lifts your head to look at him. “But I’m glad we’ve found each other again.”

Lucario rests a paw on your knee, eyes lighting up in recognition. You cradle his face in your hands. Lucario is a special friend, having hatched from the egg you gifted Nanami when you were teenagers.

“You’ve grown so much,” you say fondly.

Lucario leans into your touch. He and Nanami don’t leave your side for the rest of the night.

At sunrise, Yuji wakes up to an empty room. He recognizes the walls of your gym’s infirmary, but he doesn’t remember how he got here. Sitting up, his legs hang over the side of the bed. He presses the heel of his hand against his temple. His head is pounding, but at least he doesn’t feel like he’s overheating anymore.

Yuji slowly rises, passing Growlithe who lays fast asleep on the floor beside the bed, and steps into the hall. It’s early and no one is around, so he decides to take a walk outside. Maybe some fresh air will do him good.

Stepping onto the grounds behind your gym, Yuji smiles at the sight of Pokémon strolling about. He walks along the path toward where Espeon and Psyduck are lounging near the lake’s edge. Yuji notices their bodies tense when they turn their heads to look his way. When he gets closer, Espeon dashes away, leaving Psyduck to waddle after him.

Yuji’s brows rise in surprise. He was pretty friendly with them when he was here not too long ago, so why are they running away from him now?

Turning his head, Yuji notices a group of Pokémon huddled together at the edge of the garden just staring. As if he’s a stranger they’d never encountered before. Yuji takes an experimental step in their direction and it’s enough to make them scatter.

Yuji winces when a sharp pain radiates from his temples. His senses are foggy as he turns back toward the lake, hoping a splash of cool water will clear his mind.

Nurse Aurora informs you that Yuji is awake, but that she’s unable to find him. You and Nanami quickly decide to split up and search. Nanami heads outside to check the grounds while you begin to check the inside of the gym. You try the kitchen, then the living room, and a few training rooms. Yuji is nowhere to be found.

“He isn’t outside,” Nanami tells you when you meet back in the foyer.

“He has to be here,” you say. That man’s words echo in your head. I will challenge you once I have control of this body. “He wouldn’t just leave.”

A bark catches your attention and Growlithe comes running into the foyer from the main hall. Nanami bends down and asks him what’s wrong. The answer appears a moment later. 

Heavy, measured footsteps sound from the hall, stopping at the threshold of the room. He looks like Yuji but immediately you know it’s not him. He has the same pink hair, but he seems to have grown a few inches and his build has thickened. Somehow, his features have sharpened, no longer rounded with youth. You’re thankful he only has two eyes, although red and unfamiliar, but your stomach drops when you see those black markings.

“Yuji?” Nanami calls out to him.

The stranger smiles. Wide and toothy.

“You may call me Master Sukuna.”

series masterlist

i do not have a taglist. please follow @bungalowbear-archive and turn on notifications.

[chirpsythismorning]

It’s weird thinking about how, especially in s4, Mike has connected with Will for closure about his relationship to El, though he has never done anything in comparison to connect with El for closure about his friendship with Will??

And what I mean by that, is that Will is one of Mike's best friends and El is his girlfriend. Wouldn't he want to have deep conversations with El about all parts of his life, including his friendship with Will and the struggle they're having there?

This isn't to say that every conversation between them has to be about Will, but I would at least like for it to be close to equal? Like s3, it was as if Will did not exist in Mike and El's world beyond him being in the frame, and s4 had a similar approach... Why can't Mike even disclose to El UGH Will is being clingy or whatever, and make it clear that Will is completely platonic, for the sake of the audience at least? Instead, what we get is very very few mentions of Will at all between them. But the ones that we do get, are incriminating as hell as to why all of this might be.

S1. Pretty self explanatory what I mean by that.

There's two scenes in particular though that I want to talk about because they are direct parallels of each other.

At the end of s1, we get Mike mentioning Will specifically in his plan for the future to El. He says that she can just have his room bc he spends most of his time in his basement anyways... (*cough* Mike projected during the rain fight *cough*) And that it'll be like she is Nancy's sister...

At the end of s3, we get Mike mentioning Will specifically in his plan for the future to El AGAIN. And this is happening directly after his conversation with Will. In that conversation Will and Mike have about their own idea of the future, they do not talk about El at all and only focused on Mike's insecurity that Will might go on to find another party. Mike doesn't voice any similar concern about El moving on in his conversation with her afterwards...

And that's where Mike making any mention of Will to El, just falls off.

In s4 we get El's letter and this is probably the first time since s1 that El has acknowledged Will in reference to Mike (assuming Mike asked how the Byers were doing, seeing as most of her letter came off like she was responding to a questionnaire...)

Again this is all very very weird. These are two best friends and a boyfriend and girlfriend. Mike is being weird about these relationships co-existing at once and how the writers navigate that between those relationships makes it all start to make sense once you actually start to think about it.

And s4 is where it just gets weird... Because Mike is clearly very much struggling over the distance that has come between him and Will over the last year. On the ride home after Rink-O-Mania, they make a point to show Mike looking over at Will briefly, not El. This means that what was on his mind after all of that, was Will.

WHY is Mike not disclosing a big part of what is upsetting him, ie his relationship with Will, to El, his gf? Again, not saying it has to be a bunch of mentions, but really, NO conversation? Not even a mention?

Why is Will not mentioned AT all in their conversations, even though we know Mike is feeling a lot of emotions about Will? Because I think, if it was truly platonic, Mike would be fully capable of opening up with her about his struggles with his best friend, as a bf looking for comfort from his gf about his failing friendship.

Why didn't we get a scene of Mike separating El from everyone else back in Hawkins, saying it wasn't the same without her there? Mike literally separates Will and El saying he was worrying about her too much and felt like he lost Will as a result.......

Those types of moments should have been going to the romantic pairing, not the platonic one...

I just don't think s4 Mike would be caught dead admitting those conflicted feelings he has about Will to El. Like imagine him bringing up Will in a conversation with her? You just can't. Post s4 it's just not something you can picture without thinking oh shit oh shit. Like it's just not possible.

I do think that if it was as simple as Mike being like overwhelmed by Will's feelings or just having basic platonic qualms with his best friend, he would be fully capable about confiding in El about that. Instead Mike and El cant even have a conversation without making each other feel woefully misunderstood about where they both stand on things.

Also, if it was as simple as Mike just being scared to lose El and feeling insecure and needing his platonic best friends support, he wouldn't have needed to dance around the fact that he couldn't tell El he loved her, to Will. If they were purely platonic, he would lay it all out there, with no ambiguity, so that he could actually get closer to resolving things with El, instead of stalling, which is what he did literally all season, seeking emotional support from Will.

The point is, Mike seeks emotional support from Will, but not El. And when it matters most, he is making clear Will is always going to be involved in his picture perfect plan of the future and what he wishes for it to hold, even if he isn't certain what that will be. He wants Will there regardless.

Not having Mike have those deep moments with El, not having it be about them and only them, only for Mike to not really tell El about how he's truly feeling all around, beyond his insecurities in their relationship... says a lot about how he is probably feeling deep down but wont say out loud... (literally).

[offbrand-deltatraveler]

Okay so I have to make this post really fast because the episode literally drops in a few hours

—————————————————————————————————————

So

First of all, ✨IT IS WEDNESDAY MY DUDES✨

SEASON 6 KICKIN OFF WITH A 3-PARTER

WOOOOOOO

But as exciting as that announcement is, there’s also something interesting to note about it too; The premise and the time

This three part episode is about My Melody being in a bad mood, and Hello Kitty and Kuromi trying to cheer her up

A normal Supercute Adventures episode is 3-4 minutes at max. Maybe 5 if we’re lucky. This episode is 3 parts. That’s, at max, 15 minute, and at minimum 9 minutes. Not counting seconds

What put My Melody in so bad of a mood that it took 3x the length of a normal episode for her best friends to make it go away

We could take the obvious “Just wait for the episode to come out” route and say that it’s probably something specific to that episode since that’s. Probably the case

But this is actually an opportunity to address something that’s been on the back-burner for a really long time. And I’m still holding out on the hope that they’ll get to it eventually

“What is this problem that’s been left to fester for so long?”, you ask

Well, to understand that, we first have to understand the root of the problem

Bare with me

Adventures In Pochi-Sitting is one of my favorite episodes, because it sheds light on something really important: Hello Kitty bares the burden of very high expectations

Ever since she cane to Sanrio Town, she’s been making a name for herself. Being a very active, driving member of the community, giving people life advice, being able to handle anything that’s been thrown at her so far (Or at least it seems that way), etc. She’s understanding. She’s dependable. She remains calm, cool, and collected at all times. She’s everyone’s best friend. She’s just. Perfect™️

Or at least that’s what everyone else is used to

And Adventures In Pochi-Sitting highlights this with it’s brightest marker with all the “You’re ✨Hello Kitty✨” it throws around every two seconds

However, it’s shown in the episode that she’s not handling things the way ✨Hello Kitty✨ is expected to at all. She screwed up basically everything. It just all managed to work out in the end somehow

But the way she just struggled it out and agreed to do it all again without hesitation says a lot. And so does the way she acts in the episodes going forward. She’s scared to have something as simple as an overdue book (Hello Kitty’s Overdue), would rether give herself double the work to do than tell people she can’t be in two places at once (Hello Kitty’s Ramen Round-Up), just randomly offers everyone free lattes to quell their disappointment (Kuromi’s Super Spooky Special),

And the list will probably go on as we continue into Season 6

Point is, she hates letting people down. And will do anything necessary to meet their expectations

Now, back to Adventures In Pochi-Sitting (This is the part where it all ties back into today’s episode)

Remember this scene?

It’s a scene of Hello Kitty apparently sacrificing something she and My Melody had planned for that day, in favor of refusing her help so she doesn’t think that she needs any

You know what that implies to me?

Sometimes, to make people think higher of you, you need to push them away

And I think whatever’s got My Melody so upset, whether it be directly referring to this scene or some other instance of Hello Kitty pushing people away that we’ve yet to find out about, has something to do with that

My Melody is a person that requires attention from those who are important to her. Like a child asking for someone to play with them. And nobody is more important to her than Hello Kitty and Kuromi

—————————————————————————————————————

I was gonna write something down here, but it’d probably be better to put somewhere else

Also for the record I don’t think the overall problem is gonna be solved in this episode, as long as it is. I just think it could be the first step in a new direction

[thomine]

POST-FIC TALK: say it, love

i started writing this idea for itto about a month ago. the ideation period took about a month, or maybe a month and a half. so the total time spent on this is around 2.5 months?

angstpril was a project for me to extract angst from a character's canon context, which i thought would be refreshing since i played with aus for au august (2023). because of that, i wanted these works to be set in the canon universe.

itto's one was hard. as such a bubbly character, it felt impossible to find a cause for angst. that's why i played with the idea of this story doubling as a piece for angstpril and au august (prompt: superhero au). the idea i had for the superhero au was rather angsty anyways. however, as i was sharing my ideas with a friend, inspiration struck me like an axe that cleanly split a tree bark—although not in equal halves. i realised i would like the superhero prompt to go another route, leaving this piece for angstpril on its own two feet like a baby that just learned to walk. as this story fumbled in the brainstorming cloud, i was listening to music when say so by the sam willows struck me—but this time like someone plucking guitar strings for fun only to create a tune that somehow works.

as such a bubbly guy who cares a lot about image as much as he cares for those around him, i couldn't see him being someone who would admit to his dying relationship. he wouldn't admit to his feelings being gone either, and it would be harder for him to accept that if the relationship has already been so ingrained into his image and life.

what would be bros think of him when he breaks up? it's not like itto hates reader. the feelings just aren't there anymore. does reader still hang around? will reader hang around?

i don't really expect this story to resonate with many itto fans. in fact, some big fans of itto might even see itto as OOC, but i thought this was an interesting route to take. writing itto is hard as i'm not familiar with his EN tone or voice, preferring his CN voice direction instead. although similar in terms of upbeat atmosphere and air of childish wisdom, itto is less air headed and more innocent, imo. with that impression of him, i do believe he can be rather ignorant by choice. i don't think he's ignorant because he's dumb—he's ignorant because he's smart to know that acknowledging it would only mean trouble. my evidence? vibes, lol, sorry.

either way, i wrote about 5 drafts and… shout out to my friend @andromeda-nova-writing who read my initial draft. i was struggling with the ending so i sent her a half-done draft with the climax i had in mind unwritten. she read it and shared that she quite like the ending? so i rewrote it with itto's melting love as the reveal at the end.

but while writing, i somehow felt compelled to add more references to the song that inspired this story, and was even more compelled to leave some things left unsaid. that was inspired by the videos of childhood trauma i've been watching (for research on one of my stories) where the whole gist of it is "not what happened but what didn't happen". i thought that was interesting. so… i guess out of 5, with that number being "this story changed drastically from its original", it can be argued it's 5 since it's a complete 180 from the idea that merged the superhero au with this. but it can also be a 3 if we're considering the point where i split the two ideas as this story's "original" instead.

overall… i probably will re-read this to edit things grammatically, but i am okay with this. i just hope that reader doesn't come off as too… annoying? even if they might have their wrongs, i do want them to be someone you can sympathise with at least.

it's a bit more explorative in nature, so i'm very happy to hear what others think of it!

again, this was not read by anyone before posting, so if you spot any grammar or spelling mistakes, please let me know so i can fix it!

[somian-audere]

ENTRY XXXI

Catching Up

Hey, been a while…

So, decided to post here again since this week was my birthday week thought that it’d be appropriate? I guess? Look I just wanted to write okay, that’s my real birthday gift to myself. Anyways, life has been…wouldn’t say rough but in a few months’ time it’ll be really bad.

Just got through what may be bad health news which in all honesty is nothing too dangerous but it just explains like a ton of the stuff that I’ve been going through. It could’ve been worse, it could’ve been better, such is life.

Been trying to review for an important exam, it’s just not going well to say the least. Though I have been doing some things that generally keep the darkness at bay. I’ve turned to writing fanfiction, I know it’s cringe, but it helps…sometimes. What can I say? The only software I know how to use is Microsoft Word.

I’m not proud of that statement.

Truth be told, I’m actually thankful that I posted my…uh…works online at this point in my life. Because I saw some of my original works that I made back when I was a child (in a physical notebook, so no chance of me ever putting that in public, thank goodness), and my face ended up crunching up so badly I looked like a crumpled piece of paper for an entire week. I mean that’s not to say that I’m a good writer now it’s more like I got used to being a hack writer that I can somewhat emulate a good writer now, if that makes any sense.

Wow, that was bad sentence structure and I will rescind my previous statement.

Another thing I’ve been doing is doodling and sketching. I’ve…always liked to draw. I’m not good at it, I’m still trying to get perspective and anatomy right. I’ve been using reference images and translating them into simple shapes, AKA the good type of tracing or so I’ve been told. So far, I’ve finally gotten face and torso proportions right, but I suck with arms, legs, and don’t get me started on hands and feet. The worse part is the fact that my skills are inconsistent! Like sometimes I get facial details right, then sometimes they end up turning into Picasso (insert uncultured swine joke here [1]).

In short, nothing much has changed in my life. The future’s still bleak, and I’m still struggling with trying to do what I want and having to find a foundation for myself. It feels as though I’m running wild with no direction. And all I can do is trust that in someway things will work themselves out. 

Nonetheless, the way I feel right now, even if all I’m doing is small and insignificant…I think these things will keep me going through the night. Reference:

[1]: Toy Story. (1999)

[kridders]

Word of the Day Story [Jan. 10th, 2023]

Pure black. Whistling music. Primordial soup.[1] Cold. The sound of movements of wind, and then finally, light.[2] Smith struggled opening his eyes from what felt like a thousands year rest, adjusting to the reflected light which shined over him. After his first conscious breath in his remarkably intact helmet, he next breathed in his surroundings, though there wasn’t much to see. Stepping was harder than Smith had imagined, but it wasn’t long before Smith was back on his way to Mont Pèlerin[3], the small outcrop which was seen by all participants as humanity’s next genesis. Out of the many engineers, physicists, and likewise utopians of the project, only the most flexanimous[4] of them were sent further into the stars.

Smith was nearly back to the settlement, following vehicle tracks and signs he had difficulty reading because of his thick dialect of Yankeese[5]. Though, as he got closer, a dread began to fill him, as the clear walls of the spheres they called home were covered in thick vegetation.[6] As Smith entered through the airlock[7] and took off his helmet, the first thing to strike him was a thick scent of vinnewedness[8] in the air, one he could only imagine if the air outside was breathable. Each step he took he couldn’t help but trample over the thick vine that now made up the floor, creating a gushing noise as his foot fell through to the bottom.[9] He called out, but to no response. Though, as he would soon find out, he wasn’t alone, and this was made quite evident as Smith entered the barracks to the sight of an outstretched palm around the corner. Smith was immediately relieved to see this, though as he turned the corner he was only struck with horror. The hand he saw was attached to an arm that could’ve been the length of a hose, and bending and turning like it had the form of one. He turned in shock only to see more of his teammates as amorphous things of flesh and sinew, but surely not bone. And at the center of it all, the origin of the vegetation which filled every chamber of their artificial habitat, a benign tree which they’d seen tens of thousands of outside. All that Smith could do was begin to realize the similarities of what were his teammates and the lifeformsms[10] which harassed them outside.[11]

----

1 Stolen straight from Disco Elysium. I never finished it, at most I put like, four hours into it. It was one of those things where I pirate a game late on a school night, end up playing it until its a bit too late, and then never pick it up again. I'll likely never see what the rest of the game has to offer despite how much some of my friends have liked it, but some lines still stick out to me from when I ran out of money on the first night.

2 I remember when my History & Structure of the English Language teacher read this aloud, after she finished she went back to this line to say how much she liked it. That made me pretty happy. Though, I don't know, it doesn't flow too well? And it's not even wholly original. I'm glad she liked it but there was just a bit of guilt underneath it.

3 A direct reference to Half-Earth Socialism, and uh, reality too I guess. Specifically to the Mont Pelerin Society, a kind of neoliberal internationale I guess you could call it. I'm not sure if I had finished Half-Earth Socialism by this point or not, but it would come to basically define my current ideological standings in at least some part. For a bit I was pretty annoying about it, getting into arguments about how nuclear power shouldn't be the end goal, which is kinda dumb to argue about what is a better answer to fossil fuels, but y'know, that's sorta just what theorybrain does sometimes. I could get a bit caught up in ideals, but I've mostly tempered out now. The closure of nuclear power facilities is bad, even if moving to actual renewables should come alongside the move away from fossil fuels. But I was dumb, this is me 6 months ago we're talking about, a mere child. In classic pseud style, this whole story is actually a metaphor for the ills of ecocide, the impossiblity of truly understanding the mechanisms of nature, etc. I'm not sure if it does a great job at getting that across, but as part of the requirements I could only have one page for this whole story, so I worked with what I had. Had to cull quite a few sentences to get it underneath that limit. But look at me now! I can write forever. This is what true liberation feels like.

4 This actually isn't the full document for this story, as it has an earlier page with the definitions for each of the colored words. The point of this project, the Word of the Day Story, was to use these antiquated terms the class would get from a calendar full of them, and to synthesize a few into a short story. We got to pick which ones from a limited selection, though I think I chose mine pretty randomly. I didn't want to spend too much time selecting and have the whole class waiting on me. I'm a bit of a coward. Once I got all my words I eventually decided I wanted to do a horror-ish sci-fi story, inspired by the previously stated book, refer to [3]. Here's what flexanimous actually means, taken from the first page:

"flexanimous, adj. (/flɛksænɪməs/)

Having the power to bend or influence the mind."

Not sure if I actually used that correctly here. Not like it really matters though. Words are what we decie they are, and considering I'm the only current user of the word, I get to decide the meaning. It means you can make up your mind and have a strong resolve now.

5 "Yankeese, n. (/jaŋˈkiːz/)

American English."

Pretty self-explanatory for that one, though I use it more like an accent here. I think I used to think it was funny that the American kinda struggled with the internationalism of the mission, but its difficult for me to remember. Considered going on here about my worries about my poor memory but I don't need to put that down, I've thought about it enough.

6 Also a reference to the biospheres referenced in the beginning of Half-Earth Socialism. For the real biospheres, they call Earth "Biosphere 1." What nerds.

7 At this time, I had also finished or been watching The Martian in my film class. It probably contributed a lot to the idea of wanting to do a sci-fi story in the first place. My History & Structure of the English Language teacher was also actually my film teacher as well, just due to a quirk in scheduling. It's weird that I saw her twice every day for a whole semester, but now she's resigned here, to the footnotes. Not like many of my other teachers fare much better though. Highlighted 'airlock' here because it reminded me of the scene where the airlock explodes in The Martian.

8 "vinnewedness, adj. (/vɪnoʊedness/)

Mustiness, mouldiness.

Womby vaultages, hollow caverns"

This is the word that really made me decide on the horror aspect to the sci-fi elements I've mentioned previously. I sorta have a thing for gross horror. I've always liked horror, but it wasn't until I read Uzumaki, and likely 3/4ths of the rest of Junji Ito's works, that I decided that it was now an aspect of me. I didn't really know I liked gross/body horror until I read him either. Most of the gross stuff later in the story is directly inspired by the variety of Ito works I've read. It's a collection that spans from my bedroom here to my bedroom in my father's house an hour and a half away. He's gotten me all of my books, but I brought some here to read while I'm away. For some reason, writing that out made me feel a bit guilty. But to continue, my dad has always been the impetus for, well, a lot of my interests, but particularly horror. It was basically just him, and me at home looking at TribeTwelve analyses on my first laptop as a 13 year old. We've watched a lot of horror movies together with his big portrait of Lovecraft leering at us from the corner. I can't remember much from when I was young but I can still remember that night, seeing him carry it into the old apartment. He had got it from some woman? I'm not sure on the details of how he procured it exactly. But its this huge thing, this glow-in-the-dark looking paint on canvas. It's been leering at me for quite a while now. I even used to sleep under the thing in the old apartment.

9 There was this other kid in my class who said he liked my story after the teacher finished reading it. "Gross, but in a good way." It was what I was going for so I was pretty glad. I think after the teacher finished this line, they went "ough!"

10 A genuine spelling mistake that genuinely haunts me. Thinking about my old teacher having to read over this and correct it in her head makes me really embarassed.

11 The whole "becoming the life which had once inhabited the planet" concept comes from a Ray Bradbury story I had to read for one of my classes some grades back. I can't remember the name of it, but it was about this batch of space colonists sent to Mars, and slowly overtime they began using the old alien names for locations(?), their bodies transforming, habits changing, eventually becoming the aliens that had once been vanquished. I like a good bit of Bradbury stuff. I've read Farenheit 451, I think even watched some film adaptions of stories with my dad, and then I had that class where we spent a while talking about him, reading stories and watching short film adapations. Horror units in English are always fun until they get to Edgar Allan Poe.

Ending note:

Seeing all these influences put to word reminds me pretty starkly that I've always had an issue with creativity when it comes to, well, being creative, whether it be writing or what have you. I have a lot of artistic concepts I like but I never really know how to turn them my own, and even the metaphor of the story is based off something I was reading, with nothing of my own added. All art is derivative, but it often feels like what I create is just my influences put into a blender, and it isn't really greater than the sum of its parts - it can't be. Hell, even this method of analyzing comes from me reading House of Leaves recently. I've been wanting to dot a work with footnotes and I finally figured out a good reason to. The impetus of good art is "I could do that but better," but what do you do when you see good art? All I can manage is an imitation. I'm glad I could at least get some humanity to paper though. It's been a bit too long. This isn't of my own inspiration of course, I met a really interesting girl recently. My writing isn't as elegant as her's, mine's much more uh, Johnny Truant, though I guess that fits. Mood writing is pretty scary for me, and sorta makes me wonder if my lack of memory is more voluntary than anything. Proceeding though, that's the last piece of creative writing I've done in quite a while. Well, disregarding alternate history related things. I don't really hold those to the same regard, for whatever reason. Maybe I'll humanize some more of my writing at a later time.

[flowerandthesongstress]

“What do you mean, kaufmanesque?”

Ugh, I’m sorry. :( It’s this fault of mine. I automatically assume that a thing I know and the other person doesn’t, will be looked up; and it never occurs to me that what they find when they look it up (if they even do, but let’s talk about implicitness and subtext some other time) will not be enough, or that it is not something that can be fully explained with words, that, ironically in this case, different people perceive it in different ways, or that additional actions need to be taken in order to understand a particular thing. Like watching five movies, for instance. 

Although my English has gotten much better, I am still not a native speaker and never will be (besides, my education is unrelated to theater and screenwriting), but I’ll do my best to explain what I mean. This way I can link people to this post if the question comes up again.

TL DR: Kaufmanesque is autofiction but insane that specifically depicts a creative process.

In general terms, Kaufmanesque refers to something reminiscent of the style of the US filmmaker and novelist (or auteur, if you will) Charlie Kaufman. Charlie Kaufman was at the creative wheel of a number of movies, most notably ‘Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind’ and ‘Being John Malkovich’.   

His films are known for their absurdity, abundance of allegorical elements, for defying the ‘traditional’ and formulaic mainstream tropes; his bread and butter — an array of themes which can be (and often are) considered disturbing because they push the viewer inward, forcing said viewer into a state of deep contemplation usually related to existential dread. 

He himself spoke of the term ‘Kaufmanesque’ with an air of confusion: “I don’t know what it means. The stuff that comes out that invokes my name doesn’t feel like stuff I would do. Also, since I arrived on the scene, I have been sent material and people have said: ‘This is perfect for you.’ And it’s just this weird stuff that doesn’t appeal to me. I just don’t know what people mean by ‘Kaufmanesque’. Dreamy? Surreal? Weird?”

More often than not, the thing I am primarily alluding to when I say ‘Kaufmanesque’, is Adaptation. It is a 2002 movie directed by Spike Jonze and written by Charlie Kaufman, starring Nicolas Cage and Meryl Streep. 

I do not mean that ‘Adaptation’ is a weird or surreal or dreamy movie, although in the eyes of an average viewer it probably is; and it’s not their fault. It’s Ronald Reagan’s fault. I mean that its screenplay lets the real seep into fiction, and lets fiction seep into the real. Fictional characters become living people; notions, reservations, and trauma become characters, and living people become fictionalized characters. The narrative driving the plot is meant to push the author’s life and growth forward through the process of weaving said narrative, and vice versa. Any plot-related struggles, any ups and downs that the characters go through, are actually portraying (sometimes allegorically, sometimes not) the writer’s internal struggles in creating said characters, as well as with mental health, and real life issues, and, of course, with the insanely hard process of writing, itself. 

The creation ends up depicting the process of creation (yes, Shirley, movies about making movies about making movies, and sure, Shirley, that will not play even in Poughkeepsie) in a very personal manner. 

Adaptation is the easiest example because it’s the simplest to understand, and not much of it is allegorical — in comparison to Kaufman’s other movies, at least. Although that twin brother is one of the most hilarious allegories I’ve ever encountered. 

It’s a good and humorous movie, and I think it’s better if you watch it and read about it, but I’ll do a relatively quick recap. 

In real life: Charlie Kaufman, having achieved success via ‘Being John Malkovich’, was trying to adapt ‘The Orchid Thief’, a non-fiction book written by the investigative journalist Susan Orlean, into a Hollywood movie. Although the book was a page-turner chronicling the fascinating story and trial of a plant dealer John Edward Laroche, it lacked the traditional dramatism and formulaic tropes of Hollywood fiction. Kaufman struggled with the book’s adaptation a lot; with depression, impostor syndrome, toxic perfectionism, and anxiety, and with turmoil in his personal life; he went through an extensive bout of writer’s block, etc. But he pulled through, and pastiche was his saviour, and the movie ‘Adaptation’ was written and filmed. 

The movie itself: the shy, unattractive, and socially inept screenwriter Charlie Kaufman (Nicolas Cage), in demand due to the success of ‘Being John Malkovich’, is trying to adapt Susan Orlean’s (Meryl Streep) ‘The Orchid Thief’. Enthusiastic at first, he wants to push the envelope by turning it into a contemplative movie about flowers, nature, and life itself. But he is discouraged, not believing that such a screenplay would be accepted. The book lacks the traditional three-act structure; Charlie fails time and again. His easy-going, confident, and cheeky twin brother Donald, meanwhile, achieves huge success by writing a mainstream Hollywood screenplay for a thriller with a lot of sex, blood, and action, with superficial symbolism added just for the sake of making his creation seem ‘deep’. Donald advises his indecisive brother to follow his example, but Charlie is reluctant; he thinks that in this way he would be betraying the simple, yet beautiful and fascinating premise of the book. However, in the third act of the movie Charlie and Donald discover that Susan Orlean is in an intimate relationship with the subject of her book, John Edward Laroche, and is actually his criminal accomplice. Charlie and Donald spy on them and witness Susan and John having sex and taking drugs made of the rare, illegally procured orchids. A dramatic scene full of action follows, during which Donald is shot and dies in Charlie’s arms, and John is eaten by an alligator; Susan is ousted as a criminal and arrested. This occurrence allows Charlie to let go of his reservations and finish the screenplay the way his twin brother would have wanted. It is accepted by the studio, and praised, ready to be made into a movie. The last scene of the movie ‘Adaptation’ is accompanied by Charlie narrating the last lines of his script, describing what is happening on the screen, and interspersing it with cautious, yet excited musings on the upcoming casting; specifically — who will play him in the movie. 

_______

Right now I’m alluding to only one layer of ‘Adaptation’ — the layer that demonstrates that by reading/watching something ‘Kaufmanesque’, you are not reading/watching a ready-made, fully fictional piece of media. You are invited into someone’s head in order to witness, start to finish, how said piece of media was created and what accompanied its creation. Some parts of it will be allegorical. Some real, bordering on awkward.

Dan Harmon often uses broad terms like meta. But meta can be (and often is) limited to intertextuality, to harmless jokes about the faults of existing narratives; meta humor can be (and often is) nothing but the playful side of postmodernism, and it can still tell fictional stories that are neither about the process of writing these stories, nor about the writer’s psyche in the process of writing these stories. Meta humor can impart a light, unburdened sense of detachment. Meta can just be the breaking of the fourth wall OH GOD no, let's not veer into Postmodernism vs Metamodernism, or I'll be here all night or until my Emgrish runs out 😂 this is already a mess, but then so is my brain.

Anyway. Meta humor still has you sitting in the audience; Deadpool is winking at you from the screen, but you remain the viewer of his story — a story that has a plot, a structure, and hits all of the traditional beats (postmodernism! turning stories into stories about how the tools for telling stories are tired and old and dumb! yay...). You are still the audience, the actor is still on the stage, the play is still going. 

Kaufmanesque is beyond ascending to the stage, even. It’s crossing it and going backstage, and sitting down on a discarded prop next to the exhausted, traumatized playwright as he mouths the lines along with the actors, rubs his reddened eyes, drops calls from his landlord, and downs painkillers. 

Kaufmanesque is almost like diving directly into someone’s brain. 

It’s a door into a human’s psyche and creative process, but the door has been opened intentionally, beforehand; you need to fully step in through the door. You can decipher so many things inside the room; these things will be on full display once you step in. 

Or, you know, you can just peek in, crinkle your brow, and say that it’s ‘weird’ and ‘surreal’ and ‘not what I usually read’ and ‘I admit I was confused at first but then you added hot sex, drugs, and alligators to keep my attention I’m glad I stuck around by the door’. *looks into the camera* 

True Kaufmanesque is hard. Most attempts at Kaufmanesque result in pointlessly surreal, self-obsessed, pretentious, self-aggrandizing, snobby shlock with no deep meaning; surface-level trash that ends up conveying only one thing: look how awesome I am, and how mysterious and edgy, oh and by the way, you’re all dumb sheep. All jokes aside, ‘Messianic Myths and Ancient Peoples’, the episode of Community that spoofs the usual attempts at Kaufmanesque, nails this phenomenon. Either way, yes, it’s hard. It has to be honest, raw, full of self-deprecation. “You have to be willing to be naked,” Charlie Kaufman himself said about the process of writing. 

Am I making any sense? It’s not that easy to explain. It’s Kaufmanesque. 😅

[myaquariusheart]

15/4

"Today, the best way for you to help others is with a dose of honesty. They'll be grateful for your directness. You can bring out the outcome you want." We had a heated discussion with Mum in the front room just before everyone went to sleep. She wants to retire by 50 and wants us to all support her financially, which, I guess she deserves, she has been looking after us all these years but I just find it ridiculous to have little to no savings and want to retire. She was telling me how she wanted Bab to get a better job but constantly putting him down is not going to motivate him to do better. Knowing were struggling sometimes isn't enough when someone's self-esteem is down and I do know a lot about low self-esteem. I gave her the example of me and Z doing our theory once she stopped forcing us to do it and making us feel bad that we basically don't drive, we finally wanted to do it ourselves with our own inspiration and determination. I don't know who wrote the rules to be Bengali because I hate them honestly. You're all washed up and unwanted if you're a woman whos not married by 27. It's so backward and not fair. We're expected to be married so young and enjoy no freedom. I literally wish I could travel the world and do some things that I love and can do without feeling the guilt of leaving Mum and Dad behind but I guess that's my sad little life. I can of course try and find a really good paying job and save enough to start alone somewhere but I also do want to be loved by a man and be married one day, I guess at my own pace. It's difficult and hard but I guess that part of my journey can start when I finally pass my driving, otherwise, I'm going to have to rely on TFL to get to places. After graduation I need a week at least of nothingness, I want pure relaxation and to do nothing with myself. I'm going to buy myself some new alcohol markers and really practice and focus on drawing and creating some art, I haven't been able to do much of it but I want to make a nice collection again and discover my own personal art style because I don't have one. I've also lost all my old art but luckily I have some pictures. I'm still going to work at the cafe or I will go crazy but you know, no stress. I want to go on holiday to Italy but I have no one to go with (that I would even want to go with) so it's all a bit shit. Anyway, tomorrow is the last day before I go back to my normal routine of Uni and work. Kinda can't wait to go back and kinda can't be bothered too. It's nearly over, five years of a really stressful university journey and I'm proud of myself because I honestly didn't think I could do it. Today was really nice, we watched the Super Mario movie. It was super funny and we were all laughing lots. I loved the silliness and the lightness of the movie and I'm so happy Alv enjoyed it because she's not too familiar with Super Mario brothers. It brought back a lot of childhood memories of playing the DS games and Mario Kart. I loved it and would want to watch it again but somewhere cheaper. The adult ticket was like £16 and that is literally too much. We had the worst pizza hut experience ever, I think it's under new management and that man was a bit horrible and did not have good customer service. I ordered a meal deal for about £20 for one pizza about 11 inch, and then properly reading the menu I saw kids could get their own personal 9inch pizza, with a side, bottomless drink, AND A DESSERT? for £7 so I asked the guy for a refund and he was being arsey about it. On top of that when the guy served the pizza he dropped half of it on the table and we were just wishing we went to Burger King instead. I'm in bed now, gonna try and sleep in a bit. I managed to finish my philosophy essay yesterday but when I go in on Monday or Tuesday I need to re-read it and include some references. Tomorrow my to-do list consists of me collecting my laundry, getting some hair dye, and getting ready for the first day of Uni on Monday.

[kaeyasaki]

— ❝ HOUSE RULES ❞

miya atsumu x f!reader

after coming back home from an overseas trip, atsumu comes back home to discover that his pretty little wife seems to have let a few certain rules slip, it’s a good thing he’s more than happy to help her revise them. — wc; 4K

thank you so so much @tsumue for beta reading, you helped so much fr hottie <3

dt; @7tsumurai i told you i’d get out a fic im happy with for you when i had more time and here it is, i love you so very much and thank you for everything you’ve done for me, you’re a real life saver and i wouldn’t want anyone other than you as my hot milf mommy <3

warnings; nsfw, unprotected sex, dumbification, rough sex, degradation, slapping, misogynistic behaviour + overstimulation bye i really said i didn’t have it in me

slotting his house key into the lock, atsumu had a content smile gracing his face as the next scene he assumed to be ahead of him was already playing out in his head.

you in a pretty dress he had so graciously bought and maybe even one of those cute frilly aprons he’d insisted upon gifting you. you would drop your cooking utensil immediately upon his arrival and rush over to him to take care of his jacket and bags while chanting about how desperately you missed your dear husband while he was away. atsumu would then shower you with the attention you had been missing out on and he’d have his darling little wife sit on his lap mindlessly chattering about how much she needed him.

atsumu was sure this was what was going to play out before him as soon as he opened the door.

so why the fuck had he opened the door to see otherwise?

his eyes twitched with irritation slightly at the sight of you in sweats on the couch lazily scrolling through your phone, but he refused to throw a fit immediately. he was kind enough to allow you the chance to explain yourself, afterall, he was adamant he was a good husband to you. the best husband to you.

“baby.” his voice rang clearly through the room as your head perked up at the sound of his voice. immediately you smiled upon seeing him as you hopped off the couch and dropped your phone to wander over to him. while you offered atsumu a warm smile, it didn’t seem to be reciprocated as a small but familiar glint in his eye told you enough to know something was off.

“i missed you.” you tried to shake that look from him as you wrapped your arms around his slim torso and inhaled the scent you’d found yourself missing over the week. “yeah?” he questioned as you looked up to meet his still piercing eyes. “of course.” you sighed before burying your face back into his chest for a moment.

for just a second, atsumu forgot why he was even mad. did he even have a right to be mad? he had a nice house, a job he loved and most importantly, the most perfect little wife. but then it all came back to him and the irritation stayed present as he stared down at you wrapped around his body.

the perfect little wife should have her husband’s dinner cooking and ready to be served upon his arrival. the perfect little wife should be dressed appropriately according to her husband's personal preferences which in atsumu’s case, were the dainty little outfits he was constantly having you try on and strut around the house in. the perfect little wife should respond appropriately whilst talking to her husband which for atsumu meant he’d prefer you at least pretend to be a little more mindlessly excited about seeing him again.

maybe you weren’t his perfect little wife anymore, but he could only blame himself. you were just too stupid to think for yourself, how could atsumu blame you for forgetting the rules he has in place if he hadn’t been around to remind you of them this past week? no matter, he’d just have to remind you as many times as it took to get these demands through to that pretty head of yours.

“i think someone’s forgotten a few things since i left.” atsumu stated flatly as you pulled away from him, eyes desperately looking up at him pleading to know where you had fucked up.

“i have?” you questioned, hands tugging at the hem of his jacket a little. you looked down refusing to continue looking at the disappointed expression of the man you loved the most knowing you had caused him to be upset.

atsumu smiled slightly as you slowly began to fall back into your submissive ways as he brought his hand down to hook his fingers under your chin forcing you to look up at him. his eyes were a little softer than before as thoughts of your kind and wonderful husband flooded your senses once more. you felt so terrible upsetting him as soon as he had come home. this was the man who insisted upon giving you anything and everything you ever asked for on a silver platter. he spoiled you to no ends and always pampered you to the point where it was clear you were his brat.

desperately wanting to make up for your out of line behaviour, you pulled the jacket off of atsumu and took his bags from his hand as he hummed in approval. the slightest grain of praise sent your head into turmoil as only thoughts of atsumu were permitted to dance around in there. smiling at him, you turned towards the direction of your bedroom before you were stopped by atsumu’s voice.

“and when you come back, i want to see ya dressed how you know yer meant to be.” you gave him a quick nod as you hurried to your shared bedroom to drop his things and throw on an outfit you knew would be approving of him.

carefully scanning through your choice, you finally decided on wearing a cute little cami mini dress atsumu had bought you a few months back. the soft material stopped at your mid thigh as the short spaghetti straps held the dress up your body as the material tugged around you in all the right places. determined to show atsumu you were extra sorry, you grabbed a delicate apron he had bought you a few weeks beforehand and it was one you were yet to wear. the dainty frills and clean material were tied around your waist as you stared at your reflection back in the mirror.

you had missed atsumu, really, but you had missed this routine more and you were grateful your husband was kind enough to keep you in check whenever you slipped up rather than blow up over it.

you really were a lucky wife.

satisfied with your appearance, you pattered down the stairs to find atsumu leaning against the kitchen counter scanning over the meal you had been cooking prior to his return left cold on the stove. noticing your presence, atsumu smiled at your outfit as he open his arms for you to fall into. “at least you got one thing right.” he sighed as you nodded noting he was referring to the meal you had been preparing just thirty minutes before he had stepped through the door.

pressing a chaste kiss to your lips, atsumu pulled away before tapping your inner thigh making you jolt slightly. “well, get to it, i’ve had a long journey and i’m starvin’.” he sighed, smile still slightly evident on his face.

you nodded and stood over the stove before turning it on. the cooking process was simple, it was practically just a matter of heating the food up as atsumu never required you to do any actual heavy cooking. he’d never dare have you do anything that could potentially callous or wear down your soft hands that he loved having you run all over his body. he only ever put you to a little more work when it came to taking care of certain things. housework and cooking were mundane things he liked to let you get off with lightly. preserving your energy to have you selfishly take care of his personal needs.

two minutes went by before you felt a looming presence behind you. instinctively, you stepped back slightly allowed atsumu to wrap his arms around your waist and press his body up against yours from behind. thumbs traced small circles over the sides of your waist as you tried to keep your focus on the food on the stove careful not to burn it. not that atsumu would particularly care if you did, ordering in was always an option, but he’d always let you have a try and providing for him beforehand.

your head was going light as your husband's hot breath fanned right against your ear as you struggled to keep your focus on the stove. “i’m disappointed.” atsumu sighed lowly sending shivers through your body as he leaned in closer. “i thought i’d taught ya well enough to be able to remember how things work around here.”

your heart tugged at the degrading tone he was using whether it was intentional or not before atsumu continued. “it’s a shame really, i could’ve rewarded ya for being away from me for so long, but now it looks like i’m gonna have to use that time to remind you of a few lessons.” you nodded curtly at the light scolding as your husband's hand dipped between your inner thigh grazing over the pretty panties you found to be increasingly annoying.

thumb tracing the hem of the material, he continued to sigh and mutter small disapprovals of your previous behaviour, but none of the derogatory terms educating nor belittling you, but rather exciting you instead.

you could only hum and nod in agreement at atsumu’s words as the more you gave in, the more he did too. with each acceptance of scolding, your husband would reward you by pressing his fingers a little harsher through your already soaking panties.

“stupid girl,” he muttered up against your ear as your breathing grew slightly ragged. “i thought i taught ya to know better by now.”

his words only worked you up more as he buried his head into the crook of your neck, allowing his teeth to nip at your hot skin. now focusing his attention on your neck, atsumu sucked harshly making sure to leave bruises littered across where he had access to making sure to rebrand you as his own. “tsumu…” you whined as his fingers continued dragging along the soft silk material. “just take them off already.” you whimpered before your husband bit a little harsher causing you to yelp.

“first i come home to ya looking less than presentable and now yer telling me what to do?” your heart hammered at his dark tone as he pulled away momentarily. “baby,” he shook his head. “how could ya give me instructions when ya can’t even follow simple ones yerself.” he sighed as you whispered a quick apology.

his hand pulled away from between your thighs to instead grip the sides of your hips. rough hands running up and down your sides under the pretty dress you’d chosen for him. “let me show ya why i’m in charge around here yeah?” his hips were pressed up behind yours forcing you to feel how pent up he was too. “please.” you whimpered mindlessly grinding against the growing tent in his sweats.

atsumu chuckled before nipping the shell of your ear halting your instinctive movements. “good girl for asking me so nicely.”

with atsumu assaulting your neck once more and further adding to the sensation by pressing up against your clothed clit, all thoughts that weren’t regarding miya atsumu had disintegrated and now your only motive was to make your loving husband proud and take what he was willing to give you.

slowly, your movements grew to become more frantic as his hands stayed firm on your hips as he steadied himself behind you. “oh angel, ya really missed me huh?” he teased while slowing you to rut against him, clothes separating the two of you much to your frustration. you chanted small “uh huh”s as atsumu smiled upon your mindless behaviour. “it’s okay baby, let yer man take care of ya, i’ll make sure ya never forget these little rules again.” you mewled out his name which only delighted him further.

you were just too easy.

“so independent,” he whispered, fingers finally hooking under the hem of the silky undergarments before slowly pulling them down to pool at your ankles below. “it’s my fault, yer too stupid to be left alone for more than a few days right?” you nodded completely missing whatever you were agreeing to as atsumu continued to trace dreadfully slow patterns under your dress.

“it’s okay baby, i know you didn’t mean to make me angry did ya? it’s not yer fault ya can’t think for yerself.” atsumu continued to degrade you to nothing more than a brainless doll as you gave in to his desires completely all while trying to give the heating food on the stove even the slightest grain of attention you could.

fingers pressing onto your aching clit, your husband began to draw rough patterns onto the sensitive area, making sure to get a good feel of just how aroused he made you feel. humming in approval at the short breathy moans that left your throat, atsumu continued to tease you as you melted back into his chest keeping you in place against him and the stove.

“that’s it, good girl.” he praised the moment your legs parted a little wider for him to access. “feel good?” he asked despite the fact he already knew what your answer was. “yes atsumu, feels so good.” you blabbered as he selfishly stole all your focus onto him.

pushing his middle finger inside of you, atsumu’s eyes lit up at the feeling of how tight and wet you were around his finger. while your behavior wasn’t always perfect, your pussy was. he’d always tell you how you were made for him, your mind, body and soul all rightfully his as you always gave into him, atsumu’s grin widened when he felt you clench around his digits, your body already well accustomed to him. just how he’d trained it to be.

it wasn’t long before your husband was kind enough to give you his index finger, thumb ghosting over your clit after every few movements. relishing in the pretty sounds he was drawing out of you, atsumu picked up the pace knowing fully well you were practically teetering on the edge by now. your stuttered breathing, whimpers and pleading of his name were enough of a giveaway to know you were desperate for release, but the setter wasn’t about to give in.

while he had forgiven you a while ago, atsumu had decided that perhaps a little more punishment would really help you remember not to let him come home to anything less than what he expects again as he pulled his fingers out of you immediately after feeling you tense up.

“atsu- why?” you sobbed out frustrated and upset that he’d taken your high away from you. you were the most worked up you’d ever felt at this point and atsumu knew that too hence why he decided that now was the time to have a little bit of fun on his side with you. “i’m still mad ya know.” he cooed mockingly from behind you. “or did ya forget?”

“no, no, i didn’t i’m sorry.” you cried out, tears trickling out your eyes as atsumu stared up at your reflection against the glass panels up against the stove. part of him wished he waited, just to get you in a position where you were facing him, but for now he’d make do as his dick throbbed at the sight of your reflection. upset and ashamed, you stared back into your own reflection meeting your husband's wicked gaze.

“of course ya are.” atsumu hummed, hands temporarily pulling away from you to reach down to his own sweats. “and yer gonna show me how sorry ya are, right?”. pulling down both his sweats and boxers in one go, your breath hitch despite the fact you weren’t facing the terrifying thing. you didn’t need to be looking at it to know what it was capable of. atsumu’s cock was nothing new to you, but everytime you were met with it, atsumu proved himself to be just as relentless as the first time you’d experienced it.

both long and girthy, you were certain miya atsumu was the biggest you’d ever seen and taken, with thick veins running up and down the shaft adding further to the arousal he caused you.

“tsumu…” you breathed out as he pressed the swollen head in line with your entrance. “i’ve already gotten ya ready, don’t be greedy.” he scolded before you could even speak. despite his harsh words though, atsumu was still considerate enough to try and take some of the focus away from any potential pain with his fingers as he let his hand dip back down between your thighs fingers circling your clit gathering any slick he could before smothering it over your pretty pussy which at this point was clenching around nothing much to your demise.

rubbing the head up and down your clit to make access a little easier on the both of you, atsumu pushed into you stretching out your walls as you chanted his name like a mantra. his fingers were a lot different from his cock, as tears were dripping down your face in a mixture of both pleasure and pain all while he allowed you a moment to adjust to the dramatic size difference you had just gotten used to.

lifting the hem of your dress up, atsumu’s mood was left content at seeing your tight pussy struggle to take him all in. he was a proud man, proud of you and proud of his capability to get you like this.

pulling his hand away from your clit now that he’d pushed inside of you, the setter took both his hands to firmly grip on your hips as he began to start thrusting at a slow but steady pace to get you going.

while you thought atsumu was mad at you, he missed you more than anything and while he’d love to pull you away from the hot stove and fuck you over the clean marble counter, he was determined to enjoy the feeling of slowing making you his all over again for now. he’d have all the time in the world to roughly punish you should he ever choose to, but in this moment, he was content with what he was giving you and he was certain his pretty little wife had learnt her lesson.

finally getting you accustomed to the size of him, your cries turned into soft moans as the tip of his cock hit against your cervix sending your head to go blank and your actions to become completely instinctive. the only thing bringing you out of this mindless trance is the feeling of a hard slap to your ass as your head jolts up and you cry out.

“so, are ya really sorry for upsettin’ me?” atsumu challenges, speed continually picking up as your head scrambles to string together some form of answer. you know better than to keep him waiting as you open your mouth to speak, but before you can even try to get any words out, another slap lands just as harshly as the last, the pain mixing in with the pleasure throwing your make do answer out the window as you struggle to reply properly.

“yes tsumu, so sorry- never again.” you weep as the dried tears are replaced with a fresh wave dripping down your face much to atsumu’s satisfaction. “never what again?” he pries further all while slamming his dick in and out of your dripping cunt. “never - shit- never break your rules again.” you plead doing your best to show him just how sorry you really were.

sinking into you completely, atsumu really starts fucking you with the head of his cock hitting your cerfix repeatedly, the smacking of his balls slapping up against your ass mixed with the sound of your dripping hole being used as if it were a fleshlight echo through the room for you to hear.

“tsumu, ‘m sorry, m’ sorry, so- please!” you sob reaching the edge of your high once more feeling desperate for allowance from him this time. “not yet.” he hisses out as his thrust shows no relentlessness. all while you’re trying to hold yourself together, you feel the heat of the stove bring you back to some sort of sense as you make quick work of turning the gas completely off paying no mind to what the state of the food was inside of the pan.

“look up.” he demands, one hand straying from your hips to hook onto your jaw as he forces you to face the glass reflection of yourself being fucked stupid by him. “stupid slut.” he spits out pistoning his cock in and out of you at an unbearable pace. “my stupid slut.” he hisses slamming in and out of you forcing cries and wails out of your throat.

“not a slut.” you whimper out now refusing to take his degrading any longer. “‘m your wife tsumu, your good wife.” you insist, desperate for any form of praise from him. your husband sneers as he holds your jaw in place forcing you to stare at your fucked out expression.

“i don’t want a good wife, i want a perfect wife, ya got that?” he demands squeezing your hip as his own hips move faster than before. tears still streaming down your face from the immense pleasure and frustrations, you nod before mindlessly blabbering out your pleads.

“your perfect wife yeah, wanna be your perfect wife all yours.” you beg hurriedly in fear of him depriving you of your second orgasm of the night.

he liked the sound of that. knowing he had you completely and utterly wrapped around his finger pleased him. your words only affirming this satisfaction as you gave yourself into him completely allowing him the rights of making you his and his alone. it’s like he always told you; you were made for him.

“go on then,” he grunts. “cum for me, pretty girl. now.”

he doesn't have to tell you twice as his hard thrusts pay no mercy to your cute little pussy, you can only think about cumming around him at this very second. the tight coil in your stomach finally allowed to break, your walls spasm around his cock as he continues to pound inside of you all while youre granted the pleasure of finally releasing. the feeling making you see stars, atsumu continues to use your hole as he pleases his only motive now chasing after his own high.

tightening his grip on your hips, he pressed his lips up close to your ear, once again nipping lightly at the shell. “gonna be my perfect wife yeah? yer taking it all for me got it?” he growls as you nod quickly, head still spinning.

“yeah, yeah tsumu, your perfect wife, all yours.” you beg, the overstimulation preventing you from thinking straight.

“that's right, mine, mine, mine.” he finishes forcing his load into your tight hole, his hot cum filling your womb completely. the feeling of him inside of you causes your tongue to drop out as both tears and spit dribble down your face as he continues to ram in and out of you through his orgasm.

finishing, atsumu grunts and pulls out of you, eyes bright seeing your abused hole leak out with his cum. seeing you completely fucked out by him was one of his favourite sights and he was certain he’d never get enough of it.

regardless of his rules and words, atsumu adored you no matter what. but to see you completely ruined by him and him alone, it only made him fall harder knowing you were willing to always take whatever he desired to give you. it made him proud to know he’d cuffed someone so willing for him.

as you catch your breath, atsumu looks over your shoulder that the burnt food you had yet to notice. meeting his gaze, you look down at the contents in the pan and internally cuss yourself out at the mistake. so sure you were getting another scolding, you jolt at the feeling of atsumu’s hand resting on your shoulder.

“yer too cute for cooking anyway.” he mutters allowing you to breathe out relieved. stepping away from you and pulling up his boxers and sweats, atsumu allows himself one more glance at the sight of his cum dribbling down your thighs from behind. smiling to himself, he nods over at the direction of the house phone before heading towards the couch.

“show me you’ve learnt ya lesson and ring up for dinner yeah? maybe then i’ll give ya the reward i was talking about earlier.”

he smiles at the sight of you nodding, your wobbly legs making their way over to the landline to ring up for whatever takeaway came to mind, your husbands load still dripping between your thighs.

miya atsumu was adamant he was a lucky man. he had a nice house, a job he loved and now he was now certain he had the most perfect little wife.

[northern-passage]

Hi there! Idk if you've ever answered this but I just wanna know how you got into drawing, and how you found your art style! Your art is really beautiful and I tried to get into drawing, but whenever I sit down with pen and paper I just... stare and don't even know how and where to begin. Do you have a way to motivate yourself or do you just start without thinking about it?:0

hi :-) i've been drawing for a really long time, since i was a kid, though i did stop for quite a few years and only picked it back up again in 2019/2020.

i'm actually pretty insecure about my style hahaha i feel like it's really inconsistent and it never really looks how i want it... so thank you for saying that 💗 i also don't really draw that often, i typically draw in sprints where i'll suddenly draw a bunch in one week and then not touch my tablet again for 6 months lmfao so that doesn't help with my inconsistency.

something that helped me a lot was a period in 2019 where i didn't have my tablet and ended up drawing a lot of traditional stuff (literally just pencil and paper) that was just for me in a little journal. drawing from life - just random stuff, furniture, landscapes, bottles, people, etc - improved my art quite a bit, at least in my opinion. and since it was just for me i didn't feel pressured to make it perfect so it made me try more challenging pieces and if it didn't work out it wasn't a big deal.

usually i just get an idea out of the blue... lately i've been working on specific scenes with both Noel and Merry so that's what made me want to draw them. when i figure out what i want to draw i start hunting for references - i Always draw with a reference. adorkastock is my go-to especially with all the weapon references they have, since i tend to be drawing my fantasy characters. i actually used two different adorkastock images to come up with the sitting pose for Merry.

as for my style specifically i try to find a little spot between realistic and stylized - for a while i tried to emulate a more "animated" art style which is simplistic and distinct, but now i've started to move back into a more realistic/illustrative look. i also just... stopped trying to make myself do stuff i don't like - i hate doing lineart, so i don't really do it anymore! i like how my sketches look more so now my style is a bit rough and sketchy.

and there are a lot of artists i definitely take inspiration from, i follow quite a few here and i always like seeing how other people draw this or that - there are a lot of really good artists in the IF community. one of my favorite artists on tumblr is clickbaitcowboy, who also has a few tips and tutorials on his blog (i aspire to this one day figuring out how to draw body hair...) i also really like gacpars who makes really beautiful watercolor illustrations, and my friend dani crimsiswrites has a really nice style i admire, too.

if you struggle coming up with general ideas i definitely suggest checking out other artists (for me seeing other people's art is a direct inspiration), or even just scrolling through various references like on pinterest could give you some ideas!

[ialwaysknewyouwerepunk]

perfect now - a close reading

only pure and true love for this one. it’s soft and sweet because the one he wrote it for is and needs cheesy uncool romcom soundtrack-worthy affirmations and it’s the most wonderful thing oh my the flurries 

some album booklet art for your viewing pleasure

((just a warning for below: while the lyric analysis was kept fairly neutral and close to the words and their meaning, more and more parallels did ensure me larrying out by the time the analysis kicked off so if you’re not into that, you can skip this one!))

⟼ check out @bluewinnerangel​ ‘s magnificent post with all the parallels to 1d/h&l bc it’s exhaustive and was a source for mine <3 thank you again for your service <3 bc this song really is a fanpiece of every song that has been important to them throughout their career so far, whether they wrote it or not, and it’s honestly kinda impressive

SUMMARY

you’re sad and i love you so much i will do anything to make that undone but while you’re sad know that i sill very much love you and you’re also strong enough to conquer all of this on your own but i’ll be by your side anyway

lyric breakdown ft. the many parallels, incl. little things, through the dark and wmyb

what this says about louis, his partner and the relationship he is in

never gonna dance again frenzy

identity 

louis is a marvellous majestic sonofabitch basically <3

walls, track 10

～ little things “you still have to squeeze into your jeans, but you’re perfect to me”

You don’t feel pretty and it’s hard to miss

You don’t feel pretty and it’s hard to miss

later lyric: “like a neon sign” - i see through you trying to hide away your insecurities

I wish that you could see my point of view As someone staring back at you

“you” is also staring at him, but perhaps is too insecure to realise how mutual the adoration is

i wish i could get you out of your own negative spiral and give you a look at yourself from my perspective

～ wmyb “everyone else in the room can see it, everyone else but you” 

～ wmyb “right now i’m looking at you and i can’t believe you don’t know you’re beautiful”

～ little things “you never love yourself half as much as I love you, and you’ll never treat yourself right darling but I want you to. If I let you know, I’m here for you, maybe you’ll love yourself like I love you”

On Friday night when we’re all out I turn to you and you’re looking down And you don’t wanna dance I know you love to dance You never stop given half the chance

heavy echoes of kmm again, but the opposite: the “nightmare on the dance floor” doesn’t want to dance

when “you” is confident rlly not being subtle with who i think that is, they love to dance <-> tpwk “feeling good in my skin, i just keep on dancing”

“i know you love to dance” = i know what you love bc i love you

“given half the chance” 

～ tpwk “giving/given second chances”

given a chance tattoo, making another appearance (see below for more tattoo meltdowns)

Just keep your head up, love, keep your head up

term of endearment <3 

～ dlibyh

this album is full of encouragement to keep going and as much as it gives me life it ruins me 

Don’t hide away, don’t ever change

“be happy, proud”

～ “just hold on”

“pick someone who’s supportive”

Keep your head up, love, keep your head up Don’t look away, don’t look away

don’t look away from me

～ through the dark “and I can see your head is held in shame”

Cause everybody’s looking at you now, my, oh my

they have the stage to themselves / new career paths they’re doing on their own

could also mean ppl they’re going out with are looking at them, which “you” interprets as sth negative, which makes them self-conscious, while they’re actually admiring them bc they steal the scene

～ wmyb “you’re turning heads when you walk through the door”

I guess some queens don’t need a crown And I know why Even when your tears are falling down Still, somehow, you’re perfect now

“you” is royalty to louis, to put it simply 

they don’t need something on their head to make it known to everyone else - they’re a queen and everyone knows it

gendered: female - also used in drag contexts - the only time L has used any gendered word to identify his partner on the entire album (more on this below)

～ steal my girl "she's been my queen since we were sixteen" can't believe i forgot this one thank you @mortalenemiestolovers for reminding me!!!

～ falling

～ through the dark “you tell me that your tears are here to stay”

You never do, but if you asked me to I’ll tell the truth lying next to you

“you” never asks for affirmations directly, but by saying shit like their pants are too tight make it clear enough to L that they do need to hear once in a while that it’s not true

Cause you’re the only one when it’s said and done You make me feel like being someone 

Good to you even at your worst

～ always you

i love you so much you are a force of life to me, and even when you hate me i want more

～ drag me down “If I didn’t have you there would be nothing left, the shell of a man who could never be his best. If I didn’t have you, I’d never see the sun. You taught me how to be someone” (sung by louis first, harry second) 

～ through the dark “even if you scream and shout, it’ll come back to you and I’ll be here for you

You steal the scene and it’s unrehearsed

reference to working on a stage - their natural presence wins everyone over - that charisma is never manufactured

Don’t you wanna dance? Just a little dance I’ll never stop given half the chance

L keeps encouraging them, will also not pass by any chance to dance with them

Every insecurity, like a neon sign, as bright as day If you knew what you were to me You would never try to hide away

“it’s hard to miss”

L sees through them trying to hide their insecurities, pretend to be strong

～ through the dark “but I know you were only hiding”

SYNTHESIS

Perfect Now is not a fan favorite and I am so not here for that discourse, so please do not pester me with negativity about this chocolate drop of a song. 

As others have pointed out, the parallels with other songs written by Louis, Harry or for One Direction are extremely present. Especially Little Things is echoed loudly, but there’s so much more to be read, as you’ve seen. These are songs that are clearly near and dear to Louis, bc he wrote them or bc performing them was special, like with Little Things and What Makes You Beautiful. A lot of the same emotions come back in Louis’s writing, so much so that you can’t help but see the larger story behind it all. Throughout Walls you can hear him singing about not giving up and holding your head high despite hardships, and if you look back at his earlier writing, it’s always been there. Through the Dark is an early and striking example of this style of Louis song: you’re sad and i love you so much i will do anything to make that undone but while you’re sad know that i sill very much love you and you’re also strong enough to conquer all of this on your own but i’ll be by your side anyway 

basically through the dark’s chorus:

Oh, I will carry you over Fire and water for your love And I will hold you closer Hope your heart is strong enough When the night is coming down on you We will find a way Through the dark

It is very clear that Louis is faced with a partner - I can freely say it’s Harry now right? are the antis gone by now? i think so - that struggles with his body, with his identity, with how he wants to present himself vs how opinions on that might push him down and dampen his spirit. Louis, always the supportive boyfriend, then tries his best to make him see the light, while keeping that space for his sadness, his struggles, or their joint struggles. Accept the sadness but don’t lose your heart to it.

I’ve linked @bluewinnerangel​ ‘s post at the start of this post, but I need to stress how good it is once more as I also shamelessly insert a screenshot from it here bc it makes me feel a lot and summarizes perfectly just how deeply Perfect Now is woven into the history of their lives, relationship and especially “you”s/Harry’s personal struggle with their identity/body/confidence...

Because yes, i absolutely think these tattoos are being echoed in the song. “Never gonna dance again” as a lyric and then as a tattoo on Harry’s legs like shackles around his ankles represents the sensation of shame, of being stuck, bc of your desires, bc of your sexuality. Obviously we can never know why Harry got the tattoo, as in what experience pushed him to choose those lyrics or what exactly he recognizes in himself, but it’s safe to say it’s about the struggles of being queer and navigating relationships with that identity and with others.

Most importantly, the sense of shamelessly dancing, dancing like no one’s watching, dancing together with your lover, as a celebration of self, life, love, is the key here. Harry got that tattoo ages ago, at a time when he undoubtedly felt way more stuck. When he couldn’t dance freely the way he wanted to and with whom he wanted to. Perfect Now is a reminder to him, an encouragement to still dance if he wants to, no matter what people say or think. Significantly, then, Harry’s own Treat People With Kindness heavily features that same sentiment, but in an extremely positive light: i have found a place (in life and in myself) where i feel like i have given and was given second chances and now i dance bc i finally feel good in my skin.

Louis has obviously been there from the start, or at least from when or before Harry properly started experimenting with/questioning how he likes to present and how he identifies as. Before he ever dared to consider pulling on a pair of women’s skinny jeans, never mind a ball gown. Louis has seen him limit himself as well as being limited by others ofc and has always seemed to have been there, with a secure hand on Harry’s back, to encourage him. Even at a time when boys wearing nail polish or skirts was unthinkable. Just remember how much encouragement Harry needed when growing out his hair; Louis literally joined him. yes this might make me cry okay i need to stop bc i’m going off track and this is just becoming a larry breakdown while i was trying to hype up this beautiful song. 

What I’m trying to say is: Louis has always seen all of Harry. He’s always had his back, no matter what. He’s loved every part of him. And now, on a completely gender neutral album, in the sweetest, softest song off of the entire thing, Louis puts in the word “queen”, and that is so very deliberate it makes me want to scream. It’s Louis confirming his love again and again while affirming the multitudes contained by Harry, including everything involving his gender journey. brb crying

It’s a raw Louis, an honest, sweet, kind, loving partner, and both of them are fucking lucky to have each other, and I also wish that all of us end up in a caring and wholesome relationship like that. I truly do.