#gigi ‘s wonders

[xoxoremus]

ㅤ ⠀©icannibql

ᩙ ✿ֵྀ♩᳝   ꒱ྀི১ ⠀⠀ׂ ❀ ᭢᜴꤬ ꦿ🎼 ๑ ﾟ* 𑙕  

⠀ 𐔌᭥🍎🍐ᩙ༉ㅤ ㅤ ꘓ͜͡ :ೃ࿔𔓘

ெ˚❀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀▂▃░ུ✿⃘໋ׅ music record

᜴꤬⠀ ⠀ ꘓ͜͡🎻:ೃ ⡞⠳⣄⣀ 🍏🎹᭄ᭂ ⠀ ໂ‧‧᪲ ໃ

アルバム ─┈┈⠀ ︶︶ ⠀ 💭

°̩̥‧̥·̊✿˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ⠀ ⡾⠀⠀(๑ᵔ⤙ᵔ๑)⠀ ִ ♥️ ︵⃨︵⃨︵⃨ 🪇 ︵⃨︵⃨︵⃨

[goldenstring6123]

Hi !!! How r u pooks :3

Ignore this if u haven't played dti but what do you think the L&DS boys' reactions would be to their s/o playing dress to impress and actually raging at it like verbally LMFAO this game seriously has me TWEAKING bro but I can't stop playing it gigi please free my family 💔 (hcs plz)

Thanks for reading O_o

Lnds: Dress to impress chaos

Warning: no warning! GN!READER, crack-fic (?)

Author's notes: DTI has me on a chokehold as well pookie.

Zayne:

Surprisingly, Zayne knows about this because of the children in the pediatric ward. A good number of kids have their tablets with them and play the game; to him, it looked like some regular dress-up game. He didn't think much of it and just warned the children to lessen their screen time.

When he arrived home and was taking his shoes off in the foyer, he could hear you complaining about something. The only coherent sentence he heard was, "The theme is Y-THREE-K, NOT Y-TWO-K!" He wondered what you were talking about and who you were mad at, but when he saw you huddled around the coffee table, fashion magazines sprawled all over, and another gadget displaying fashion catalogs, he knew what was up.

"What are you getting so worked up about?" he asked, sitting next to you and placing down a cup of tea after changing into his clothes. He could see that there were figures walking down the runway.

"I don't get how those ugly layering players win first place!"

He was confused by what you meant. The outfits were suitable, donning the familiar attire of the staff at the hospital, particularly scrubs and white skirts that were too short for the protocol. "What's the theme?"

"A doctor or a nurse," you replied. As the screen turned briefly black, Zayne waited in anticipation. The scene changed, and on the podium was a mermaid with neon green wings and a god-awful dress.

You threw your hands up in frustration and wept on his knees. Zayne was dumbfounded. "I hate this game!" he heard your muffled cries on his knees. He patted your head.

He got used to seeing you so engrossed in the game, but he would never get used to your mood swings: one moment, you're insulting children, and the next moment, you're giggling because you won 1st place.

Zayne bought you a VIP pass because he loved seeing your reaction every time, although he isn't really a fan of spending money on in-game currency. But he loves you too much, so he just keeps that thought to himself.

After seeing you play, he watches the kids play as well, occasionally commenting on their choice of clothing. The nurses were pretty confused by his comments because Zayne never really commented on any outfits, much less in a game.

Xavier:

Xavier knows about the game and has tried it once, not getting the premise of it at first. He didn't know how to change patterns or delete the clothes he was wearing, so his first catwalk was a bit of a mess. But here's the thing: Xavier won first place, which made him more confused. He screenshot himself on the podium and sent it to you.

When you got home from work, excited to play with him, he was pouting while looking at his phone. You wondered why and saw that another player was walking around in the same exact fit as your partner's character. Xavier said that he kept on trying to change his outfit, but that one person kept doing the same thing. You decided to give that player a piece of your mind on behalf of your boyfriend.

When you're at work, Xavier will send you links to fashion hacks he sees on social media. "This looks cute; let's try it later," and he's more updated when Gigi is working on something. The codes—Xavier knows the codes by heart. He knows them more than he knows the date of your birth.

It was thanks to this game that he likes to go shopping with you to get some inspiration. Surprisingly, he can make a coherent outfit with the ones he sees in the malls.

When you both play together, he likes playing duo, and even if your outfits are unfinished or bad, he gives you 5 stars. But for the rest of the players, he forgets to vote more than half of the time—you don't know if it's on purpose or really by accident.

He would occasionally laugh when players fight against one another, especially if you were involved.

He once bought himself the VIP pass, but his outfits still looked too generic for your liking, but you didn't have the heart to complain. Xavier once lost a bet, and now he has to buy you the pass as well.

He once used his work account to comment on some suggestions on Gigi's Twitter, and kids were confused as to why a hunter was commenting on a kids' game. He deleted it soon after, but he amassed a few hundred followers.

Sylus:

He felt nothing about the game at first and thought of it as nothing more than your form of entertainment. It keeps you busy and out of harm's way, but he never once thought that it would cause a rift in your relationship (he's exaggerating).

Sylus would grow annoyed at how you weren't picking up his calls when you were clearly at home, so he sent Mephisto. The little snitch took a picture of you being so engrossed in your game and sent it back to his boss. Sylus was half disgruntled and 100% dumbfounded when he found out—he was laughing, but he was annoyed. Luke and Kieran were utterly confused.

At midnight, while you worked your way to being a fashion maven, you didn't notice your man sneaking in through the window. Just as you were about to hit pose 11, Sylus yanked your feet and stole your tablet from you.

"No! Give that back!"

"You're not answering my calls because of…this?" He turned to the tablet, which displayed another player's half-decent outfit for the theme "star."

"What calls?" you turned to your phone. '18 missed calls' and your heart sunk to the floor. Shyly, you turned to him, scratching your head. "Oops?"

He sat down on the edge of your bed. "Why are you so engrossed in a dressing game? Why not dress yourself with all the clothes I gave you?" He nudged to the mountain of paper bags in the corner of your room—branded ones, too.

"Because it's fun?" You took the tablet from him and showed him on screen how your outfit won first place. "See? I like winning—one more round, and let's go on a night ride."

He paused, patiently waiting for a minute while you scrolled around the game lobby. He came to a decision. "No. Screen time is over. You've neglected me for far too long." He yanked the tablet away from you using his evol, then pinned you down to the bed, burying his nose in between your breasts.

Although Sylus claims he's not interested in playing the game with you, he did, in fact, join the game secretly to spy on you. He was mildly infuriated with the little amount of selection of menswear and the ridiculous look on the men's faces, so he still really doesn't understand the hype, but he'll be generous enough to give you a three or four-star once in a while.

Once, he joined your server, and the theme was the bad guy. You dressed up as a white-haired, red-eyed man with over-chiseled cheekbones. A moment later, Sylus bombarded you with a screenshot of the game. "I do not look like that. Delete it."

As much as he says he doesn't like the game, Gigi made an update and added some dark reddish aura in-game, as well as a crow perched on the hand of the model. The bird looked awfully close to Mephisto. You confronted Sylus about this, and he denied having any involvement in it.

Whenever you sleep in Sylus' home, he would wake up to the goddamn beat of the game at 3 am, and out of frustration, he would use his EVOL to get the device away from you and place it on the highest shelf in the room. Then he'd hold you down.

Rafayel:

Rafayel introduced you to the game, but after a few times of playing it, it didn't take long for him to get banned for cyberbullying—he wasn't bullying, actually; he was just stating facts, and the other players couldn't take it, and so they reported him. He fights anyone, and he comments a lot in the game, earning him the title of a "yapper."

"You guys don't have taste. How did that thing win first place?" That thing refers to a pretty decent outfit but doesn't match the theme.

"You don't look good either, hun," said the person in first place.

"You don't get to say that when your hair looks like puke, darling." He rage-chattered, saying everything he was typing out loud.

You were cackling beside your boyfriend, witnessing him rage while you were just perched on top of the 3rd place, happy you even got to go up there against all the fashionistas.

"Kids really have the gall to compete and insult adults with taste."

"Raf, you do understand that they're adults as well, right?"

"No, they're not. They're children. This is a kids' game."

You stared at him intently. He stared back, thinking.

"Then I don't need to hold back from insulting them." he placed his hand on the keyboard.

Rafayel's fits are absolutely top-tier. He always wins first place. The layering, the color combination, the form, and the aesthetic are all on point and top-tier. He doesn't reference, and the only time he does is when the theme requires it.

This man doesn't do duos with you because he wants the podium to himself. He once did a duo with you, and it broke his winning streak. You had a small argument about it, but you just gave in, eager to make him lose. Newsflash: You failed miserably.

He secretly joins a farming server every once in a while. Rafayel unknowingly joined the same server as you, and when you asked about it, he denied it, saying only people with bad tastes need to farm for stars. You sent him a screenshot. He didn't talk to you for a day.

He files a lot of complaints and goes on Twitter about how buggy the game is and how bad the texture is. He didn't know that his graphics were on low.

Rafayel is very active in the community and contributes to it during his free time. He uses an alternate account to post suggestions when Gigi opens a post about it. A lot of people actually agree with Rafayel's complaints and suggestions.

Rafayel once freaked out when he accidentally went inside the meat room and told you about it, but when he showed you, it was already catwalk time. You pretended you didn't believe him and tried to pretend to listen when he was searching for that passable wall. You laughed at him and brushed him off, pretending that you didn't believe him.

This began the downward spiral to Lana's lore. He kept on sending you reels about it—and speculations and theories. He even once invited you to that scary horror game, but he quit because it was too creepy and full of 'negative energy.'

Author footnotes: If I'm taking a break while writing, I would be playing dress to impress and I would be fighting children (i'm not joking, I once made a player and her friends leave the server)

Layout by me, using Canva premium | Do not repost |

[fishermanshook]

HEART OF GOLD ICHOR.

( sprout s. , glisten , & vee v. ) + gn!toon!reader

⋆·˚🔱 ༘ * hints of inspo. from @eclipseberrycake. [go read their work it’s divine] , h/c’s + small size intended , can be read as romantic or platonic [best friends for /p readers] , possible ooc-ness , mentions of a panic attack [glisten.] , reader is hinted to be a distractor , I can’t write dialogue for shit , not proof-read , grammar and spelling warning

INTRO

Runs are inherently dangerous. No matter how seasoned of a distractor you are, there’s no guarantee you’ll ever make it back to the elevator in time.

This run is just another piece of evidence as to why.

꒰wc꒱ 1,427 , read pt. 2 here.

SPROUT SEEDLY.

Had Sprout Seedly been there just a second earlier, he knows he could’ve gotten you. He knows he would’ve been able to swoop you up and away as his twisted form was hot on your tail, tendrils spiraling up from the ground as you dodged them left and right. But deep down inside, he knows that he wouldn’t have been able to anyway, not when the last machine had finished and not after a twisted Gigi popped up and out of nowhere, the two of them pulling your mangled body down into a pool of black tar as the elevator closed right in front of him.

Right in front of you, with your hand extended out just enough that he swears he could’ve touched the tips of your fingers.

Sprout doesn’t register the first tear that falls, nor the second or third. Not until he hears the all too familiar cranking and turning of Dandy’s little shop of Horror does he instinctively wipe his face with the back of his hand. It comes back slightly wet, damp with the salty tears of his own. Instead of sadness, rage takes its place, and it takes everything in him to hold that back.

—

“What the fuck Dandy!” Sprout screams at the colorful flower sitting pretty behind his make-shift pop-up store, a bandaid perched between the two of them— on discount, nonetheless.

“Deary me, what seems to have occurred— oh! You seem to be down one—oooh. Ah.” Dandy’s face falters for a second. Floor thirty three and just now they lose you. How pitiful. “I was wondering how long it would take.”

Anger boiled inside of him. A rage he hadn’t felt for god knows how long. “Listen, man,” Sprout announced, fishing around in his bag for something, “I’ll give you as many tapes as you want, I’ll give up every single one I earn and be in debt to you as long as needed,” he slams what seems to be a bucket full of tapes on Dandy’s stand, “but I’m not leaving here until I get that damn antidote for [name]. So pay up.”

“Sprout, you know that I can’t do that.”

“If you care about the wellbeing of your so-called ‘friends’, you’ll give me the fucking thing.”

“Get the research first, Seedly.” And Dandy’s shop is already going down. Sprout doesn’t dare follow along, too shaken up to heave himself over the shop table and fall after the deceptive little flower.

GLISTEN.

One second, you’re standing by him, watching the area and playing with the ginormous pink bow on his back while he works his magic at the machine. The next? You’re being dragged away from him, a scream ripped out of you before pure silence followed quickly after. Glisten can only whip his head around in time to spot the familiar growing dark puddle of tar alongside the ichor-stained claws of twisted Goob himself.

He wants to scream, to cry, to jump himself on top of the monster that twisted Goob is and rip out his stupid fucking eyeballs for being the reason he can’t find your black and blue bruised body—but he just can’t find it in himself. Even as the furry craft locks his beady little eyes on the vanity mirror, he can’t move a muscle. At least he’ll be joining you again, minus the discomfort that his twisted form brought him, at least he’ll still be with you.

And it’s as if Rodger can hear his deeply unspoken thoughts because the magnifying glass is quick to snatch Glisten's arm away before Goob can and do it himself, tossing him a few stale gumballs —the ones that get left in Dandy’s inventory for far too long— and tell him to start running. That’s when the adrenaline kicks in, and he can only get as far as he can before the mirror’s hunched over on his knees, gasping for air as he starts to hyperventilate. The main’s plushies loom directly over him. Vee and Astro stare disappointingly above him: aren’t you meant to keep face? What does one toon’s death mean to you?

They stare with no mercy, and Glisten only feels like he might puke.

—

The elevator is cold and quiet by the time Glisten can pull himself inside. One teleport to Tisha and he’s already clinging to the side of the door trying his best to conceal his broken attempts at breathing and the mascara dripping from his teary eyes— but is it even worth it at this point? What’s left to hide when the one thing he’s cherished oh, so much has been stripped away from his side?

You’re gone. One with the ichor now, and Glisten can only beg his teammates to end the run here. He can’t risk Dandy pulling at the string of fucking fate and having to run into your twisted form. No, he doesn’t even want to imagine what you may look like. Your body, mangled and deranged and forced to move to the ichor’s will.

The team listens to his prayer, and they head back up, but not before he can make out just the slightest bit of something coming from the other side of the door. Echoes of a voice sounding way too familiar to your shouting. Screaming. Of agony? He hopes not, but at him? He thinks he’ll twist himself before he dares to take a hearken.

VEE VERSION ONE.

It’s always a game of luck and skill when you’re a distractor —you never truly know what to expect next. Sure, you can predict the next time Scraps will try and snipe you, and you can surely attempt to avoid Rodger’s watchful and menacing eye after someone didn’t pay close enough attention towards what capsule they were picking up…but escaping from a twisted pebble? Vees…not sure.

She knew she shouldn’t have let you distract this floor. They had Pebble with them —someone who, not to be rude, was much faster than you in situations like these. You could’ve just let the guy take his twisted version, let him run himself tired all across the map, but no. YOU wanted to play hero today, so you went ahead and put yourself on the line, Astro wasn’t able to reach you in time for a stamina boost and you didn’t have a pop or even a speed candy on you and you had too little supplies to work with and—snap.

The sound itself rings throughout the map again. Or, in this case, through Vee’s mind as the wires and zeros and ones of her digitally coded, precisely ciphered DNA force her to relive your last moments on a never-ending loop. Over and over and over again.

Guilt rots in her motherboard as they descend the elevator once more. Numbness overcomes her heart, and she feels as if she’s on the verge of breaking out into tears, but nothing comes. Just the newfound pit in her stomach, and the overarching feeling that she can’t go on like this for much longer. The feeling only continues to grow, bubbling in her stomach and escaping to other regions of her toon-like body. She can’t stay in here for another second, and without another thought, Vee’s already pulling the lever to head back to the lobby. No questions asked, even as the others look with momentary confusion before putting the dots together.

Vee is the first one to leave the elevator and ignores any other calls of her name quickly after. None of them emit the same tone that yours once did anyway.

—

By the time Vee makes her way back to her room, she feels empty. The television flickers quietly as she sinks down in front of her vanity mirror; its shine fades without you here. She senses her energy waning, as if her system is shutting down. The world around her feels like it is crumbling, and Vee can only just make it to her bed—overwhelmed by the decorative sheets and blankets she had borrowed from your room during the countless sleepovers you shared—before her strength gives out completely. Her empty body lands softly on the bed with a quiet thud.

Vee won’t wake for at least the next few hours, and no one should expect to see her around so suddenly after your demise.

note: so how did we like the angst...

© fishermanshook — no stealing , translating , plagiarizing or reposting my work on other any other sites + reblogs adored !!

[pukefactory]

- dw req !!

---> Yandere Gigi x Reader hcs

---> SFW , angsty (?)

- tysm if you do so !! :>

✦ ─ ˗ˋ SENSE OF SELF ˊ˗ ─ ✦

➽ Summary: Headcannons Featuring Yandere Gigi X Reader

➽ Character(s): Gigi (Dandy’s World)

➽ Genre: Headcannons, SFW

➽ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

➽ Image Credits: BlushCrunch Studio

➸ Gigi adores collecting things, and you are no exception. You’re her ultimate prize, her rarest find—the one thing she refuses to share. If anyone even looks at you for too long, she’s quick to slot herself between you and them with a wide, knowing grin. “Mine,” she hums, holding onto your sleeve like you might slip away if she loosens her grip.

➸ Her hoarding tendencies extend to anything that reminds her of you. Trinkets from places you’ve visited together, napkins with your doodles, even things you’ve barely touched. If you ever wonder where your missing bracelet or favorite pen went, don’t worry—it’s safely stored in the ever-growing Gigi Collection™.

➸ Gigi’s a tricky one. She’s always playing innocent, always flashing that mischievous smirk, but her methods of keeping you close? Subtle. It starts with her dragging you along on her adventures, claiming she needs a sidekick. Then it’s her holding onto your sleeve so you “don’t get lost.” Before you know it, your entire schedule revolves around her.

➸ She has zero shame when it comes to teasing you. Expect constant flirty remarks and dramatic swooning—“Oh, my beloved! You wound me with your rejection!”—even when you haven’t rejected her. If she catches you talking to someone else? She slouches against the nearest surface with a tragic sigh, muttering about her heartbreak.

➸ Gigi has no problem making little promises—like meeting you at a specific time or helping you with something—but anything bigger? She conveniently forgets. Unless, of course, it involves keeping you by her side. Those promises? Unbreakable. You’re not leaving. She won’t let you.

➸ If she ever catches you trying to avoid her (why would you do that? So mean), she’s got a million tricks up her sleeve to reel you back in. A fake crisis? An “urgent” mystery only you can solve? She’s not above playing a little dirty. And if that fails? Well… she could always misplace your house key. Oops!

➸ Gigi loves leaving little “gifts” for you—trinkets she’s “found” (stolen), gacha capsules with oddly specific prizes (bribes), or notes scribbled in messy handwriting. Some are simple—“Missed you today! Don’t do it again. ♡” Others? A bit more unsettling. “Saw you talking to someone new. They’re funny! But I’m funnier, right?”

➸ She likes to joke about keeping you in her gachapon head—“I bet you’d fit in here.”—and she says it so casually that it’s impossible to tell if she’s kidding. The way her grin lingers a second too long doesn’t help.

➸ If you ever get too close to someone else, Gigi has her own way of dealing with them. Nothing violent, of course! Just a few well-placed pranks. Their stuff goes missing, their shoelaces always seem to be mysteriously tied together, and any attempt to hang out with you? Interrupted by Gigi conveniently showing up. Every. Single. Time.

➸ At the end of the day, Gigi is a chaotic, unpredictable mess of a yandere—but she’s also terrifyingly good at what she does. No chains, no threats, no locked doors—just an overwhelming presence that slowly makes it impossible to imagine a life without her. And, well… why would you even want to?

[sugar-petals]

Hi caro 🌹 I saw in your hyunjin kibbe post( which I loved brw) that you mentioned some luxury brands and their go to kibbe types . I was wondering what kind of brands would best suit pure romantic? There is so little about the subject of pure R s sadly . Have a nice day ❤

KIBBE'S PURE ROMANTIC IN FASHION & HISTORY (+ even architecture)

R is the opposite of the tall, non-curve dominant dramatic and flamboyant natural model body types, which is why it SEEMS juxtaposed to haute couture on paper, as if people thought:

"romantic = gentle flowing style of bygone eras on a small figure 8 body = not fashion just a past reference,

dramatic = severe modernity with ultra sharp lines on a statuesque body = yep, that's forward modern fashion for the runway".

...even if the opposite is easily true (e.g. damiano david often dressing fashionably romantic)!

and the strawberry R dress causing a real fashion ruckus.

sure, that polar opposite logic isn't 100% erroneous. dressing tall models in R will often feel retrospective and damiano is SD-ish so he can do both; plus yin garments are too cinched & short for 6'0+ models as no vertical is accommodated.

there's a reason why the 50s are THE romatic (+ SC) era, as is baroque, R feeling almost confined to these periods.

however, many brands actually do design innovative yin lines! romantic equals luxury, excess & abundance (= upper class), ornamentation and glamour itself, as kibbe wrote, after all. a dramatic body type does not exude abundance and ornamental detail at all.

(even if such garments can cost hundreds and it could be difficult to craft and accurately sew!)

D is spartan, brutalist, geometric, NOT copious. which is ironic and deceptive for a luxury brand, supposedly the opposite of austere and simple! wealth whispers would be a classic type motto. but money on display is always R, always redundant, almost always past-oriented, and once again ironically very feminine-coded even if wealth is and was mostly in men's hands worldwide.

as a pompous, infuriating and exaggerated example, look at the german castle neuschwanstein of bavarian king ludwig above, or (jump scare) mar-a-lago's wasteful wannabe versailles-style interiors below.

insanity how this can exist. note how "princess"-like it all is, the inverse of masculine, hard, dark, angular, strong yang. showing material affluence is confusingly yin? 😅 as if, a guy is so rich, he can quite literally afford to display femininity in his interiors. nothing about this alludes to D, FN, SD.

you wouldn't guess a guy like trump lives there. soft fabrics, candles, florals, ruffles, lace, pastels... everything we associate with hyperfemininity and the romantic type: the inverse of donald who is a flamboyant natural (tall + width), men's 'chad/archetype' of our time — paired with the SD trend — and fashion's towering ideal body ever since the 90s (claudia, gigi, candice, naomi, adriana etc, and all male models ever, like tyson beckford).

quite a political and aesthetic paradox, the world upside down. maybe - on top of trump dressing business pure classic, i.e. far off his type - that's why he looks out of place, as if you photoshopped it in.

PS: the stereotypical villain's castle in fiction is almost always gloomy and pure dramatic, immediately signalling its intent without hiding. (minas morgul in lotr, maleficent in disney)

talk about excess, anyway, and that's where i answer the question: the notoriously well-off catholic church is very SD/R in its aesthetic, too, similar to european aristocracy. that's probably why many italian fashion houses love a yin branding. rounded yin is catholic (st mark's basilica, venice). italy idolizes the yin body type.

^look how dolce & gabbana draws from this to make it TR. that's why i include architecture in this post. it intertwines.

if you look at many historic arabic garments/buildings or especially dynastic china, too, pure R is also prominent in noble dress and art. if you want to study the romantic type, study ottoman and chinese (fashion) culture. even the men wear waist emphasis, decorative fabric, dresses/skirts, rounded head gears and fine jewels.

all of this heavily influences luxury today, which is why i took some time diving into history.

so, finally: ROMANTIC BRANDS!

as mentioned, versace is very ornamental yin overall, even the logo. no sharp D lines to be seen. they do several kibbe types, but R is a huge focus.

dolce & gabbana is always between TR, SD, and pure R. chungha being soft gamine fits the brand. she always wears R and TR. this brand is the most yin in europe, IMO.

guo pei, the most wonderful and well-crafted of all. such details, pure R eye candy. my favorite. it's no surprise they successfully dressed rihanna (SD). guo pei is a genius. everything she does is yin.

she is one of the few designers who shares her own essence with her clothing creations. guo is also very yin.

robert wun is always going tumblr viral. those light reflective fabrics. it's the darker side of romantic, not soft and sweet. still, draped and translucent, only sometimes SD and TR. i think robert is the frontier to make romantic lines modern and gender-neutral. so good.

smaller/lesser-known/less pricey R brands:

innika choo

chi chi london

confete

loveshackfancy

sir the label

morning lavender

revolve

icy city co

jessa kae

shopbop

doen

steele

lacemade

chicwish

for love and lemons

miss patina

hope this helped! thank you for reading and sending such an interesting question.

[mimble-sparklepudding]

The Etheirycrumb OCs Revisited.

A is for Amon, with charisma in spades, B is for Banri, and his collection of blades, C is for Clara, who’s often confused, D is for Damien, with shadow infused, E is for Estelle, who’s hard to outplay, F is for Feldspar, with his legs on display, G is for Gigi, the safety inspector, H is for Hwyl, the glamour collector, I is for Iris, genteel and refined, J is for Jess, who knows her own mind, K is for Kai, in a tender romance, L is for Lejo, who really can dance, M is for Mizuki, with her tricky upbringing, N is for Nate, and his magical singing, O is for Osric, both wolfish and brooding, P is for Podolly, and the warmth she’s exuding, Q is for Q'ruhka, setting sail through the sky, R is for Rowan, who at first seems quite shy, S is for Saeed, who vowed to resist, T is for Tsukia, a brave altruist, U is for U’lohi, the spreader of joy, V is for Valentin, that flirtatious boy, W is for Wolfram, and his undisclosed bond, X is for Xynal, drawing power from beyond, Y is for Yume, with an un-charming prince, Z is for Zuzunzo, and the skill he'll evince.

By Blake Primping-Muddles.

(With further apologies to Edward Gorey)

A couple of years ago I wrote a very silly poem, in the style of Edward Gorey's The Gashlycrumb Tinies, in order to celebrate some of the wonderful FFXIV blogs and OCs on Tumblr. You can find the original here. Recently I thought it might be fun to revisit the idea and celebrate some more of my favourite OCs...

Hopefully nobody minds me borrowing their characters for further silly purposes! And apologies to the many wonderful OCs I had to leave out - there are an awful lot of characters starting with M and S etc.

How many characters did you recognise? Why not follow their respective blogs and find out more about their stories!

Amon @spotofmummery

Banri @aoife-asturmaux

Clara @confusedau-ra

Damien @damienward-ffxiv

Estelle @viiioca

Feldspar @loldragoon-ffxiv

Gigi @gigifujijifu

Hywl @hywl

Iris @irisopranta

Jess @sasslett

Kai @kaitontenchu

Lejo @naejlas-axe

Mizuki @pumpkinmagekupo

Nate @calico-heart

Osric @osric-giroux-ffxiv

Podolly @roxinova

Q'ruhka @placesyoucallhome

Rowan @tallbluelady

Saeed @stalwart-spirit

Tsukia @tsukiakurotori

U’lohi @humblemooncat

Valentin @cadrenebula

Wolfram @xiv-wolfram

Xynal @qxynalvaleroyantb

Yume @firelightmuse

Zuzunzo @zuzunzo

[epicbuddieficrecs]

Weekly Recap | August 19th-25th 2024

Have a wonderful week! I hope you enjoy this rec!

Complete

don't let go by honestlydarkprincess/ @honestlydarkprincess (Getting Together | <1K | Teen): Buck and Eddie get home after a long shift and decide to take a nap. for the prompt: accidental pet names

in the crystalline knowledge of you by bleakmonday/ @bleakmonday-writes (Post-BuckTommy Break-Up, Love Confessions | 1,5K | Teen): Eddie barges in and tells Buck how he feels and they cry about it. That's it, that's the fic.

Come on Sweetheart, Let's Adore One Another by giselleslash/ @gigi-gigi (Established Buddie, Fluff | 1,6K | Mature): When Buck and Eddie start dating Buck finds out a surprise about Eddie that delights the hell out of him. (or the one where Eddie’s soft, romantic little heart loves being called pet names.)

Shouting Under My Breath by carpediaz/ @sofa-king-lame (Jealous Eddie, Getting Together | 2K | Teen): The one where a guy hits on Buck in a bar and Eddie gets jealous. Turns out, Buck really likes it when Eddie is jealous.

call your girlfriend by bleakmonday/ @bleakmonday-writes (S5, Love Confessions | 2,6K | Teen): Buck is at a loss, so he calls Maddie. “Eddie… told me we were getting married.” The silence is damning. “…You wanna run that by me again?" - Or: When Taylor tells Buck she loves him, Buck tells Eddie about it. And Eddie? Well, he goes right for the jugular.

leave it out there, no regrets by Maira/ @carrierofthepaperclips (Post-S7, Love Confessions | 3K | Teen): Or, the one where Buck is completely oblivious to Eddie declaring his love, and Eddie (briefly) contemplates leaving the country forever because of it.

we'll try and we'll succeed by honestlydarkprincess/ @honestlydarkprincess (Post-S7, Getting Together | 3K | Teen): Buck comes out to Chris and it helps him realize who he wants to be with.

we should make a verbal agreement to only kiss each other by bleakmonday/ @bleakmonday-writes (Secret Marriage | 4K | Teen): “Who the hell did he marry? Everyone he knows works here! He’d have to marry one of us!” The whole room goes still as they process that. “God, could you imagine?” - Five times a member of the 118 imagines being married to Buck, plus one time one of them lives it. (sequel to call your girlfriend)

I Am What I Am Cause You Trained Me by I_still_dont_understand_13/ @dangerpronebuddie (Post-S7 | 5K | Mature): "So it's all my fault Christopher’s first instinct is to run?" Eddie protests. “And Shannon's?” "Eddie, you enlisted," Helena says gently, but there's nothing gentle about it. "And Shannon ran off to LA," Ramon adds, oh so helpfully. "And I was ten years old when you told me to step up and be the man of the house because you weren't around," Eddie says, jabbing a finger towards Ramon. Ramon does at least look a little guilty about it. Helena, as always, is undeterred. "He was angry at you, Eddie. He needed his space." "Which I was giving him," Eddie hisses. "You didn't have to take him away for him to get a little space or time or whatever he needed." "He asked us to come get him," Helena reasons. Buck, who'd been quiet so far, steps beside Eddie and speaks, his shoulder brushing Eddie's in silent reassurance. "And you didn't think to at least consider trying to mediate first?"

No Regrets by Inell/ @inell (Post-S7, Getting Together, PWP | 5K | Explicit): Buck and Eddie’s relationship changes with an impulsive kiss during a rerun of Chopped. It’s now a few hours later, and Buck wants to make sure that Eddie doesn’t have any regrets.

love is stored in the picnic basket by bucksclipboard/ @excuseme-greentea (Getting Together | 5K | Teen): Buck participates in the 118’s basket bidding on Valentine’s Day and things go exactly as (Bobby) planned. When Eddie is done standing on the sidelines, he makes the grand gesture Buck has been dreaming of. or: buck’s heart (um, picnic basket) is up for auction and eddie is ready to pay

The Way to a Man’s Heart by Inell/ @inell (Post-S7, Getting Together | 5K | Teen): When Eddie texts Buck to ask him over for dinner, Buck thinks something odd is going on, but nothing prepares him for what Eddie has planned.

the best of me (are just the pieces of the best of you) by justhockey (Post-S7, Getting Together | 6K | General): It was a slow, aching, gruelling process, like re-breaking every one of your bones just to set them back in the right place. But Buck got to watch as Eddie slowly came back to life. There’d still been the whole moustache debacle, though. Which, thankfully, hadn’t lasted beyond the first facetime call with Chris, where he’d actually hung up in disgust and texted Eddie a single sentence: get rid of it. They don’t talk about that brief lapse in judgment anymore.

wanna do a bad thing twice by coldbam/ @coldbam (Cheating Buck, Buddie Endgame | 7K | Explicit): Eddie gets another new friend. History repeats itself.

this could be the year for the real thing by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon Divergent, Maddie/Chimney | 8K | Teen): It's December, 2016 and Chimney is a bit down on his luck. But a chance meeting with Beverly Hills heiress Maddie Buckley, right before her parents' big annual New Year's party, might be just what he's looking for. OR a Madney Cinderella AU.

the kiss that lingers by greenbergsays/ @greenbergsays (Getting Together | 10K | Explicit): 5 times Eddie kisses Buck's birthmark & 1 time he doesn't.

🔥the best endeavor waiting by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon Divergent, Amputee!Buck | 12K | Mature): When quarantine puts the 118 on the front lines of the pandemic, Eddie asks Buck and his service dog, Cranberry, to stay with Christopher. (Part 2 of Buck & Cranberry)

Vary My Days by Chash/ @ponyregrets (Post-S7 | 12K | Teen): After Christopher leaves, Frank tells Eddie to get a hobby. Eddie picks Legos, Buck picks crochet, and they both wait for Chris to talk to them again.

Can You Open Up The Door? by fruitsdoesnotknow/ @tayf-ghost (Canon Divergent, Different First Meeting | 15K | Teen): Or, five times Abuela and Pepa try to matchmake probationary firefighter Buck with freshly single dad Eddie moving to Los Angeles, and the one time they don't need to do anything at all.

🔥I'm Hearing Secret Harmonies by Chash/ @ponyregrets (Canon Divergent, Witch Eddie, Coffeshop AU | 18K | Teen): When the firefighter walks into Eddie's coffeeshop, Eddie immediately knows two things about him: he's not human, and he's the love of Eddie's life. Oh, he knows a bunch of other things too, obviously. He's about thirty, a few months younger than Eddie himself. He has a scar on his throat, like he got stabbed there, and one of his legs has some metal rods in it that must have come from a bad injury. The guy doesn't know he's not human, which is a tricky thing to figure out, but Eddie's almost positive. Most of the non-humans he knows have always known they aren't people, but there are exceptions, and they tend to carry themselves differently. The firefighter moves like he knows he doesn't belong, but not like he knows why. Like he's afraid of taking up space, afraid of being noticed. As if Eddie is even capable of not noticing him.

🔥 you're almost home (i've been waiting for you to come in) by sibylsleaves/ @sibylsleaves (Post-S5, Canon Divergent - Roommates, Getting Together | 34K | Mature): Buck moves in. Eddie comes out. Things get a little messy.

🔥I used to watch the moon retreat and wonder where it goes by Chash/ @ponyregrets (Canon Divergent, Ghost Whisperer Buck | 43K | Teen): Here's what Evan believes: if someone can do something that other people can't, if they offer some unique and special service to the world, they should do that. They have an obligation to use whatever skills they have, ideally to help people. It's just the right thing to do. And the one thing that Evan can do that almost no one else can is see ghosts. (The 118 are on a ghost-hunting TV show. Buck's the only one who knows ghosts are real.)

WIP

🔥Where there's smoke by rainbow_nerds/ @rainbow-nerdss (Multiverses | 25/31 | 30K | Teen): His eyelids are heavy. His lungs ache. The smoke is dense and thick, slowly suffocating him. Eddie feels himself drift as Buck’s voice penetrates the smoke, cuts through the fog in his brain. “Eddie, stay with me. Stay with me, Eds.” Eddie wants to stay. He wants to open his eyes and see Buck. He doesn’t want to leave. But he’s so tired, and sleep is calling him. Maybe it will be okay. Maybe his dreams will be sweet. Maybe there’ll be peace, there. And maybe, if he just rests for a little while, he’ll be able to find his way back.

🔥 Any Other Way by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon Divergent, S2 | 17/21 | 84K | Mature): In a switcheroo alternate universe, Buck spends young adulthood in the military, while Eddie, who has no idea Christopher exists, spends his twenties messing around, finally enjoying freedom away from his family’s expectations. When they both end up in Los Angeles, at the 118, some things are different, and others will be the same in any universe.

🔥 Long Death by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Post-S7, Vampire AU | 14/15 | 68K | Explicit): In the summer of 2024, a never before seen form of vampirism breaks out in Los Angeles. Just as Eddie is about to get his son back. Six months later, Buck's life is permanently changed.

go and kill, go and die by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Zombie Apocalypse AU | 3/14 | 12K | Mature): The 118 are a group of survivors in a small California town in the wake of a zombie apocalypse. For months they've been isolated and safe. But the arrival of some new players, the search for some missing loved ones, will shake everything up and put their little team in jeopardy.

🔥 Things We're All Too Young to Know by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon S1-S6, Divergent Post-S6 | 134/? | 425K | Mature): This is a love story. Even if it doesn’t always look like it. Even if it doesn’t always feel like it. A look back on Eddie and Buck's lives up to now, and what led them to each other, interpreted from the current 9-1-1 canon.

Weary Memory by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Buck&Bobby, Post-S7 | 3/4 | 9K | Teen): After an argument about the circumstances of Bobby's sudden retirement, Buck and Bobby each find themselves inexplicably experiencing one of the other's difficult childhood memories.

Podfic

🔥[podfic] i'm not good with names (and you don't feel the same) by be_brave13/ @djemsowhat // fic by benwvatt/ @benwvatt (S7E7: Ghost of a Second Chance | 10-20min | Teen): Whatever you do, don’t think about her, Shannon, six feet under, carnations at her grave. And don’t think about Buck, ever-changing, sleeping on your couch at home, hands folding over faded towels ‘cause he’s doing your laundry without you asking and fingers tracing down your books, copies left over from high school; eyes roving over your body in locked-away dreams that you don’t discuss, not even at therapy; lips that haven’t ever touched you but lips that know the touch of another ー another man ー just don’t think about it. Or: Eddie goes on his date with Kim and totally, absolutely, does not pine after Shannon or Buck the entire time. (Mission failed.)

[presleyslilbaby]

~Sweet As Pie~

~Prologue~

(70’s!Elvis X OC)

"Gianna! It's time to wake up!" Gianna's Mother Marie called from downstairs, urging her to wake up early enough to avoid being lazy. She stirred awake, groaning as she reached over for her glasses that unsurprisingly enough weren't on her bedside table.

Of course.

With another groan, much more annoyedly than the last, she sat up fully in bed before searching for those damned glasses. "I'd really like to see today." She muttered beneath her breath, checking behind the table to find that her glasses had indeed fallen. "There you are. You're nothing but trouble, I say." Gianna huffed out a breath of air, stretching her arm out to reach behind the hunk of wood, a scowl present on her lips. Finally, she managed to brush her fingers over the lenses, cringing at the smudge she left.

Grabbing them by the bridge, she pulled them out and began to frantically clean them, muttering about not wanting to be like her older Sisters or another. She hated anything that got onto her lenses. Absolutely loathed it, even so much as the idea of something on them. She preferred clean, well cared-for glasses lenses.

Regardless of her preferences, Gianna swung her legs over the side of her bed, the broken down mattress dipping beneath her weight, the bedframe creaking. She's had this thing since she was eleven. Though she wished for a better mattress that wouldn't cause kinks in her muscles damn near every night she went to bed, she knew that her Parents didn't have the proper funds to purchase one. She wouldn't ever complain aloud, though. She didn't want them feeling less-than.

Rising from her bed, she sauntered over to her dresser, pulling out a simple pair of blue jeans, and a white floral blouse, grabbing a new pair of undergarments as well. Undressing herself from her pyjamas, Gianna looked at herself in the mirror for a few moments too long, a frown pulling at her lips.

"God, I look terrible..." She muttered beneath her breath, grabbing at her pudgy belly and her heavy thighs. "It's because you're Italian, Baby." Her Mother would always tell her, claiming that her heritage caused the fat on her body that she loathed. Sometimes she felt beautiful. But very rarely. How could she expect her reflection to change? Looking away from her mirror, she began to dress, the self-deprecating thoughts lingering in her mind, plaguing her once again.

After dressing, Gianna brushed out her Brown hair, and finally headed downstairs to greet the rest of her Family. Marie was setting the table with breakfast, although Gianna would be the only one to attend aside from her Father Jude who was already digging in to his food.

"Morning." She greeted, pulling out her usual chair before sitting down, glancing up at her Mother whom in which sat down herself. "Good morning, Gigi." She greeted back with a loving smile. "Your Sisters are still asleep, as usual." She had added. Gianna hummed, pulling her plate closer to herself as she reached for the pepper-shaker. "Maybe if they stopped staying up all night, they wouldn't be so tired." She mumbled, clearly annoyed with her older Sisters staying up late on purpose to sleep most of the day away while she had to do most of the work alongside her Mother and Father. "I'll have to have a talk with them today." "Again." She added on to her Mother's reply, shyly digging in to her own food.

Marie hums herself, giving a small sigh as she shakes her head to dispel the thought of her older Daughters being so lazy. "Anyways," She starts. "Are you ready to help Mrs. Huntley today?" Gianna nodded, though she knew for a fact that she was never good with people and always became anxious around anyone who hadn't been in her inner circle.

Hell, she didn't even have any friends. She was lonely.

"Yeah, I suppose I am." She responds politely regardless of how she felt. Looking over to her Father, she spoke. "You going to work soon, Dad?" She wondered. He looked up from his plate, nodding before wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Mhm. Called me in to fill an empty position. I have to go in about..." Jude peered down at his wristwatch. "Thirty minutes, or so." "Give or take." Marie said, adding on, "I prefer if you get there about three minutes early - You know how David is."

As her Parents spoke about work, and topics similar, Gianna practically tuned them out, focusing on her breakfast. Despite having turned eighteen a few months back, she didn't exactly understand much about 'grown-up topics'. No matter how many times it was explained to her, she just couldn't seem to grasp it. It made her feel like shit.

Hours had passed, and Gianna had finished running errands for her elderly neighbour Mrs. Huntley, keeping her company for a little while longer before deciding to go for a walk. Her head had been so full lately, and she wanted to clear her mind, and desperately, too. As she walked down along the pavement, her brown eyes casted downwards, she allowed herself to destress, to take in the environment.

However, due to her lack of attention, she had wound up bumping into somebody, gasping as she felt herself falling backwards, squeezing her eyes shut. Suddenly, she was caught by the strong arms of the stranger, dipped downwards.

"You alright, Darlin'?" The stranger asked, his voice smooth and lilted with a beautiful Southern accent. She opens her eyes, only to lock her gaze with the strangers'.

Elvis Aaron Presley.

Gianna's face immediately flushed a bright red, her heart pounding fast in her chest. How could she be so careless...? "...Y-...Y-Yes, Sir..." She whispered bashfully, allowing him to pull her upright. "Forgive me, Honey. I wasn't watchin' where I was goin'." Elvis apologises. "N-N-No-! U-Uh- I-It's not your fault...! I-I-I should've been paying attention...!" She takes the blame, tucking her hair nervously behind her ear, holding her arms close to her body in attempts to shield her pudge from his gaze. "Mm, no worries. You don't have to take the blame, Miss...?"

Oh god...He was asking for her name...

"G-Gianna..." She spoke with a slight voice-crack, cringing internally as her face flushed hotter from the added embarrassment. He smiles at her so warmly, sending butterflies fluttering about in her stomach. "Well, Gianna," Her name rolled off his tongue so beautifully. "You don't need to worry, Sweetheart. But that's a mighty beautiful name. Italian?"

She hated how fucking cliche this all was.

"Y-Yes, Sir...I-I'm uh...Fourth generation Italian..." Gianna responded, still replying in a polite manner. "Aw, Honey, you can drop the 'Sir'. 'Elvis' would do just fine." Elvis smiled once more, clearly finding her bashfulness endearing. "O-O-Okay..." Could she stop stuttering for one second? "I uh...I-I-I need to go...Ch-Chores, you know...?" She awkwardly chuckled, taking a step back. "Hm? Oh, that's perfectly fine. You take care now, you hear?" He bowed his head slightly in understanding, watching her take a few more steps back. "U-U-Uh- Y-You too-!" With that awkward farewell, Gianna began to walk the way she came from, her mind reeling from the interaction she'd just had.

She couldn't wait to go home and tell her Family about it.

[jkriordanverse]

Grayson (mainly his childhood):

- He was a major bug kid as a child. Loved bugs. Took pictures of them, drew them, hid the drawings. Threw the drawings away bc he thought they were ugly. Nash found them and kept it. - He wears a ring on his thumb, and when he gets nervous you can see him twirling the ring on his hands and sometimes it falls off. - Gigi and Libby has exclusive tea parties every now and then. Grayson ofc, is a VIP member, and (secretly) loves attending the tea parties (Tiramisu is also a member) bc they make him feel happy inside, like he's making up for lost times. - secretly loves romance novels - Would the the type to like the shitty expensive food where you pay a ton and get very little (i tried to find a word that means little or small but rhymes with ton but i couldn't find it :< ), Lyra would call him out on it. - when he's really in love this man falls first and falls hard and face plants on the concrete floor (although his s/o wouldn't know that), but really inside he's aukwdikjmiokejmiekajmk a hopeless romanticcccccccccccccccccccccc muahahahahahahahahhaa - Hates himself for being unhappy with his life. After he travelled around the world, he felt selfish for being unhappy with his life and hated himself more and more. - Is that one person to secretly stay back to give extra tips to service workers (like waiters,barbers..etc) and the homeless. when he was a child he wondered why people just wouldn't give money to people who need it but then Tobias fed him rich people shit and he stopped. - Liked playing with legos as a kid bc Xander loved playing with legos and they used to bond. - When he was small Tobias used to say "Never take no for an answer" and he kept it in his head. When he grew older he felt as though the motto was more of something a "rich guy who didn't care if other people got hurt" would say. - He learned how diving along with swimming around the same age but quit after the incident with Em*ly bc diving reminded him of the cliffs.

[fandomsandflyingstingrays]

Thoughts on the Ithaca Saga!

Spoilers under the cut, obviously

The Challenge

I'd listened to all the snippets beforehand and they did not come CLOSE to capturing the glory of the final song

Anna absolutely killed it, every note she sang was so stunning

And the instrumental? The way it built?? I'm still going nuts over it

10/10 very strong contender for my favorite song in the saga, which I was not expecting

Hold Them Down

Made me very uncomfortable

Which of course was the point so like it was effective

But I have no desire to talk about it more than I have to

(I will say though that I was not expecting Antinous's death to be in that song and so sudden, the gasp I let out was unreal)

Odysseus

Speaking of things that made me gasp: I audibly choked at the open arms bit. I thought I was used to Polites haunting the narrative but NOT LIKE THIS

I listened to this one before watching the stream so that I could be prepared in case the violence got really intense and boy am I glad I did

Like I knew SOMETHING bad was going to happen because of how intense the song got at the end but. I was. Not expecting that

Everyone who sang absolutely killed it though like Jorge's exhaustion and anger? So palpable. The suitors' performance? Incredible

And TELEMACHUS

THE INSTRUMENTAL WHEN HE SHOWED UP WAS SO COOL

And he sounded just like Ody when he sang "get off me, get off me"... my heart

I Can't Help But Wonder

I'll admit I was still too in shock from the end of Odysseus to really process this one at first

But the hug made me lose it

(Both Odysseus and Telemachus's and Jorge's and Mico's I was fully sobbing)

(Also the way Odysseus sang "Telemachus" in the familiar motif. I still can't listen to it without crying frankly)

I will say though literally the only thing in the saga I have any complaint about is Odysseus's reunion with Athena

We had a whole saga about how her friendship with him was still very much on her mind, and buildup to their reunion with Hermes's little hint at the end of Dangerous, and to have them talk about morality for a bit and then for Ody to skeddadle to go find Penelope was... realistic, I guess, but not very satisfying

It's not a huge issue or anything I just wish we could have gotten more of them

Would You Fall in Love With Me Again

Another moment that had me in tears: Drawing_Angie's animatic with all the other animatics in the background. Look how far we've come

I love that Penelope's test with the bed was to help Odysseus realize that he was the same person, that was such a cool twist

Also again, Anna killed it. The raw emotion in her voice at the "I guess that makes him you"? The two decades of anger and fear in the "waiting"s? Unmatched power

GIGI'S ANIMATIC. I WAS LOSING IT IT WAS SO GOOD

Also, the livestream in general was SO much fun. I genuinely can't remember the last time I laughed as hard as I did at the cast's antics. What a wonderful group of people

[foxes-that-run]

Was Taylor close with the 1D boys? I know after 1D she did the song with Zayn and had Niall on rep tour, but besides the boys messing with harry in interviews, I don't remember ever reading or seeing much of anything that would indicate they were close.

I wouldn’t say close but she has supported Niall, and Zayn’s solo careers. She seemed close to Zayn when he was with Gigi and Niall is a bonafide swiftie having performed her songs several times. Louis is the only one I don’t think to speak about her in his solo career.

I wonder if her fame and how much more famous Harry became by dating her maybe caused some jealousy. I think spending time with her might have made him more interested in a solo career. He first raised the hiatus 2 weeks into 1989’s 11 week run at #1. Here are videos of them talking about her.

Niall - 10 minutes of being a swiftie for 10 years:

Zayn, this is all around I Don’t Wanna Live Forever:

Liam:

And - Harry talking about Taylor for 7 mins

[pxgeturner]

Miguel O'Hara is a world-renowned professional boxer, and Hobie's other best friend. One night he finally makes the two worlds collide and sparks immediately fly between the two of you. But will he distract you from meeting your publisher's deadline? And will you distract him from getting World Champ?

before you follow. m.list. Iron Fist gfx library. series m.list. tag list.

Prologue. I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. Epilogue.

wc. 1.5k

an. hi. its me! Giselle, or gi, or gigi to few (not to be confused w gg, that is one of my moots. she makes really cool art.) n e ways here is the awaited Prologue for Iron Fist. Oh goodness I'm so nervous. I just want to make a few things clear. the reader is an author (obvs). She's recently graduated uni and is Latina! I write with a woc!r in mind always. I try to be as inclusive as possible, pero porque soy Mexicana, r might lean towards being more Mexican but I'll try to keep her Spanish standard and not be too specific to my family's culture. much love! hope you enjoy <3

please don't forget to reblog! likes do nothing to boost engagement.

Your foot taps against the floor. The damn blank document stares back at you. Mocking you is what it’s really doing. Fuck you, you think, I achieved my goal. I published a book and it is a damn bestseller! Only problem is that the readers want more. It’s been… some time since your first book. And sure, Jess said you can take a break before starting a new project. But you also know that it’s good to ride on existing publicity. At least be able to make an announcement that you’re writing something while all this excitement lasts. Maybe you should write something about vampires. You love vampires and how they fit into romance and how them drinking blood is a euphemism just a bit away from, the whole cannibalism-equals-all-consuming-love trope and how when a vampire attacks it’s often an allegory for rape and— but you have nothing to add to the conversation. You have nothing new to say, no new perspective or hot take, or twist. You have nothing. No ideas.

Not a single word on the page.

You have an idea, leaning forward to peck the keyboard. “F-u-c-k. T-h-i-s!” You highlight the text and italicize it.

Fuck this. At least it’s words on the page.

You reach for your cup and take a sip. “If all else fails I can ride on the rest of the signing bonus and royalties for a bit since the book is doing good, and once that dries up, I can apply to be circulation assistant at a library or something.” You sigh and take another sip. “But nobody has to know for now.” You get up, searching for your phone. You find it resting on the arm of the couch, you grab it, sliding onto the cushions, resting your head where your phone just was. “God, don’t make me a one hit wonder, I wanna be a star. I wanna be the one to push that bitch Colleen Hoover into obsoletion. Please God. Please.”

You open your phone and look for your mother on speed dial.

“Hola, nena!” Your mama’s voice is happy, she must be having a good day. You move into the kitchen. You need a snack.

“Hey, mama, how are you?” You hold the cell with your shoulder as you look through your pantry.

“Good, good,” you find a pack of roasted seaweed snacks and grab it.

“I went on a date anoche.” Your shoulder drops and the pack of seaweed slips out of your grasp.

Mi mami fue a una cita. Con un man! You stand there, trying to process that she is actually back on the dating scene.

“How did it—” you aren’t holding your phone anymore. You use the wall as support to lower yourself to pick up your phone and snack.

“—ay, mami, lo siento, mi cellular se cayo de mi mano.”

“Todo bien, hija! I’m glad you’re ok.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m ok, I’m ok. Anyways— how was the date? What’s he like? Am I going to have a stepfather soon?” you joke.

“My time for marriage is gone, muñeca, I’m just looking for companionship, pero, tu lo sabes.” You hear some subtle clinking in the background of the call, she must be stirring her coffee. You open your snack and park yourself on the couch. “Are you writing?” Ugh. Not you, too.

“I was, just finished for a bit before I called you.”

“You called me to procrastinate.” You choke on your seaweed from the accusation.

You clear your throat, “I called to check in with you. I call you practically every day.”

“But right now you called me to check up on me as an excuse to not write. Nena, I know you.”

“Okay, fine. I might be having some writer’s block,” you admit, sighing.

“And that’s okay, nena, but then you need to get out, get some inspiration. Allow the world to give you a story.” There’s mama, with her easier-said-than-done advice. But, maybe you should get out of the house.

“Alright, I’ll go out soon.”

“Tonight,”

“—I will go out to the Chinese place across the street and nothing more. I’ll talk with Hobie when he gets back to see if he has any ideas.” You hear your mama make a noise in her throat.

“You still live with that boy?” Here it comes. You’ve lived with Hobie Brown for three years and have known him for five. She’s always been apprehensive of him, since he’s radical and looks like he’s been in jail, with all the metal in his face, and why does his hair look like that? But Hobie is the one who’s kept you sane all these years. He’s held you while you cried and pushed out of your comfort zone when you were getting too stuck into your routines, most likely by dragging you to a concert or a protest. You help him thrift and flip clothes and ever since that one time his stylist had an emergency and canceled, you now help him tighten his wicks every so often. On days like that the two of you stay in, watching nostalgic movies and listening to any demos he’s recorded recently. He’s like a brother to you at this point.

“Yes, mama, I still live with Hobie. Nothing’s changed.” You move the phone down to your chest and take a deep breath.

“I didn’t like him when I first met him,” you clench your jaw as she continues— “…and although he’s one of those kids, I can tell he is a good boy. I’m glad he takes care of you.” You relax. “But it wouldn’t hurt to have someone you could kiss.” “It would be nice, but right now it’s not happening.” “Alright, muñeca. I’ll leave you alone for now, but keep your eyes open for a nice man.”

“I will, con cuidado, mami, besitos.” You make a kissing noise into the phone, and she responds with a goodbye of her own, and you wait for her to hang up the call.

You sigh, and look at the coffee table. Hobie left his song book at home, weird. It’s open to the song he was working on the other day. It’s a slower song, you can still hear the melody. You drum your fingers to the tune. He’s on an unfinished verse. You pick up a pen from the little catch-all dish and scribble down a line or two.

…

Hobie weaves through the roar of chattering, anticipating fans and into the tunnel, and walks past employees and into Miguel's prep room to see him tying his shoes. “Hey,” Miguel looks up. “Hey.”

“Are you excited?” He moves to sit by the boxer, shimmying up against his shoulder.

“Haven’t really been excited for one of these in a while.” Miguel breathes.

“Well, one step closer to retirement!” Hobie bounces out of his seat. He turns to face his friend, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You’re gonna do great, you big fuckin’ bear of a man.” He ruffle’s Miguel’s hair.

Miguel gives a half-ass hum in response.

“Well then, I’ll be out there, mate, cheerin’ you on.” He puts his hands in his vest pockets and walks out the room.

As he reaches the empty doorframe, Miguel speaks up. “Thank you, Hobie.”

“Anything for you, mate.” Hobie nods and goes to join the audience. Miguel fastens his gloves and puts on his robe. He warms up waiting for his coach.

“Ready, O’Hara?”

Miguel turns around. “Always ready for a fight.” He clenches his jaw. Walking down that hallway, the festive colors lighting up his path and the music blaring, he does his little bit, the movements molded into muscle memory.

This is it. This is his last year fighting. If he gets world champ again, he’s free.

Soon, he gets to fight his last fight. And dammit, the world championship will be his last match. Then, he’s never gonna have to come back.

He weaves under the ropes, entering the ring. Sitting on the stool, he shrugs off the robe and lets Carlos put the mouthguard in.

“You are going to show this guy exactly why people call you el oso!” Miguel beats his gloves together and nods. He might not like his job right now, but he really wants to hit something and goddammit if his opponent doesn’t look so beatable right now.

Coach Carlos steps out of the way, and Miguel stands to walk to the ref as he calls for him to center.

“We went over the rules in the dressing room.” Right before Hobie got here. “I want to remind you to protect yourself at all times, and obey my commands.” Ring the damn bell already. “God bless you both,” I don’t need it but this kid might. “Touch up,” here we go. He touches gloves with his newbie opponent and each goes back to their respective corners.

Miguel takes an orthodox stance.

The bell rings.

Miguel lands the first punch. He also lands the last.

[aconflagrationofmyown]

but then… Gigi

chapter one (a Big Daddy Elvis fanfic)

Summary: this is a fix-it universe to catch all the feelings I have for this man in the late 70’s. It’s gonna be my least impressive, least dramatic, very plotless, indulgently meandering and self soothing fic that fixes all things through *love* -it’s gonna be so fluffy we might as well cure cancer and invent time travel while we are at it. That being so, and after all the joy that has come from y’all’s interactive prompts and suggestions with Sarge, I welcome any suggestions or prompts y’all might have as this universe expands. I hope you enjoy and this can provide a sweet little escape 🌷💋

Warnings: 18+ this universe is and will be mature due to sexual themes and drug mentions. In this chapter there are discussions about attractiveness, hinted unwanted advances in the past, some mild possible objectification, talking of weight gain and sugar babies, female masturbation with non orthodox self pleasure tools (and cherry coke didn’t come out for another two years shhh)

Special thanks to: my sugar babies @stylespresleyhearted whose pure hearted love for this concept is responsible for its very existence in the first place and her co-conspirator @eliseinmemphis . And as always, to my discord wives who forever back up all my endeavors and fuel my fire @ab4eva @elvisabutler @butlersxbirdy

Circa: early summer 1977, Memphis Tennessee

Word count: an astoundingly moderate 5k

There is a set and type of girls most likely to catch the eye of the most internationally famed rock star on the planet, and it isn’t self pity or self deprecation that makes Gigi acknowledge that she doesn’t quite fit that type. She considers it good fortune enough to run in circles that boast a number of the brazen, flirty and seemingly fearless young sort who can traipse up to Elvis Presley’s sleek Stutz window and, bending themselves over an unnecessary but effectively exposing amount, extract from him a cheeky invitation to a Graceland party.

Elvis is fond of this type, their vivacity and their audacity, even their ceaseless giggles and yes, the availability they clothe themselves with. They remind him of those girls who’d nearly break down his motel door in the early years. The ones that used to scare him shitless even as he fell prey to their perfume and painted lips, their milky soft hands sporting red hot talons that often as not hooked him down to hell with them.

As of late, he finds himself accepting any damn company he can get, after months of pushing company away. It’s a cycle and when he’s fresh outta reclusion he finds he’s probably a little liberal with the invites but it doesn’t matter. He’s still relieved and gratified that he is wanted and loved enough by his fellow Memphians that they’ll accost him on the street, lean into his window, all bubblegum and boobs, and ask for autographs and if he’s interested in some company.

He may be slowing down here lately, as his body and mind and the newspapers remind him constantly, but pretty young things are still one of life’s sweet pleasures, and even if he can’t give as much as he used to, at this rate he’s glad for anyone who’ll drag him out of the slump. Even if he’s more of a museum sort of attraction for them than the living wonder they once claimed he was. Maybe it’s this morbid understanding of these little floozie’s motivations that has him grinning along and offering a free invite for game night, all the while glancing past them to where she stands at a distance behind the giggling gaggle. Her limbs are strong but soft, her face beguiling yet oh so innocent and her posture is leant forward in unscripted eagerness to maybe catch a glimpse of him past her gaggle of friends. She has her hands clasped nervously in front of her -unconsciously highlighting the way the wind whips her thin sundress between her thighs and outlines her perfectly- and it’s adorable the way her sensible keds are scuffing the sidewalk rhythmically until she feel his gaze on her.

The minute Gigi senses his authoritative assessment of her over those tinted shades, her pretty little brain makes her snap to attention, aimless for a minute before falling back on ingrained rules of conduct. She has no seductive artifice, no hip cock or calculated smirk. Gone is the sneaker scuffing and the lip chewing and instead her back snaps straight up like a debutant, feet planted, hands unclasping, shoulders back and tits forward. Elvis thinks her mother, if she’s got one, would be very proud of her social graces. Personally, he is very admiring of those pert nipples straining the cloth, and proud of the eager tremble rustling her in the summer breeze just by a flick of his eyes over her fresh baked womanhood. But maybe it’s the red hot blush under the afternoon sun and the hesitant but almost giddy little wave she gives him that cements the fond flutter he feels in chest into a raging affection.

Falling in affection for a stranger is stupid, dumb and terribly risky. And not at all likely to be requited in the way he craves so badly these days. He knows this, it’s happened before. It’s best to stick to the gals who’ll fawn over his car window and maybe dance together for him later on. But golly, wouldn’t it be nice to pat a cheek that fresh and watch it turn rosier under an ole man’s admiration?

He pulls his cigar out to smile at her, because she deserves a full lipped, white teeth gleaming smile -his ole moneymaker. It still has its intended effect, it makes Gigi beam and her waving little hand clench in excitement. She even does a little bunny hop in place and the way the glorious young shape of her bounces under the demure sundress is all kinds of tonic to a tired fella’s heart.

It’s a lot to take, the way this certified legend ducks and peers past her gaggle of friends at his window to give her not only his attention but that most delightful of grins. The one that is deceptively bashful over being so admired. Gigi would be a pants on fire liar if she didn’t admit that she’s watched enough footage and poured over enough magazine spreads of the man through the eras to nearly swoon under the real life shimmer of it.

And she knows, vaguely, that she’s acting air headed in the way she trembles and bounces but that’s all she’s got, these natural responses, never was good at faking much of anything she feels, and certainly not when she was decidedly embarrassed. Which she was now -what with the way his smile is boyishly fond, his demeanor fatherly and his eyes lewdly assessing. There’s not a bit of the masculine spectrum he isn’t embodying at this moment and her body betrays her by submissively tremoring under his gaze alone. What would a touch be like?

Such slack mouthed, nipple tingling, body electrifying thoughts get interrupted when the myth himself points a bejeweled finger at her -one that is slender and lean and elegant in contrast to the bulk burdening the rest of him- and asks in a meltingly soft voice:

“You any good at charades, sweet cheeks?”

Even if she were terrible at the game, even if she didn’t know how to play it at all, the hopeful raise of his eyebrows would make her lie, hand on the Bible to this Hollywood trained actor, that she was the best charade player the world has ever seen. Her reply in the affirmative is overly confident due to sheer nerves and eagerness, and she vigorously bobs her head to add unneeded emphasis. It makes her beauty queen friends giggle and laugh good naturedly and to his relief she joins in, a hand flying up in humiliation to shut that glossy, pink mouth.

It’s so clumsy and natural a reaction that Elvis’ pointed finger twitches from a desire to tickle her, to watch her writhe from something besides embarrassment. He mourns that she’s standing so far from the window. At least the distance has given him a good view of her from the top of her shiny widdle head to the sole of her itty bitty footsies.

Plans are made at the window, Lamar is to send a car and apparently the lot of them will all be at Dinah’s house for pickup and Gigi tries to get a little closer to overhear these details but the crowd of girlfriends is a few bodies deep and there’s fans gathering, too. So she learns the logistics later, when everyone has finished homework and shifts and are primping in Dinah’s upstairs bedroom, hairspray and nail polish fumes thick in the air, and voices nearly hysterical in pitch from excitement.

-It worked! It worked! It worked! We are going to party at Graceland! Elvis Presley invited us to spend the evening!-

There’s a lot of different reasons for excitement, some of the girls are just curious to see the icon’s home, some are talking of how envious their older sisters (even some mothers) will be over them meeting their crush, others are hoping the scene is as debauched as the rumors would have the world believe, an opportunity to taste drugs and that rock n roll lifestyle for a brief shining evening. Marie asks if they think he’ll make them do naughty, dirty, sexy things for him and that brings up fresh tittering and salacious hearsay regarding his appetites and tastes. Someone deflates that mood by saying that he might just be a dirty old man now, it’s not quite the same as going to his house a few years ago. At forty years old he’s ancient to them. What with his declining health and being a recluse and -what if he lures girls and then murders them? Oh god, the urban legends come out, he’s a vampire, he’s a serial killer, he’s this and he’s that and-

Gigi thinks he’s awfully generous. That’s what she thinks. Inviting strangers into his home. And not just pretty young things. She personally knows folks who he’s helped, the downtrodden and the dehoused and the disadvantaged. She’s grown up in churches and schools and municipalities he’s funded. He practically provided for her and all of Memphis like an omniscient father figure these past three decades. And now there’s this kindhearted invite which most seem to consider akin to a ticket to a Carnival.

As she lets the girls fluff her hair and spritz her in perfume, adding an extra coat of mascara to her lashes -stultifying her if she’s being honest- she gives a brief thought to whether, just maybe, this will be a decadent night after all.

Elvis is still Elvis. It can’t be all hearsay. And for someone like her, who’s been a good student and a decent worker and hasn’t gone chasing every wicked, back alley experience available in Memphis, she frets a little that maybe inside that iconic mansion tonight she’ll lose something that’s been preserved so far.

Innocence? Maybe. But she thinks her greatest concern is that maybe he’ll prove to be something less warm and darling and extraordinary than that brief exchange on the sidewalk and years of idolizing have convinced her that he is. All this talk of him that floats around her makes her feel faintly ill, the morbid curiosity and the vulgar interest. No wonder he secludes himself.

The car arrives, decadent and alluring like its owner, and driving it is one of the many trusted minions of the king. There might not be seatbelts for every girl here but that doesn’t seem to matter, Gigi happily offers up her lap to Tammy and teases her that Tammy is her safety belt and Gigi is her booster seat. It’s a jolly ride, banter being made with the front seat fella who’s name she has to ask for about five times before Tammy takes pity and informs her he’s “George Klein”. Gigi gets a schooling in the back seat about his radio show and once again Gigi is reminded why Tammy is ‘Miss Memphis’ and she’s not. The babble of voices calms down long enough for Mr. Klein to lay down some ground rules before the car pulls through the gates.

The rules are shockingly normal: stay downstairs, make yourselves at home and but don’t behave like asses, don’t shy away from approaching your host, the last thing he likes is awkwardness or standoffish coolness in his own home. Gigi is rather certain that with her nerves and hero adoration she can manage not being stuck up or acting above it all, but she’s not at all sure she’s gonna manage to not be as awkward as a newborn duckling.

Graceland through the gates is not an unfamiliar sight to most of them, but Graceland up close, caressed in the inky dark of night from inside by golden fingertips of light, is magical. As is the atmosphere inside the place, though that may be more a case of her knowing where she was, rather than anything particularly incredible occurring in the opulent space. Despite the change of clothes to a slinky little number and the fluffed blowout that her more cultured friends gave her in consideration of the evening, Gigi can’t help but feel underdressed for a night in this gaudy Antebellum Establishment. Extra mascara and expensive perfume feels inadequate to match the gold and crimson and white furnishings. If Belle Watling had a home, Gigi reckons it would look rather like this.

That old worry returns that tonight might devolve into being the most debauched of her young life, that maybe she’s stepped into a hospitable bordello, so exotic and seductive are the furnishings alone. But to her surprise, seated on crimson curved couches, and already heatedly invested in a game of charades, is a friendly looking group of men and their wives. They have to be wives, the Mafia’s wives -they look so respectable, so relaxed lounging in Elvis’ Presley’s home. There’s differing ages here, middle and younger and all in between, and a man she’s rather certain is Elvis’ own father. It’s respectable, to her immense relief and confusion.

“Ah, here comes the fresh young blood!” One of the group says and it’s a bit chaotic then, half the group invested in keeping up the game and the other set rather eager to abandon their losing streak to offer welcomes and refreshment.

She lets the bodies swirl around her, a strange feeling of being a little left out taking over her without a single rudeness on the part of anyone present justifying the feeling. It irks her that she's so skittish, it just seems that everyone somehow falls in with another or ten and the established groups begin games or snacking or talking without her and she stands alone in the human eddy watching it all happen so effortlessly.

What’s entirely unexpected a half hour or more into this friendly pandemonium is a playful tap on her shoulder and turning round to find their host himself, clad in a comfy tracksuit, unzipped sufficiently low to display a devout amount of crosses shimmering on sweat slick skin and wearing shades even indoors. He’s asking if she’d like a drink.

“Oh -Elvis!” is a stupid thing to say in reply to his felicitations but it’s all Gigi can manage in such close proximity to his warm smile, his unzipped jacket and his heady scent. He looks her over, taking in the way her friends have erased the fresh faced ingenue on the sidewalk and made her into a sex doll and it takes supreme self discipline to not reach out and wipe some of it off. His scrutiny is making her nervous but she does at last manage to scramble out, “Yes, thank you, Mr. Presley, that would be lovely -it’s lovely of you to have us and your home is so unbelievably lovely, and I can’t believe we’re here, I’ve admired you for so long and -I, I’m only 20 and can’t drink.”

The word vomit robs her of breath and Gigi sucks it back in with a painful wince -she just declined a drink and proclaimed herself a complete goody two shoes, a perfect square, to the King himself. Her face flames hot and the heavy coating of lashes flutters from eye watering embarrassment.

Elvis just tilts his head to the side and gives her sweet face the appreciative study of a blush connoisseur, his grin growing impossibly wider and a little wolfish,

“Well, darlin, I’m a lil over 21 but I don’t drink ‘neither.”

“Really?” Ggi ventures in utter surprise, and that must’ve been redeeming on her part as his smile shifts from wolfish to fond before giving a tight nod,

“I was offerin’ lemonade, or sweet tea, but I think-“ and here he steps back, surveying her head to toe in the gauzy halter dress her friends snazzed her up in, “I think, yeah, yeah, ‘think you’re a cherry coke kinda girl.”

“I’m whatever you say, sir!” Gigi salutes him like a idiot because she’s had never had a cherry coke in her life or been assessed by a powerful man and she is quickly forgetting to be shy when so bewildered by his heavy lidded assessment-

“Yeah,” he nods, satisfied after another survey of the god crafted entirety of her, “Cherry coke for you, I think, lil Miss.”

He doesn’t fetch it, someone else in this crowded place does and it comes with the ordered white straw and she sips the carbonated beverage with a bashful smile, trying to think of something sensible to say in thanks when being looked at like that by the man who having fulfilled his host duties slowly moves away to recline in a decadent crimson armchair.

“Go on now, you’re here to have some fun, sweet cheeks.” he waves her down to the floor where many others are sprawled writing dares and acts, and she settles where he directs her, right by his leg until it’s her turn.

Once she moves to the mantle and acts out her turn, once it’s successfully guessed, she’s a little at a loss as to where to go. It feels presumptive somehow to sit by him again. So she sits by Dee instead, and feels a fool five seconds later, knowing it’s just nerves and shyness keeping her from a chance at sitting by such an extraordinary hero for what’s probably the best night of her life.

Ever.

Gigi wouldn’t get this chance again and yet she decided to act like an awkward idiot for fear of acting like a -what? Cling on? Groupie? It was just his leg, his beefy, muscled, thick leg beside her, and the heat of his body and the little noises of amusement coming from him. But it made her feel like she was burning up inside, it felt intimate, it felt like she should be between those legs and surrounded by his bulk. Like between his thighs would be the cleft in the rock to hide from this vast world that she’d been looking for all her life.

He was just domestic and kind, and she had to make it weird. Tammy’s unimpressed eye roll at her doesn't help matters. Soon the left side of Gigi’s face begins to burn and out of desperation she finally turns to face Elvis and finds him staring straight at her, her abandoned, half-drunk cola being jostled in his hand like a carrot for a horse. His eyebrow beckons, she blushes harder, he keeps shaking the damn thing and ducking his head with that coaxing grin. She rises and crouches through the partiers and moves back to her place at his feet.

“Here ya go.” he says mildly as she settles, nothing mentioned of the command and obedience just enacted.

He just gives Gigi her coke back, his rings clanking on the glass and fingers brushing hers during the handover. She chokes on her next sip when he pats the top of her head. Fatherly, if her father had ever been one for pats and noticing her existence. Unfettered, Elvis’ hand slides down the glossy brushed out length of her hair, to pat her back as she gasps out her shock, somehow making things worse but oh so lovely. She dares to lean back into that caressing hand, finds herself leaning against his leg by proxy, finding herself lulled and squirmy all at once.

Charades at Elvis Presley’s house are very much the same as at anyone else’s, and strangely Gigi finds that simultaneously the most bizarre and adorable thing imaginable. There is, however, a good deal more betting and hollering than would be permissible in most households, and she finds herself enacting dubious scenes with a shockingly plentiful array of cousins and fellow guests, but altogether it’s wholesome and lively and joyous. It seems a bit rigged when Tammy, fresh off winning Miss Memphis, has to enact the white dress subway scene of Marylin Monroe -made snort worthy humorous when an ancient creature, who Gigi has on good cousinly authority is Elvis’ grandmother, provides the wind to blow up Tammy’s flimsy excuse of a dress to her upper thighs. Flashing panties as is the iconic scene.

In a weak moment Gigi tilts her head to see Elvis’ reaction to her friend's beauty, and she doesn't miss the way he guffaws around his cigar at the sight of those award winning stems. Though she doubts it’s his first sight of them, they’ve been plastered all over TV and newspapers ever since Tammy won the damn thing a few months ago. Best body and face in the state. Gigi’s primped up face and heavy coated lashes and gauzy dress suddenly feel like an attempt to mimic something she wasn’t cut out for. Self consciously she tugs at the hem of the short skirt.

Tammy flashes Elvis a wink and shimmies in a mouth watering tease before sitting opposite the two of them, legs crossed and hardly a bit left to the imagination.

Elvis keeps grinning. Tammy licks her lips. Gigi finishes her coke and vaguely recalls the fact that the man is supposedly dating one of Tammy’s rivals from the pageant, or a sister of or a- Gigi doesn’t recall really, and she can be sure that between the way he’s stroking her own sun streaked locks and eye sexing Tammy opposite, the man sure doesn't act taken.

Watching Billy Smith try to act out a cheetah giving birth takes her mind off such self pitying introspection, and before she knows it, the gaudy foyer clock is ringing out 1:00 am.

Homework and college has been running Gigi a little ragged and eventually her little head begins to droop against his leg and the way the empty coke bottle starts to slip from her weak grip catches his attention. He slowly raises his hand from where it was resting ever so lightly on her shoulder and caresses her neck. To his immense relief Gigi leans into his patting eager as a housecat, and it makes him glad. Just as much as it makes him worry.

Only twenty years old and so easily lulled.

“You got a curfew, lil one?” he asks her with concern and that startles Gigi, his warm breath hot against her ear and the grunt of him folding himself over his sizable belly to get down near her face.

“No sir. Not really.” She admits, overly respectful in her sleepy state, “My parents aren’t really into stuff like that. They are pretty liberal that way. And I live with Tammy.”

She gives him an assuring smile even as she stifles a yawn, and two things flash across his mind. This means he (or God forbid, any man) could have her over here at his whim without excuses being made. And secondly, Elvis really must look out for her so that she doesn’t fall into the company of any such other men.

There’s no precedent for a Graceland party to wind down before dawn, but he considerately asks her if she’s got classes tomorrow. The honest way Gigi nods her droopy head and moans “yeah” has his heart clenching and his fingers flex, he wants to put her to bed. His bed, he thinks, though that’s a rather dastardly thought. Really though, he’d like to wrap himself around her and hold her and tell her he’d care very much whether or not she came home late from a stranger's house. That he’d be worried sick about so sweet and darling a little treasure if she were his. He’s got a sneaking suspicion that he’ll care no matter what, his or no.

Instead, he interrupts the game to have Lamar drive her home. Tammy and a few others, noticeably the ones who look like all night partiers, stay longer.

Gigi gets another pat on the head and a commendation to do well on her grades and that’s that.

Gigi last sees him standing in his foyer, jeweled chains gleaming in the nest of his chest hair and a boyish smile on his face, Dinah coming up behind to wave her farewell. Tammy is back there, too, probably going to get up to all sorts of fun while she gets sent home like a child. Wistfully, even as she walks down his drive to her ride, Gigi wishes she had hugged him goodbye. Gushed with more than just words in thanks for the invite, maybe even buried her face there in his chest, just once in that safe haven, sweat and jewels against her cheek. He had seemed to care.

But she wasn’t not that type though, was she? Brazenness was something that always felt awkward to her and landed her splat into uncomfy situations where college boys peered into the women’s locker room and jacked off to the sight of her legs as she tried to change into her track shorts.

The frenzy she often felt in her body to be touched would immediately die in situations such as having her hand clumsily moved up and down a penis in the dark of a movie theater. Or groped over her dress by the drunk jocks she tried to experiment with. Gigi could feel her own potential simmering hot and fervent inside, ready to be appreciated and let out like a fizz from a corked bottle. It was cruel that a fatherly sorta hero was the one to make her finally feel like she would take riding that man’s shoe over the most romantic gesture from one of her many age-appropriate admirers.

If she were Tammy, she wouldn’t have inspired the literal king of rock n roll to send her to bed. If she were Tammy she’d have made a move and said “damn that mythical absentee girlfriend” and would now be flat on her back getting obscenely used by that gorgeous hunk of a man.

Instead, deposited safely home by Lamar and tucked back in her shared flat, Gigi stares at her made up face with adamant animosity. It’s a fine face, she’s been told that plenty and she’s been told she’s smart, but it’s not really inviting the attention she suddenly wants so badly. Maybe she should have worn falsies to add to the effect. Maybe her features and coloring are too light. Tammy’s bleach blonde hair does not occur to her as being a strike against this logic. Instead Gigi thinks of pouring over photos of raven haired Pricilla as a girl and marveling at the thick mask Elvis crafted for her, wonders why she can’t be that kind of girl. She’s not petite, or glamorous or particularly coquettish, but she’d ride that man till he needed IV fluids if he’d just let her.

But he chose Tammy.

Dunking her face into the sink, Gigi scrubs away the artificial bloom until she’s left pink and freckled and so decidedly innocent looking it makes her wanna claw her cheeks to shreds.

“Lil one.”

The way he’d cooed it had turned her insides to jelly and ignited thoughts of her own sizable frame being made small while smothered beneath his sturdy breadth but now it turns her angry, and in the shower she lathers herself and wishes maybe her parents had given a shit about her catching a man instead of being “all she could be” because now at twenty she’s eyeing up the bulbous shape of her Lemon Up shampoo bottle and wondering if she’s big girl enough to take it. He was so big, so bulky and sturdy and muscly with padding to boot, and she’s just so sure his cock has got to match the thighs. A bulky, chubby thing, too, probably. The sort only girls like Tammy can manage.

She wants to be that sorta girl.

Gigi grabs at the bottle. She wrenches the shower handle to off, her wet body bolting for her bed, a jar of Vaseline in her other hand and savage lust in her heart. Halfway to the bed she realizes the shampoo bottle is almost empty and she wants to cry at that. She does stomp her chilled feet like a child and whines. What she needs is weight, her subconscious provides, everything about him was heavy and wonderfully big and she needs more than a hollow bottle to mimic him. She runs back to the shower and grabs at the conditioner, same ginormous shape and this time it’s fully loaded and heavy in her hand and she races back to bed, happy to dive under the covers with her dripping hair and goosefleshed skin.

Tammy has toys to achieve this, Gigi knows from sightings of them being washed in their communal bathroom sink. Pink and veiny and some that even buzz and it was all very funny and silly to come across them when she needed to wash her hands, but right now Gigi wants nothing to do with them, the stupidly large and bulky shaped conditioner bottle not even phasing her. Because it’s hers and not Tammy’s -Tammy who is probably getting railed but Elvis Presley right now. His cockhead probably isn’t shaped like the bottom of a lemon, but it’s gotta be round and this bottle will have to do.

It doesn't do. She lathers on the Vaseline to add to the sticky want she already has pooling, she rubs herself to a frenzy and as her hand cramps she tries putting the oiled up bottle up her channel and finds it’s really just impossible. It’s burns and won’t give and she berates herself and begs a man called “daddy” that she can barely admit to herself is Elvis to “give it to her” and curses Tammy for having a big vagina. She tries and tries with ever increasing anguish and frustration as the clock ticks towards three am and valuable sleeping hours are wasted as she tries to slip more than the crown of the lemon bottle into her untried cunt.

“Give it to me please, please daddy I can

take it.” Gigi insists to the shampoo bottle and her wrist manfully attempts to shove it in after slipping it along her folds for ages.

But it won’t go and she screams more and begs more and cries more and ends up seizing her stuffed valentine's bear -gifted to her by the football team's running back- and rubs herself raw in its button nose. It’s not the first time, but for once her sticky satisfaction doesn’t come to the thought of tiny white shorts ocean wet and clinging to him, or svelte white jumpsuits and chiseled jawline grinning promise. She digs her fingers into the stuffy’s fur and thinks of a hairy chest glistening with sweat and chains jingling with noisy exhales and the smell of him. Oh god the manly smell of him! - and the quiet authority that had her sitting at his feet and having her head petted and being sent home like a child. He acted like he cared for her and could find some use for her and she wets the poor bear’s muzzle at the thought of him telling her that her purpose is to keep him happy.

Worn out and trembling from her orgasm she rolls off the poor stuffed animal and buries her face in her pillow and dreams of warmth.

Outside Gigi’s door, arrested in her trip to the bathroom by shrieks of “daddy” and curses of her own name, Tammy shakes her head in disbelief and grins to herself through her whole nightly routine.

“Why were you cussing me out last night?” Tammy asks her placidly next morning, “Are you jealous of your daddy’s attention being split?”

Gigi groans at Tammy’s mischievous smile and realizes her mistake with a blush, “You didn’t- last night you came back? He didn’t keep you?”

“No, he didn’t.” Tammy agrees through her wheezing laughs and Gigi tries to aim a kick at her shins in mortification. “He was quite the gentleman in fact,” she expounds, “Except for the fact he spent the rest of our time asking me questions about you. I told him he’d lost all his raisin’ talking to a lady about another lady. Made a girl feel like a damn directory.”

“Oh, oh I’m sorry.” Gigi tries to suppress her thrill enough to sympathize with a no doubt annoying event. “You must’ve felt left out.”

Tammy pauses in thought for a bit. “He’s very….sweet.” Is Tammy’s verdict and to Gigi’s incredulity she sounds a little disappointed. “I mean, didn’t you think he was just sorta, ya know, nice?” Tammy presses.

Gigi thinks of the way his hand felt stroking her hair, the care about her curfew, the lack of alcohol, the endearments, the sturdy meat of his thigh against her shoulder. All the things that had made her rub herself puffy with a shampoo bottle that is still hidden under her covers. Yes, he seemed very sweet, and she was desperately in love with a man she’d never see again, who seemed a bit bashful about being “discount bargain Elvis” when all she could think of was how nurturing and mischievous he was.

He just seemed -shy. Bizarrely enough. And she could sympathize with that. Laying here on Tammy’s bed watching the dust motes dance in the afternoon sun when she should be studying, she thinks she’s solved Elvis Presley.

He’s shy.

“I thought he was precious.” Gigi agrees with Tammy, though her tone holds a reverence that makes the beauty queen of Memphis’ head spin in a near 180 to observe her now flaming cheeks. It seems the man has that effect on Gigi, present or not.

“Well, well.” Pretty, sultry, darling Tammy hasn’t a malicious bone in her body but she takes delight in making Gigi squirm, “You sound enchanted!”

“He was sweet!” Gigi protests, using her words against her.

“Yeah, he was.” she agrees, her perfectly tweezed brows drawing together for a moment before an epiphany dawns on her, “But I think it’s a means to an end.”

“What do you mean by that?” She balks, fervent in her conviction that it wasn’t an act. In fact, Gigi was certain he was more himself in his own home last night than ever on a stage.

“It’s making sense now.” she starts to pace the room, “He’s an outrageous flirt, you saw him, flirting with everyone he wasn’t related to that night, but he was so sweet to you- hmm, I think he wants to baby you.”

“Baby me?” Gigi repeat, staring up at the ceiling and feeling that flutter in her belly, just from the idea of him having *any* design on little ole her. “What’s- what even is that?” She asks her, a little hopeful, content to get her education from Tammy on this just as she has on all the more mechanical and dynamical aspects of sex and men.

“It means turning you into his baby.” she laughs, like it’s the most obvious thing, “Would probably put a little chain round your neck saying ‘belongs to Elvis Presley’ or something, and in turn spoil you rotten. At least, that’s how it’s worked for the others. It’s what he’s trying with Ginger but she’s got an independent streak.”

Ginger. The others. Of course there had been others. And yet he was so lonely again, already so lonely she was sure of it. Lonely in his own home, what was worse than that? “I wouldn’t mind being his baby.” Gigi mutters, bashful at the fact that what was essentially a future of house arrest, a portly sugar daddy and head pats makes her shiver delightfully.

“You sure about that?” Tammy suddenly seems overly earnest for a conversation in her room on a Thursday evening about a hypothetical scenario where Elvis Presley takes an interest in Gigi.

“Yes.” She gives it the full, weighty two seconds of thought it deserves. “And if all I get out of it is polishing his guns and feeding him yogurt then I’d honestly be happier than studying political science.” She makes a face as she registers the homework currently crinkling somewhere under her lower back.

“So you get that the sex probably isn’t exactly legendary anymore, right? Like -you saw him.” only Tammy, beautiful, southern pageant winner that she is, with the manner to accompany the looks, could say such a thing without Gigi socking her.

She’s looking out for her, just as she looked out for her with the sub par debate President that Gigi went to prom with and found insufferable after two weeks. She thinks Gigi needs to just keep trying the field (like her, Gigi presumes) until she finds the magical unicorn that will blow her mind in bed and satisfy her curious brain.

At this point in life, she’d settle for a man who chooses her drinks for her and cares enough about her well being to get her home by his own, invented curfew. Maybe she wants a father, what with hers being liberal to the point of carelessness, but she’d settle for a daddy, happily. “Tammy,” she says very slowly, trying to distill all these emotions down into something convincing -because strangely she feels a dire need to convince Tammy of her devotion even in this hypothetical scenario- “Tammy, if he gave a crap about me and paid my student loans, I’m pretty sure I could get off by just watching him smile at the way I make a fool of myself. And if that wasn’t enough, then I’d rub myself raw on his hairy belly. -you get me?”

Tammy looms above her, upside down in her view with her blown out bleached hair, heavy coaled eyes and shimmery mouth, studying Gigi for a minute before bursting out laughing. “You really meant that bit about his belly, didn’t you?”

“Yup.” Gigi mutters, throat thick and heart pounding -somewhere else pounds, too- at the very thought of being that intimate with him, that nasty sticky sweet with him. “Why are we talking about this anyway?” She whines, having worked herself up enough she’s damp and actually a little heartbroken knowing that if anything, Tammy is the one he’d go for.

“I got a call from George Klein this morning.” she spins away and busies herself in the closet, rummaging for shoes, Gigi thinks.

“Oh?” She asks, trying to keep the waiver out of her voice as she sits up and watches Tammy as she digs.

“Yeah, we got invited back.” she says, and turns on her award winning haunches to raise a significant eyebrow at Gigi, “All of us. And then, it was specified, you too.” she watches Gigi’s panicked, hopeful blush coat her face and chest.

“What exactly did he say, Tammy?” she demands, forcing herself not to gnaw on her fingernails, having to remember these nails might be in Graceland by the end of the week.

“He said that ‘E.P. wants to make sure the old gang knew they were welcome again, and the invite is only contingent on “Miss cherry coke” coming’.” she sits fully back on her butt now just to fully appreciate the way Gigi hyperventilates. “Cherry coke, huh?” she teases, “Did you ask for that just to be as euphemistic as possible or do you actually favor the drink?”

“He chose it.” Gigi whimpers, scuffing her keds together because it’s either that or her thighs.

“Oh god.” Tammy sounds like some guys do when their team makes a dirty, dirty interception that ends in a touchdown, “What did I say? Baby you, he wants to baby you! Oh my god, like he’s sweet but that’s -that’s nasty honey, just know that’s a nasty little thing to do.” she insists before turning back to her closet and digging through the dozens of pairs again.

Gigi flops back on her back and tries to think of the deep seated meaning behind cherries, and fails to do more than buzz in hopeless nervous anticipation at going back to that warm and kind and slightly bizarre haven that is Elvis Presley and his home.

Hope y’all enjoyed and if you wanna be tagged let me know. I live off your screams and your pestering, y’all are each precious to me!

Xoxo 🌷 Marina

@prompted-wordsmith

@parodsal000

@ab4eva

@stylespresleyhearted

@presleyenterprise

@kendralavon7

@coolgirl462

@colahola

@lillypink

@stephthestallion

@vintageshanny

@landmermaid12

@ashtag2887

@notstefaniepresley

@butlersluvbot

@steph-speaks

@eliseinmemphis

@lookingforrainbows

@dkayfixates

@ellie-24

@memphisflash1935-1977

@marriedtopresley

@powerofelvis

@thatbanditqueen

@elvisabutler

@butlersxbirdy

@heartbrake-hotel

@fav-fanficssss

@austinbutlersbaby

@freudianslumber

@joons

[riddles-n-games]

Whispered Protests

ROHAN

"-sure it's this way? I thought we were supposed to take the left turn before."

"Leave it alone, Gigi. I told you to go that-”

He stopped in his tracks when he heard the voices. Gigi and Savannah. They were heading down the hall but it seemed a disagreement was going on. Rohan immediately backed up to the wall and quietly moved down toward the main hall.

“-can split up and you can go another way to search for the clue. What’s wrong with that? You anyways don’t want me to be with you all the time since you claim I hover a lot. Why not now when I’m asking and it’s likely going to be quicker this way for you to be the one to find it.” “Well, I didn’t want to leave when I saw that you were so affected. Plus, you’re always there for me, why shouldn’t I do the same for you?”

“Geeg, I appreciate the concern but right now I just need to be alone. For a little while, I need to be by myself and have time to think.”

“But…”

“Please, I’ll text you and call if it’s worse, okay? Just fifteen minutes to myself.”

He heard her twin sigh. “Okay. But I’ll be making some tea for you tonight and bringing you cookies, too.”

Savannah snorted. “Of course.”

Rohan assumed they were hugging so he braced himself for a little longer of a wait. Savannah was acting off; she was always insistent on being near her sister and rarely strayed from her side especially during the challenges. From their short time on the island, he observed that she was rather reserved, quiet, pensive, very intelligent and snarky when she wanted to be, but most defining of all was that she was very protective of Gigi. He also sensed that beneath that controlled exterior she was hiding something but that wasn't exclusive to her; all the participants had their secrets including himself.

Gigi was leaving and only when he heard her footsteps receding did he dare peak out from his hidden corridor. Savannah’s back was facing him; she appeared to be watching her sister go until she finally disappeared around the corner and he saw his opportunity. When she started to turn, he slipped back into position with an arm against the wall.

He heard her exhale heavily and her shoes scuff on the floor. One, two, three, four. She was on the move. Five, six. Pause. Seven, eight, nine. She was closer and he wondered if she knew that he was there or just taking her time. Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. Sixteen, seventeen. There was no pattern to her beat and it irked him but he continued to count with bated breath.

Eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one. She had to know he was there, she had to. Relative to him, she wasn’t that far away and could have passed him by then but she hadn’t. There was no way she wasn’t doing this on purpose. Twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four. Twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirt- Her hand came into view. He stopped breathing and held it, stiffening his posture; this was his chance. Next he saw her white tennis shoe and his hand shot out, yanking her into his hiding spot.

In record time, he whirled around with her and switched their positions, Savannah against the wall and him in front of her. He’d spun them around so fast that it even blindsided him, a side effect of trained fast reflexes which gave him the advantage against his opponents in the ring. But this was different. Savannah may have been his opponent in the Grandest Game but not one in a game that begged the question of life and death although from his perspective it still was. He had to win to get the Prospector’s final approval and become the secured heir of the Devil’s Mercy. But, lately he had been… distracted, to say the least.

He looked at her, trying to slow his own racing heart and loosened his hold on her hand. She hadn't looked up, clearly in shock from the sudden intrusion on her silent loathing but then she did.

“Rohan?” she asked breathlessly. Her eyes were wide with confusion, ponytail a little loose, and chest heaving. She was beautiful. He took her in slowly until she snapped him out of it. "What are you doing here? Why did you do that?" She pushed at him to put a little space between them, making him slightly fumble.

"Hmm? Oh, I wanted to speak with you. In private or as private as you can get around here."

"Ok-ay, and you didn't think to schedule a meet instead of this?"

"A man like me knows when to take his chances, love."

"Don't call me that. I told you already."

He smirked, she always got flustered when he called her that. Rohan 1, Savannah 0. If things were going to continue this way, he could easily get what he wanted and he usually did. After all, when was the last time a lady complained about his charm? He certainly couldn't remember. "My apologies. I’ll cut to the chase; I believe we should address what’s going on between us.”

There was a heavy silence as she took that in. “What do you mean by that? There’s nothing between us.”

He arched a brow at her skeptically. Denial. And she was playing dumb, that was the game he was dealing with. Women. Well, he knew it wasn’t going to be easy but hated going through this phase with girls. Hence why he was still single. “Are you really going to play that card? You’re intelligent, darling, but I didn’t think you’d stoop down to this level.”

She glared at him. “Genuinely, what are you talking about? I said the truth; there is nothing between us. There never was.”

Rohan sighed but the frustration was halfhearted. “Apparently you’re the only one to think so because I guarantee you everyone else on this island thinks otherwise. Don’t pretend, everyone has noticed something by now about our interactions. We both know dear old Miss Morales is certainly not senile. And I’m willing to bet that your twin has teased you about it more than once. Am I wrong, Miss Grayson?”

Her glare grew steely and there was a slight twitch in her undereye. His only response was raising his other eyebrow and stared at her, daring her to tell him different. For a long moment, they engaged in a heated staring contest, each waiting for the other to give up and bow out. The tension in the air with minimal space between them was growing too thick that neither dared to breathe, too focused on making the other break eye contact.

Finally, she rolled her eyes and looked away, huffing in annoyance. Rohan smirked triumphantly; he’d been trying to hold back a sly grin since she started staring at him so dubiously.

“This is ridiculous. You’re ridiculous.” She shook her head before tucking a loose hair behind her ear. Suddenly he wished very much that she’d have let him do that instead.

"Well, unfortunate of you to be the one setting this in the What Makes You Beautiful music video and One Direction isn't even together to sing it for your little set up here. What a great scene this would be if you were the very naïve main character attracting the jock in a high school flick but sweetheart, hate it to break it to you-"

"Shut up!" Savannah's eyes widened and then she covered her mouth with both hands, surprised by her own outburst. Rohan backed up a little. Slowly, she let her hands drop and her shoulder relaxed again as she exhaled and took in a calming breath to recollect. "I'm so sorry, I don't know what came over me just then. Look, do you have anything actually valid to say worth my time or are you just-"

"Why yes, I was just about to say what a shame it is that the band aren't here to sing the song for us live. Really inconsiderate of them not getting back together by now when they still have millions of fans waiting on them. I remember seeing them once at the 2012 Olympics closing-"

"Rohan!"

"Yes, milady? Are you ready to admit we are going on a wild goose chase which is very unnecessary if you ask me." He flashed a bright grin.

"Would you just-Ugh, Duncan never infuriated me this much," she muttered. His smile dimmed. Her old boyfriend was a sour topic and though he knew very little about him, he did find out what a bastard he was thanks to Gigi. He also realized this was it; Savannah’s vulnerable centre and maybe it was just a small part but was prominent enough that he could peek through the crack. It showed there were chinks in her armor and he didn’t have to probe, just harmlessly rile her up to get something out of her. Despite him having more work to get around that, he called it a start. 

But he ignored his selfish ambition for once. Her past did concern him and she clearly was having a hard time recovering from it. Yet, he didn’t want to make it worse so he went on with a lighthearted jab at her old boyfriend. “Well, he was obviously missing something because he didn’t have the same chemistry that you and I have from simple flirtations.”

"Really? I don't recall ever flirting with you. Are you sure you weren't hallucinating that? I was simply being polite and getting to know you."

He grinned again, happy she took his opening for banter. "I'm sorry I misinterpreted if that's the case but I don't think we've been talking niceties for a while. Maybe you just forgot what it's like for a guy to be interested in you and not so subtly flirting since you've been off the market. Until now." His grin was more than a little devious and he was sure Savannah saw the mischief in his eyes promising more.

She gulped and looked down, suddenly shy. "We can't do this, Rohan. Not here.”

“Why not?” “Because anyone can find us here. I-” But he wasn’t listening as he was already leaning in, kissing where her jaw met her throat. Her breathing hitched and she stilled at the contact. “Rohan,” she hissed. He simply smiled; she may have been verbally protesting but in the same moment, he felt her fingers digging into his shoulder blades. She liked it.

This was one of the things he was best at; seduction. But it wasn’t because he truly wanted to, not then at least. He wasn't quite sure what he was feeling for her but it certainly wasn't the same thing he had felt with other girls. He trailed little kisses across her jaw, at the corner of her mouth before his lips were hovering right above hers. Their breaths mingled. For a moment, they were frozen in time, neither moving or backing away and like earlier, each waiting for the other to make a move. And then he did.

He slowly closed the gap, savoring the feel of her acceptance as he cupped her jaw. Her lips felt chapped and bitten from her bad lip chewing habits and the taste of strawberry lip balm made them sweet. But knowing that it was going to come off due to him kissing her and her having to reapply made him smile. However that ended their kiss too soon and Savannah wasn’t liking that at all.

She caught him by surprise when she pulled him back down as her hands tugged at his jacket collar. Her eager mouth was insistent when their lips met again. His eyes opened in surprise but brought up his other hand to her jaw and tipped her head back further, deepening the kiss. This one lasted much longer until the need to breathe was greater.

They shared a few more short kisses, Savannah initiating a few more as if her courage had finally won until he decided he wanted a longer one again. She leaned into him this time and kept her arms pressed to his chest as he shifted his lips against hers. As it ended, he playfully grazed her bottom lip and she gasped, pulling away with a bright red flush in her neck and cute blushing pink cheeks. He smiled, feeling very satisfied. He did that, he made her that way. His ego was roaring, this was a win. Ugh, pride was an ugly thing sometimes but he didn’t mind it when he got a pretty girl blushing. There was some amazing chemistry between them and if he got to kiss her a few more times like that, he’d be landing on the moon. He could imagine her being his and then he could see her smile more, blush at him like that, hear her rare laugh that drove him crazy and… and that’s when he crashed back to reality. Remember your goals, why you’re here. This was the girl he deemed the queen he sought-no-needed to bring down. She was a means to an end; it was still part of his grand plan. He hadn’t lost sight of that but he also felt somewhat torn about going through with it.

Plus, there was still plenty of time before he had to twist the knife. A break from the clues and challenges never hurt. After all, getting a moment away from the Game was rare and ones like these came along even more uncommonly. Savannah herself looked like she needed it; they both did. This was something real and raw, a memory he could look back on fondly amidst the scattered mess of his life.

And she deserved better than that. Rohan knew he wasn’t being any better than that scumbag ex of hers, but after he saw a glimpse of that aching heart, bleeding and wounded from so much… He owed her something real of himself too. He took a breath and spoke in a hushed tone, “I like you, Savannah.”

She looked at him with devastation as her mouth quivered, still freshly red from their kiss. “I have to go.” And she ran down the hall. Rohan sighed. Apparently that was too forward.

A/N: Tagging @hiya-itsamber since she asked to be notified. For the rest of y’all, come hell or high water. Hope you enjoyed!

[deltasimaginaryland]

More Underworld Office headcanons!

Not as good as the first ones but eh.

★Linda wins when playing board games. Every. Single. Time. She's an absolute champion at this point. But she sometimes lets her opponents win, especially Sean when he was still alive and children if she happens to play with one.

★One of Boss's biggest fears is Eugene looking up to him. He absolutely dreads the thought because he KNOWS that he's not a good person.

★Linda taught Sean how to ice skate when he was little. They'd often go ice skating together before Sean locked himself up in his work.

★I don't really know if the reason for Sean's overworking was confirmed in any way but if it didn't: Sean was previously working in Linda's flower shop but he wanted to get a better paying job to make his mom proud and to her help financially. He went into college rather late (he was about 30/late 20's at the time) and he chose to study in law to become a lawyer. But he struggled a lot with his studies so he eventually ended up locking himself in his room and studying day and night, only going out to lectures, and eventually passed away because his body gave out.

★EDIT: nevermind, I was told this one goes against CiU ;-;

★Eugene doesn't have any other hoodie. Just the one that he wears. And he ALWAYS wears it. Even during summer. Oh and he also literally never washes it.

★Eugene tends to neglect his hygiene overall. He doesn't really know/understand how important it is because cough cough no parental guidance cough cough. He just sprays himself with citrus air freshener and calls it a day.

★Eugene's (canonically dead) mom has autism. Not him, just his mom. Don't ask me why, she just does.

★There is a wine cabinet in Eugene's apartment. It's semi-full and most of it is Spanish that his parents bought when his dad lived in the apartment and his mom was still alive. Eugene feels a little uncomfortable with its presence but he doesn't interact with it. He's wondering whether he should open it once he's old enough to drink.

★Linda makes pretty good pies but her process is messy and awkward. She tends to spill stuff or read the instructions wrong but she always manages to save it and make it actually enjoyable to eat. Well, most of the time, anyway...

★Joy sometimes calls Eugene 'Genie' or 'Gigi'. She thinks it fits him and also sometimes complains that his name is too long.

★Joy and Oliver had automatically taken the role of Eugene's 'parent-friends' when Luke introduced him to them because of his initial shyness and awkwardness.

[cindylouwhooo]

Chapter four

Gigi’s POV

Lando Norris sent you a message

“Let’s watch a movie instead.” I suggest. “Maybe ‘Cars’. It’s fitting.”

Francisca rolls her eyes and drops down her makeup bag. “No. We said we’d get you out of the house and both you and your manager agreed the Grand Prix is the perfect distraction. Imagine how much you need this for your manager to tell you you need a distraction.”

I plop down on the bed behind her, silently sulking. It’s not that I don’t want to go. Seriously, under any other circumstance I’d be jumping up and down like a teenager at the chance of going to a GP.

But the crippling terror that rips through my belly and rises to the top of my chest at the thought of leaving my studio…it kind of ruins the whole experience.

Kika, sensing my hesitation, drops the brushes on the makeshift vanity and places herself in front of me. “I love you and I’m telling you, I wouldn’t force you to do anything that could possibly be wrong for you.”

I fake a smile, wanting to show her I appreciate her. If she notices the lack of honestly on the shape of my mouth, she doesn’t call me out on it. In fact, she gives me a moment to myself, turning to the mirror and starting her makeup routine.

My body lays flat on the mattress, my heart going a mile a minute when I remember the interesting notification that popped on my screen in the morning.

Pondering whether I should actually

send this message. Your friend

scared the shit out of me when I asked

for your number.

Yeah, she’s protective

like that. ‘S why I love her

No I get it,

Not sure if I can smoothly make

this conversation go on so, I’ll

just get to the point.

Should I be scared?

Absolutely not, I don’t bite.

Bummer:/

seen

I wait a few seconds in the chat, giggling at the little seen word underneath my last sent text. Adorable, how easy it was to leave him speechless—my heart starting to pound against my chest for a completely different reason.

My mind cannot come to terms with how my body and emotions react to this stranger. Sure, he’s attractive. Funny and charming—at least in his interviews. He’s got that British accent that drives me insane and the facial hair that contrary to popular belief, suits him incredibly.

But none of that justify the whole situation. It’s a magnetic force that I cannot ignore and that pulls me out of that bed and on my feet; grinning and mind spinning with the excitement of a new Internet crush. My favourites.

“So, what’s the plan exactly?” I ask.

“We go watch FP1, have a drink, talk to some people—Lily, one of the driver’s girlfriend, has the gossip to tell me, apparently.” I smirk, wondering when was the last time I cared enough for drinks and good gossip. “Then we’ll just drop by Alpine, say hi to Pierre, maybe force him into introducing you to some engineers. And then we can come back to the hotel, eat, wait for the end of FP2 and then…”

She draws out the last word, for the dramatic effect. “And then?”

“Then it’s night out with the boys.”

Lando’s POV

My heart drums inside my chest yet it feels like it’s stuck inside my throat. I try to swallow it down, pretend as if I’m not going crazy over being left on delivered for the past hour—or that the girl who’s been occupying my mind lately is quite literally twenty steps away from me.

She’s here with Kika, Pierre’s girlfriend, smiling and socialising. Talking to everyone but me.

She knows I’m here, she’s seen me. I know it, because I’ve been playing the moment her eyes met mine over and over again in my head.

Fuck, I sound like a fucking teenager.

Reporters and journalists, drivers and other celebrities have tried to get a moment with Gigi Santos who’s enamoured every single person attending the Monaco FP1 session. She’s constantly circled by someone—everyone.

And I just…I just stare like some fucking wanker, unable to move a muscle towards her.

And then she turns her head, putting a stop to her conversation with someone whose name I should know, but don’t, and looks at me.

And fuck if my heart doesn’t jump to the heavens.

I don’t know how, but that woman sees me, like no one ever has. She hasn’t spoken to me once, hasn’t fully, officially I traduced herself. But under her gaze I feel like she sees me. Her lips tilt upwards and her slender fingers rise to the side of her beautiful face; in a second, they start dancing and it takes an embarrassingly long time to realise she’s waving at me, and it’s my time to wave back.

Someone is speaking to me, but I can’t fucking focus on anything else other than Gigi.

Her eyes are—fuck, she’s just—

Gigi giggles, and turns her head to continue talking with her friend and I frown at the loss of contact.

“Lando, it’d be great if you could come back to earth long enough to listen to me.” The voice of my PR manager’s voice snaps me out of my haze. “You’ve got to get into the car in five.”

I nod, even though I haven’t registered what she’s said.

Damn is this session going to be hard.

~ ~ ~

My brows are lowered in concentration, listening to my engineer explain the situation. FP1 was slightly upsetting, the car not wanting to turn properly, clipping the tight walls of Monte Carlo more that once.

But the second session seemed to be going better, until the voice of my engineer was heard fifteen minutes in, ordering me to come into the pits because the car shows to have an issue. Hydraulics, they suspect.

Guilt shimmers in my chest as I allow myself to leave the garage earlier than most—overpowered by my negative emotions and wanting to get away from the scene.

I open my phone, a fairly distraction, and come face to face with a wonderful surprise.

Maybe today won’t be so bad after all…