#gonna tag the characters/fandom but love yourselves

[wellzofyouth]

What are some of your unpopular comic opinions? Dc or otherwise

I'm gonna do milquetoast unpopular opinions because I don't wanna argue with anybody today

stop writing superbat so sanitized!!! I want Bruce to ruin Clark's life in the best way possible. But also make it cute! I want to feel the yearning and I feel like most art fails to reflect that. Like they'll make Clark a masculine Dom top and a r*pist and I'm just like okay. I want them to be pathetic together.

Also people who hate on superbat for being toxic are incredibly boring and uninteresting. Also I see this criticism a lot from *certain* people but Superbat isn't OOC. In fact see point 8* for my feelings on that

Also I would like more stories from Clark's perspective without him being evil 😇 give him sexual repression and survivors guilt too. I want more stories about him being an immigrant.

People who call Bruce abusive are so fucking annoying I'm sorry. Especially because I'm not a fan/don't read most of the shit they're pointing to but also because the standards of child abuse changed during history and comics reflect that. Like fucking get over yourselves he's not real. God forbid you bring up the writing of some of their faves....

People would complain about batfandom getting their characters wrong/clogging up the tags are just as annoying as people who do those things. Yall are just going to have to accept that Batman is THE most popular superhero in DC and that people are going to relate him to your character. For good reason too since he is in every comic basically. Just block or move on already. Literally mute the tag like I do. You're not oppressed for being a green lantern stan. Well maybe you are if you like Guy.

Garth should be in more adaptations and media wtf????? He's basically a khia

Teen titans and Yj cartoons are both different shades of mid. I don't like Starfire in TT at all :/ and Yj just blows. Teen titans is iconic though and I loved it as a kid.

Wally is unfunny. :/ no hate to him tho. I just don't find the way most writers write funny characters to be funny. Probably because they're all cishet white guys who take themselves too seriously.

Clois loves to watch real housewives together ❤️ I know this in my soul and I will not hear otherwise. Not even unpopular just a headcanon

OOC doesn't exist for comic characters. I used to believe otherwise but I am fully on the team of OOC doesn't exist. There is simply too much history for most of these characters to have one based solid characterization so I will never hate on fanon. People on here can be such pretentious little fucks when it comes to other fans. Like just mute or block bitch damn. They don't hurt anyone by saying Tim drinks coffee and plays fortnite

I dont like most canon straight ships sorry 😭 I'm not naming names but they're all boring as hell. That does not mean I hate all straight ships. I can only see some characters like Dick as straight unfortunately and I do like batcat and clois but the others are just so.... yaoi and yuri won this round. They're all gay people to me

But also I dislike most popular ships in this fandom in general. Yall are missing out some good ass yuri to pair up men with no chemistry. Come on 👎👎👎👎

Green Lanterns are all hot asf. Not even unpopular I think. Hal, Kyle, and Alan are easily the hottest DC men and it's not even close.

Idgaf about any comic post 2011 and barely anything post 2003

[olrinarts]

so this was originally a mini-essay i spared a poor commenter on constancy must transpose when they mentioned liking an aspect of Narinder's characterisation in that, but i did like it, so i want to go more in-depth about it over here. much, much more in-depth (can you tell I went to college for English/Lit. Criticisms)

it has now become an entirely too long essay(ish) below the cut on why Narinder has an option to be softer that he rarely takes in other universes but does take in CMT, and why I stuck him with the Ivory Crown and the domains of Life and Resurrection (extensive use of in-game dialogue ahoy lmao)

So i do sincerely believe that Narinder has a capacity for a softer characterisation that doesn't conflict with his canon interactions, mostly because of how i've read those interactions with the Lamb over the course of the game, going purely by text dialogue and scenes, etc (if the devs have said something about his characterisation, I haven't heard it and I prefer working via canon rather than word of god, anyway.)

Part of the 'for want of a nail' re: his characterisation in CMT, and ultimately for why and how the Ivory Crown has the opportunity to emerge, is that he's more willing to acknowledge the soft spot he has for the Lamb. I'd argue that soft spot is very textual:

When the Lamb dies, a crueller god would be much angrier, and an ambivalent god wouldn't bother to speak to them about it. Narinder chooses to reassure the Lamb outright instead, telling them to 'Continue on, undaunted. Each time you are brought down, you rise again stronger.', among other dialogue. Though others insist he's a cruel, untrustworthy god (Leshy and Heket say the Lamb shouldn't trust the One Who Waits and call TOWW a monster, respectively), he sure doesn't punish them for when they've arguably failed.

He repeatedly compliments them on their progress, calling them worthy, saying he chose wisely to make them his vessel, along with comments like 'Your merciless crusade against the Old Faith warms my cold, unbeating heart.'

He flat out says the Lamb wore the Crown almost as well as he does. From someone who believes himself the only truly worthy bearer, I feel like that's actually a pretty big compliment.

There's other examples, but I'll keep it to that, I feel that successfully conveys why I think it's textual. Someone could make the argument that it's all feigned to lull the Lamb into believing, and I think that's a perfectly valid interpretation - but his progression in the post-game implies that it wasn't. From the musing about the materials of his siblings' realms and his reactions to the Lamb bringing them back, the steady progression from frustration to the silence from Shamura's mission, there's a tone of reconciliation, not an entirely new soft spot.

It becomes an explicit reconciliation if you've chosen the Resurrection tenet (which in CMT the Lamb did not, nor was it made available) - part of Narinder's response being 'I cannot begrudge supplantation by one such as yourself''. This is accompanied by sincere laughter and enjoyment of watching the Lamb defy the domain that he both wielded with an iron fist and resented for its iron binds, as dialogue from Haro and Shamura implies and outright states, respectively.

'Truly peculiar, 'twould then seem, his appetency to invite the novel and the new... ...Doubt tears faith asunder.' -Haro

'...he grew discontent with his role. He began to question.' -Shamura

All of this to say that in canon, despite knowing he would sacrifice the Lamb in the end, Narinder was still personally invested in the Lamb as a person, not merely a tool. There's a companion to constancy must transpose that'll go up, chimes of bone, which starts from a similar if not the same universe, but the sacrifice goes ahead successfully.

The reason I'm establishing all of this as the canon interpretation I have is so that I can make the 'argument' for Narinder's objectively softer characterisation in CMT, which contrasts with a lot of popular interpretations I've seen. No one is arguing with me, it's just the way of literary analysis to argue with your own basic premise.

So there are a few points that differ from the canon events (that aren't just worldbuilding or headcanons) that make CMT's characterisation (hell, the story itself) possible:

Narinder was willing to acknowledge to himself that he had an investment in the Lamb.

The Lamb did not have the Resurrection tenet made available at any point in-game for Reasons.

The Lamb was aware from much earlier on, if not the beginning, that they would give their life at the end of the arrangement (why this wasn't an issue but a freely accepted condition is a whole other separate essay lmao)

And at the heart of it is the question: 'what if they're all tired of this endless, exhausting cycle?'

Narinder and the rest of the Bishops are people, after all. The Bishops all explicitly express fear, regret, anger, and grief in their own ways, which is (again) a separate essay. And what I've found in general, and what serves as both interesting progression and conflict in terms of plot, is that people are drawn towards trying to heal their injuries, whether those are physical or otherwise. That isn't always something a person wants to accept consciously, and the struggle between wanting to heal and wanting to stay injured for whatever reason a character might have, is a good stepping stone in not only the plot but the overall story.

The reason in terms of story construction, not plot, that Narinder has the domains of Life and Resurrection, is because he's the nexus of the injuries dealt throughout the rest of the players. That isn't to say he's at fault, only that he's the central point of the hurts everyone, including himself, have been dealt. The sheep were all killed to prevent his escape. He was the one suffocating from the domain of Death, wholly unsuited to his own nature (differing from personality in that the latter is the characterisation and the former is the motivation.) He was the one to discover how to reverse that domain, terrifying the other Bishops for varying reasons. He was the one to wound them, in retaliation for their profound betrayal. He was the one imprisoned Below for a thousand years, deserved or undeserved depending on whose side is the point of view (and even then it's a bit more complicated on the 'deserved' side than a black and white view.) It's from Narinder that all of the current injuries and hurts have rippled out, not from fault but from the injuries dealt to him.

Therefore, if anyone would be suited to the domain of Life - and his specific expression of it, the flesh and the struggle, the defiance of one's end until there isn't a scrap left to resist - it would be Narinder. Resurrection is his and will remain so, as well as the rule over souls in flux rather than the souls that move on, which are the Lamb's to care for and guide. That is made possible by the Life domain that's been suppressed by the weight of Death, so inherent to his nature that the Crown to rule it emerges from his own body (appropriately, the crown of his head specifically.) 'Here did Death no longer wish to wait', said the statue of the Red Crown, and freedom from waiting has its own issues, but is infinitely better than that suffocating weight of Death.

This - the defiance and the violent struggle of bodily Life, the expression of time moving forward and refusing to bow to it - is precisely why Narinder is able to be softer. This Narinder has come into possession of a domain far more suited to him, but he's done so in the presence of a new god determined to keep him as himself even before the Ivory Crown emerges. The Lamb refuses to let him diminish, for reasons described in-story (as no one will read this far, and quite rightfully so, spoilers are safe: the accidental moment of fear that resulted in their 'betrayal' was never intentional.) Whether he's willing to trust it or accept it in the early chapters is irrelevant: it will remain there, and it will remain a path out, and the Lamb will be damned and obliterated before they close that path to the god they never stopped revering.

That insistence on guarding his path out does come back to bite them in the ass, but it was always offered in sincerity, and it's the Lamb. For the last century, they were devoted: they trusted him and did as he commanded without fail, even if it took many deaths to accomplish. He'd given them a chance to avenge their people, to change things, to give the world something new in the time they had because he chose to command them to run his cult, instead of some other, less authoritative use. In return, whether intentional or not, Narinder came to trust them. They were his key out then, before the 'betrayal': the first scrap of true hope in a millennium, a distant flicker of light in the long dark of a possibly eternal wait. Even he, the One Who Waits, betrayed by his family for the sin of seeking any relief from the domain that had been chaining him in place long before he was cast down, found himself trusting them.

Once they handle the misunderstanding from hell, then, he's left in a vulnerable position that he quite reasonably despises after millennia of godhood - and for all their flaws (the Lamb has many of them, as does he), they still refused to let him go. They continue to have faith in him, despite being a god themself and before he's a god once more. There is an option to be softer, an afterwards that isn't necessarily a bitter end (which is itself a theme over on the Lamb side of things.) That's where the freedom from the inevitability he's carried since the Red Crown chose him truly comes into play. The heart of the story itself emerges and remains, no matter where the plot goes.

'What if they're all tired of this endless, exhausting cycle?'

Narinder's no longer locked into the role of the One Who Waits. He's now the One Who Waited, and Waits No Longer. He can choose to be new, he can choose to be different, and in CMT he chooses to do both of those things. In that decision is the crux of the softness and the drawing in of the people connected to the nexus of his place at the centre of the story: the Lamb coming to terms with the Crown they've have taken, and maybe were always meant to have, anyway. The Bishops in ways individual to each: Leshy's the only one in the story so far, at the time of this... jfc, incredibly long 'essay' (ch. 21). Seeing the option for softness (or enmity), reunion (or alienation), for a chance at something he can't predict, it's kind of unsurprising that the former god of Chaos barrels into the unknown. Not immediately changing, but he'd be uninterested if it was instantaneous, in my opinion.

In the end, CMT really rests on two events: the Lamb's accidental betrayal from fear (other essay that I pray will not happen), and Narinder's choice to reject inevitability and the chains he's worn for most of his existence to forgive them for it. After, the relationship progresses (it's a ship story as well, after all), and that itself gives him chances to be soft with the Lamb in ways he previously would've chosen to gargle liquid glass over doing. Part of it is sincere feeling, obviously, but a lot of it is the novelty of getting to choose it. His nature is inherently curious, and wants new things. Curiosity chained the cat, but the Lamb's devotion brought him back.

There's other factors and interpretations, but this is already an entirely too long analysis of my own damn writing and by god that's pretentious enough for me to know when to set it down, thanks for coming to my TED Talk

[starcanwrecked-confessions]

Taking a break from retirement. I don't follow this blog (because the posts here can get a bit too intense sometimes), but when I get bored and miss StarKid (or check if my anon posts got published or reacted to), I do read the posts here. Here’s what I think about the current posts I’ve read.

Why do people who apparently dislike or hate Robert Manion still talk about him, even though the events happened a few years ago? Please ask yourselves this. Sure, he committed his wrongdoings back in 2020 and/or 2021, but is three years not enough to stop talking about it? People generally know his actions were bad. Even those who don't know him or know nothing about SK understand that harassing someone romantically and sexually online and saying insensitive or uninformed things is wrong. (If I miss something or I'm being vague about it, it’s because I avoid that Robert topic and vaguely remember what he actually said online. I don't care to read about them again because I know what's right and what's wrong.)

I don't even hate Robert, probably because I left the fandom when he joined. When I came back, he was no longer a part of SK.

To those who are new, please read Robert's fandom wiki page and look up information online about why he left and the controversies surrounding him in SK’s past. There’s no need to add to the discourse about someone whom StarKid carefully mentions online because of what happened—trust me, there’s already more than enough awareness about it online.

I remember they did not even tag Robert in their IG post about the Twisted anniversary, but they did post his character's photo. Joey briefly mentioned him while talking about TGWDLM or BF during the CC Kickstarter livestreams.

Note, expressing that you miss or wish Robert had stayed because you enjoyed his performances will likely attract replies about what he did, and they often repeat the same things. It’s probably best to avoid this.

He was a good and funny performer, then he made some mistakes, and he left SK.

And yes, Robert still talks and works with Jon Matteson and maybe a few other SK members. They probably made amends. Deal with it. It's their lives and friendships.

P.S. I block Robert Manion tags here on Tumblr, but I’m still curious why he is still discussed by fans as a person and what he did, rather than just as a performer. I can understand fans talking about his past creative work with SK, like how good of a performer he was and about his characters.

P.S.S. This is not an invitation to add more discourse or anon posts about him. If you want to react to this, there’s a comment section under this post and I might reply.

Will there still be a lot of discourse/posts about Rob’s actions in the next 5 or 10 years? Hopefully not, as we all get older and the active and older SK members will be in their 40s or 50s. Heck, they might even talk about him again and maybe open up about what he did (again) as a reflection, kind of like a deep-dive history documentary, when SK reaches their 20th or 30th anniversary or something.

I could say more about this but I'm just gonna say the biggest on my mind after reading this

I think a big reason people still talk is actually to inform fans who don't know, also it can be hard to seperate his performance from him, art vs artists

For you maybe not since you weren't part of the fandom while he was here but for many people he was MASSIVE part starkid and loved by many

Just because it's been 3 years doesn't mean people have to stop talking about it and should only think of the good parts of him, again it's pretty hard to do that

Also "note, expressing that you miss or wish Robert had stayed because you enjoyed his performances will likely attract replies about what he did, and they often repeat the same things. It's probably best to avoid this" what are you getting at here? First off although I can understand being nostalgic for before this all happened sure I'd honestly hope no one who knows what happened actually truly wishes he stayed, he sexually harassed someone in starkid, I don't think he should stay in the same company as the person he harassed. Second yeah people commenting about what he did are going to repeat the same things? Bc they are explaing what the bad things he did were? You can't add on or makr stuff very different when explaing what the bad things someone did were.

[petrichoraline]

Thai BL Favorites List Tag Game

i got tagged in the summer lmao i've been struggling cause i simply can't make a completely honest list - my taste is too fluid and the definition of "fave" is a blur to me

thank you to my lovely @tenprem and @littleragondin for tagging me, consider yourselves tagged again in case your answers differ vastly from your previous ones hahah

💓Fave bl: default answer is Bad Buddy, current - Last Twilight and Cherry Magic..and Cooking Crush

👨🏻‍🤝‍👨🏻Favourite pairing: as in actors? if i say GunSing am i gonna get ToddBlack again? (im fine with DrakeSing too y'know, im just being teased atp)

honestly i don't know, i think of actors i really like but i'm not big on their counterparts..? i enjoy it a lot when they mix and match, i don't have anyone i particularly follow.. i will say MaxTul were super powerful, i really appreciate the bonds between a lot of pairs like ForceBook and i think some of them have amazing chemistry like FirstKhao but even though there are a few i would always try to tune in for like OffGun and YinWar, there's no one i can call a fave, i don't think..currently JimmySea are eating it up tho

🎭Most underrated actor: just the Wayufilm crew in general, I see them do fundraiser lives on yt all the time and I don't think they're that well known by the fandom

🧍‍♂️Favorite character: ig it is Karan currently, Tay really made the character shine in a different way than Machida Keita's Kurosawa and i can't get enough of those puppy eyes

🕴Favorite side character: rn it might be Metha from Cooking Crush? he's just a bit too charming for someone i'd punch if i met him irl..or Fire, i think writing about him made me fond, they're both so..this

📽Favorite scene: from all the thai bls i've seen?? there's beauty like THAT ITSAY scene, there's unexpected scenes i come back to like WaanTul in the last episode of Between Us, there's Nuea and Toh finally getting everything out in the open..there's the Kitty Gang in FUTS going up the elevator, the ep.5 KinnPorsche scene..most of PatPran's scenes!! like how am i supposed to even start choosing lmao

i'm gonna say (after i catch up with my shows this whole list would prolly be different, it could be Karan's scream soon) the one from my recent shows is the rooftop scene from LTTS..sue me for being basic, i'll plead guilty

📝Favorite line: nth has ever quite stuck with me as "do you want us to be friends?" "no." so let's go with it

🃏Most anticipated bl and why: let's say Jack and Joker hahah, I hope it works out <3 i want to see a project YinWar have certain freedom over completed successfully - even if it ends up not being my thing, they deserve to share their talents and artistic vision. they are trying something new, maybe there will be a nice balance between comedy and drama and also it seems like those characters are meant to be whipped for each other and YinWar can pull that off splendidly

👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨Healthiest relationship in a bl: PatPran and PuenTalay are the first to come to mind, the communication and conflict resolution skills are on another level

💢Most toxic relationship in a bl: I suppose it would be VeeMark before the end or maybe DimGreen from 2gether? I also personally don't like Mayom and Nadia from My Ride but I can't tell if they're actually toxic 😄 and im reminded of GramBlack cause that friendship sucks imho

OH WAIT PiMork is pretty bad. yeah, maybe not the worst but they've got a spot on the list..and ig TehOhAew but I have not actually seen s2 so overall I don't have a definitive opinion :')

🍿Guilty pleasure series: i guess it would be Cause You're My Boy (My Tee) because everyone hates on it but I binged it and had a good time 🤷‍♀️ also I Will Knock You cause it has some questionable elements but it's also very special

❎Most underrated series: out of what I've seen it would obviously be Rainbow Lagoon but it's two episodes, not sure if it counts as a series.. really sweet short watch though, you should give it a try here 🥰

also maybe The Best Story? I didn't like it that much because of the ending but it's younger YinWar and I never hear anyone talk about it; I'd say they were pretty good at it 😊

i'm tagging @sommmnus @forcebook @catboyjosten @sparklyeyedhimbo @lovesickfolly @sollucets as per usual no pressure and sorry if youve done it ❤

[ladysternchen]

End of Year Fic Recs

Thanks @polutrope for tagging me 😁!

Recommend up to 5 series or multi-chapter fics from 2023 that everyone should read (multi-year WIPs count, if the last update was in 2023)

Recommend up to 5 single fics/one-shots (long or short) from 2023 that everyone should read.

Recommend up to 5 fics NOT from 2023 that everyone should read (oldies but goodies)

Recommend up to 5 of your own fics (completed or WIP) from 2023 that everyone should read. (oooohhhh damn. I'm gonna SO fail at this, because I actually read so little myself- I tend to re-read the same stories over and over and over again, but I'll see what I can do)

Multi-Chapter

'Tis the Season (To Be Tea-la-la-lally) by polutropos (Teen And Up, WIP, AU) I'm not one for modern AUs normally, not at all, and I honestly didn't want to read it at the start, but then I did (here on Tumblr) and got sucked in LOL. It's just great, and I love the Holiday Spirit! (I won't tag you here again, as you're tagged in the entire post anyway 😄 brilliant story)

Rising as if Weightless by StarSpray (Gen) The story of Elwing suddenly becoming the big sister/foster mom of her older brothers. This is so tender and beautiful and has so much character growth and so many bitter-sweet reunions, and above all so much depth.

A Pair of Stars by Magicfeather205 (Teen And Up) Pre-historic Elves, and the birth of future kings. That was honestly the most interesting story I read this year, with wonderful and very accurate world-building and a beautiful story (and thank you, author, I now can't get the 'Elwë and Olwë were indeed the first set of twin-boys in that family' out of my head where it fights a raging battle with my own headcanon) Also, I want this fic to be read by every single midwife (and, more importantly, other obstetrician). THAT is how you treat a birthing mom. That's how you handle unforeseen events. I loved this so so so much. It would have felt perfectly natural to have Trixie and Nurse Crane walk in there- sorry about that fandom-mixup)

As Flowers From the Sky by Beleriand Death Trip (E) Fingolfin/Elu Thingol... this is honestly a ship I would never ever have thought of myself, or seen a way in which this could work, but this story DOES work within canon, and beautifully so. It has it all, from very interesting world-building ideas to mild- (and VERY funny) horror-elements, and from foreshadowing and tensions to being wonderfully wholesome. You'll feel better after reading this, I promise!

The Unforsaken by @ceescedasticity (M, WIP) Last but definitely not least. I'll again link the first part of the series in the before-2023-part, and probably say more about it there. But yeah, absolutely a must-read! Go! Go, destroy the Orc-bank! (But don't blow yourselves up!)

One-Shots

Bloodied by ohboromir (Gen) Just a little First-Battle-story. I love to see Elu and Beleg and Mablung together so so so much (who would have thought, ey?).

Unstoppable Winds by LadyBrooke (Teen And Up) The destruction of Númenor as viewed by a few of their ancestors. I really loved this because I have never actually seen a story about the Fall of Númenor written from that POV and it did (or rather does) inspire me quite a lot in my own WIP. (I have to apologise here for not having more, I read so many great one-shots here on Tumblr that I just failed to save in some way. I may add to this list if I find the time to scroll through my timeline and see which of those I reblogged)

Before 2023

elves, once (M) by @ceescedasticity The part one of the series The Unforsaken belongs to as well. And for me the most recommendable story there is (though I would guess most who see this post will know the story already). The name says it all, really, as it is the story of all those canon-characters who ended up as Orcs. This is the sort of fic I really enjoy because it actually gives an answer to a question canon rises. The Orc-bank has since so much passed into my own headcanon that I sometimes forget that it is not actually canon (which leads to very awkward situations sometimes at our monthly discussing-Tolkien-gatherings, I tell you that)

across so wide a sea (Gen, WIP) by Adwen Unfinished, but one of the most hilarious stories I've ever read. I hope so much that author continues writing it one day, but even if they don't, it's a great laugh to read what is written, and ah, the possibilities!

The Carriage held but just Ourselves (Teen and Up) by StarSpray The story of how Melian and her descendants deal with death when they finally come to face it. I don't know when I last cried so much when reading a fic. It's not just that it's so so so sad (because yeah, go kill us all even in the one chapter that should be somewhat 'happy' 😭), but also incredibly beautiful and written perfectly in-character. It's looking into those women's minds. One of my bed-time-stories. (hmpf. All the others are multi-chapters form this year. ah well...)

My own

Yet Were Its Making Good, For This (not rated, but mature:ish; WIP) Ah, my problematic WIP. I wanted that story so so so so so badly written that I forced it, and it cost me MANY nerves. Mablung of Doriath/Elu Thingol. (How is it that nobody ever wrote that ship before?????????????) Works within canon if one squints one's eyes a bit. I'm currently working on the Epilogue ind Valinor, which might, MIGHT, for once give one of my stories a truly happy ending.

Into Oblivion (M) The smut-part of Yet Were Its Making Good, For This. Elwë/Mablung/Beleg. (Well, what do you all think they got up to during the journey?) Doesn't interfere with later canon.

Why, It Asks (Gen) It's a very short read, but one that is super dear to me for some reason. Elmo's thoughts as he stands by and watches his brother's grave being dug.

Moving On-series (Gen) Is this cheating, now? As it's really three one-shots? If it is, pick the last one to read. I'm just so fond of what my imagination spat out there world-building-wise LOL. It's the story of the time Elwë was missing to his and Melian's coronation, as mostly told from Elmo's POV.

Eyes In The Dark (Gen) I just had to put it here, as it's quite sweet to read, but given the hardly-mentioned-in-canon-characters it's hardly read by anyone. Give it a try, though. I bet you like it. Little Denethor is frightened by eyes in the dark, and runs for Lenwë for help. And Lenwë is being just about the best Dad ever.

And now we come to the bit I always dread. I suck at tagging people, because I always forget who enjoys such things and who doesn't, and because everyone's probably been already tagged. So let's do this differently, then- all writers who read this and want to share their recs, please do! (Cheating again, I know)

[rakassauce]

welcome, and howdy!!!

yo, I'm raka. an artist who adores the scene subculture, anime/cartoons, and the old internet. been a while since i did an intro, and I don't particularly enjoy my current one. so, i thought i'd fix that!

but before i get into it, lemme begin with some ground rules:

DNI if you are/support ANY of the following:

a proshipper/comshipper

a terf/truscum/transmed/transphobic in any way

anti-palestine (however, that doesn't give you the right to be an anti-semite, that shit ain't cool)

Are a pro-lifer, this is a pro-choice zone babie

anti-neopronouns

ableist

a MAP/YAP, get that pedo shit outta here

a neo-nazi/on some type of white supremecist shit

a zoophile

...they gone now? yeah? cool, let's rock n' roll. (quick heads up for flashing blinkies/images, and eyestrain. that's gonna be a constant on this blog.)

name: raka/alex/izzy

age: 16, turning 17 on JULY 14TH!!!

DOB: 07/14/2007

pronouns: she/he/they

current hyperfixation: YU-GI-OH!!!!

favorite color: hot pink/red/neon green

favorite song: party like a millionaire - millionaires/i also like genres like rock, electronic, and pop

favorite games: sims (4 and 3), touhou project, legend of zelda

hobbies: scouring the internet, watching anime, drawing, spending time w/ my bf

favorite food: menudo!! my nanny (that's what I call my grandma ^^;) makes it for me occasionally and on my bday nearly every year

dislikes: assholes, unnecessary internet discourse, instagram comments, my horrible sleep schedule (help lol)

favorite movie(s): yugioh the movie: pyramid of light, bill and ted's excellent adventure, idle hands

likes: the night, old internet vibes, art, magical girls (SAILOR MOON), scene kid stuff

loves: my dad and my boyfriend!!!

rando facts: i'm half mexican :] i wanna learn more spanish to be in touch with my mom's side of the family. i've only ever finished one anime despite starting a few, and that would be Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood. even though i'm on ep 27 of the 2003 version of FMA (it's on hold since it isn't my current fixation), i honestly prefer it. my favorite vocaloids are hatsune miku and kagamine rin and len)! now if we're talking utauloids: yokune ruko and kasane teto.

my tags:

#raka's sauce (my art)

#other people's awesome sauce (reblogged art)

#raka reblogs!

#raka's brain dump

#raka's cc finds!!

so, i'm raka. i've lurked around the internet for a little while now--since I was about five. restricted internet access? don't know her. i only started really participating in online communities when i was about 10, on quotev and amino (rip, it was a shitshow but i had a good time for the most part). at some point i just kinda...fell off of trying to find internet spaces? it didn't really feel fun anymore, y'know? i went back to lurking, looking at stuff i enjoyed/making things in silence.

well, fuck that. if i wanna have fun, i'm gonna make it fun. i love drawing, i always have!! i've been drawing since i was about five or six. it's always been an escape for me during REALLY rough times--it made me happy to draw my favorite characters, and even create my own! i love interacting with fandom spaces too, finding folks who are into the same stuff i am. connecting with strangers is fun, when you don't really know anybody irl who shares your exact interests!

i wanna make/reblog fandom art on here, and maybe make moots/friends. i also have OCs i love and adore that i'd like to share--with lore, of course.

i hope y'all have a wonderful day or night!!! take care of yourselves!!!

with all that said, blinkie/stamp dump time!!! a further insight of myself, if you will

sources for a few stamps:

Mel-Rosey on Deviantart

StarriiChan on Deviantart

kas7ia on Deviantart

blinkies.cafe for blinkies

YukiMiyasawa on Deviantart | another stamp from them

hissatsugirl on Deviantart

Papikari on Deviantart

Magica-28 on Deviantart

RaptureCyner on Deviantart

and feel free to hmu on other things such as:

discord - rakassauce

artfight

spacehey (i need to finish up my profile :/ sorry for mess)

instagram

[sfwsickficthoughts]

adult, they/it, sufferer of a few mental illnesses. call me whatever the fuck you want. I post hurt/comfort shit with a focus on sickness. not an emetophile, none of this is for kink, I just like the softness and vulnerability that comes with taking care of a sick person.

this account was pretty much just made for my own self-indulgent purposes. I take headcanon and writing prompt requests on a "when I feel like it" basis.

Req info and DNI below

requests: open. 0 ask(s) in the inbox.

what I do: headcanons and writing prompts. the prompts can be fandom/character specific or they can just be general prompts based on a theme. whatever floats your boat (or rather mine since I'm gonna be the one doing the writing)

Whitelist

these are fandoms I'm already familiar with. If yours isn't on the whitelist, that doesn't necessarily mean I won't consider it, it just means I might have to do research.

Half-Life

Entropy: Zero

Portal

Left 4 Dead

Team Fortress 2

Madness Combat

Oddworld

Wreck-it Ralph

Cyberpunk 2077

Yakuza 0-6

Superjail!

POSTAL

Blacklist

for personal reasons I am not comfortable writing for these. list subject to updates as I see fit.

RPF

MCYT

Homestuck/Hiveswap

Eddsworld

Cookie Run

Hazbin/Helluva

Harry Potter

Hetalia/Countryhumans

Boyfriend to Death

DNI or "Why Did You Block Me?"

Bigot of any flavor

Pedo/zoo/incest loving "people"

Pro-para/radqueer/rad-inclus/whatever you pedo/zoo/incest apologists are calling yourselves these days

Proship/anti-anti

DDLG/CGL/ageplay in general

Transage/transrace

Genocide supporters (read: think what Israel is doing rn is Correct)

Yandere blogs (personal discomfort)

NSFW/kink blogs (just don't want these posts in NSFW spaces, y'all are cool)

On thin fucking ice

Emetophiles

interact if you want, but don't rb these posts to your kink accounts or use emetophile-specific tags on them. I don't have anything against y'all, I'm just not into that and I'm not comfortable with having my posts interacted with as kink material.

Age regressors

nonsexual agere is fine to interact, sexual age regressors read the above entry in the DNI about ageplayers and fuck off expeditiously.

Fans of blacklisted fandoms

you're welcome here, but behave.

"coquette"/"female hysteria" bloggers

I know like 90% of you guys are radfems/terfs. I see you acting up and you're going in the block bin.

"Fandom moms"

if you actually read all of this, congrats on your mental stamina. please take this congratulatory silly as a treat and have a day.

so many of you motherfuckers turn out to be predatory it is actually insane to me

People named Max

listen I'm sure you're fine but due to personal reasons I'm going to be wary about you forever

[bluejaysandblackbats]

A Yellow Ribbon

Fandom: DC Comics, Young Justice, Flashfam, Superfam

Summary: Conner's been best friends with Bart ever since they met at the carnival when they were children. The problem is that Bart can't remember meeting Conner that night. But Thad does...

Chapters: 8/?

Characters: Clark Kent, Conner Kent, Lois Lane, Bart Allen, Thaddeus Thawne, Don Allen, Meloni Allen, Jonathan "Pa" Kent, Martha Kent, Max Crandall

Relationships: KonBart, KonThad, Clois, MelonixDon, Ma/Pa Kent

Additional Tags: No Powers AU, Mistaken Identity, Possibly Unrequited Love, Unrequited Crush, Twins, Lies, Stolen Moments, Unconventional Love Triangles, Misunderstandings, Childhood Friends, Complicated Relationships, Family Dynamics, Family Bonding, Best Friends, Secret Crush, Autistic Bart Allen, Autistic Thad Thawne, Thaddeus Thawne Gets a Hug, Conner Kent-centric, Bisexual Conner Kent, Conner Kent Needs a Hug, Third Person POV, Hurt Clark Kent, Boys in Love, Friendship/Love, Farm/Ranch AU, Farmboy Conner Kent, Grandparents and Grandchildren, Unconventional Families, Unconventional Relationship, Romance, Light Angst, Strangers to Lovers, Cyrano, Jewish Superfam

Chapter Eight: Long-Term

Bart had to leave Metropolis at the end of the school year to live with his Uncle Max in Manchester. The specialist there had a better track record with patients with Bart’s condition. Packing was less than ideal for the two Allens. Bart threw his clothes out of the suitcase. “I don’t wanna go!” Bart screamed and cried. Barry grabbed Bart and tried to pry the suitcase from Bart’s fingers. Max uncurled Bart’s fingers and took him from Barry.

Max held Bart with a stern and unmoved expression. “You need to stop,” Max commanded. Bart sobbed and thrashed in Max’s arms.

“I don’t want you! I want Grandpa!” Bart screamed. Barry put Bart’s clothes back in the suitcase and sat with his face in his hands.

“Sparky, please… Grandpa loves you so much,” Barry whispered, “I’m upset too, Sparky. I’m tired, and I’m scared and-. Grandpa wants to help, but he can’t anymore.”

Bart fell into a coughing fit, and Barry hopped up, grabbed Bart’s inhaler, and shook it. He handed the inhaler to Max despite the desire to do that himself. “Mask over his mouth and nose… Tell him to breathe out, then on the count of three, tell him to breathe in while you give him a puff,” Barry explained. Max did as Barry told him, and Bart shook violently afterward. Max held Bart and rubbed his back.

Barry put on his mask and stepped out of the apartment. He met eyes with Lois, and she chewed her lip. “I can’t-. He doesn’t understand why this is happening… He’s never going to forgive me,” Barry wept.

“Bart adores you,” Lois reassured him.

He pulled himself together and swallowed hard. “Lois, how’s Conner taking this?” Barry asked in an attempt to distract himself.

Lois forced a smile before bursting into tears. “Conner said he doesn’t have any other friends,” Lois whimpered, “He’s been here ten months and hasn’t made a single friend.” Barry wept with her.

Barry couldn’t let go of the time he spent with his grandson. Despite the hospitalizations and the sleepless nights, Barry cherished every moment with Bart. The thought of parting frightened him. Barry always feared Bart would pass the moment they parted ways. “When Donny told me Mel was having twins-. It was the most exciting feeling in the world… Then, they were born, and Bart got sick almost immediately-. I know he could pass at any time. That’s not-. Six years isn’t enough time,” Barry rambled. They sat in the hallway, and Lois grabbed his hand.

“He’ll be okay… I’ve got a good feeling about that doctor in Alabama,” Lois whispered, “Are you gonna be alright? Clark said we could fly with you if you don’t feel like being alone.”

“You guys don’t have to put yourselves-.”

“We’re gonna take Conner home anyway… Missouri’s one state away. It’d be nice. One last stop before we do the right thing-.”

“What do you mean?” Barry questioned.

“Conner isn’t happy here… It isn’t for a lack of trying. He likes going to the synagogue with Clark and hanging out at the Planet, but school-. He’s isolated. Barry, he belongs in Smallville,” Lois replied. Barry nodded.

“That’s hard… I’m sorry,” Barry whispered.

Max stepped into the hall, holding Bart. “He’s asleep… Can you hold him while I get his suitcase?” Max asked. “Oh… Um-. I’m Max Crandall, Bart’s uncle. You must be Lois.” He nodded at her.

“Nice to meet you… I wish it were under better circumstances. We’re all a mess right now,” Lois chuckled nervously.

Clark came out to the hall holding Conner. “Oh, what a nice coincidence. Hi, everyone. You must be Max. Conner, this is Bart’s uncle,” Clark explained.

Conner tapped Clark’s shoulder, and Clark set him down. Conner approached and forced a smile. “Please take good care of my friend. I love him very much, Mr. Max,” Conner whispered, “And I hope you have fun with him even if I can’t hear him laugh through the walls anymore.”

“Thank you, Conner,” Max smiled.

“Wait, Mr. Max… Mr. Max, can you wait here?” Conner asked. Max nodded while Conner ran inside and grabbed a notebook. “Bart likes to read letters when he’s in the hospital. I wrote him a letter every time he went to the hospital. Sometimes, Bart’s too sick to read, so you can read them to him. I filled the book.”

“This is a thoughtful going away present. I think Bart-. I think he’ll appreciate this,” Max smiled.

*

Max drove two hours before Bart woke up. The small boy yawned and stretched his arms and legs. “You have a kitchen in your car,” Bart whispered. He raked a hand through his thick curls before clutching the side of his head. “Am I dreaming?”

“Nope… This is a recreational vehicle. An RV… I used to live in this poor thing,” Max replied. Bart swung his feet until he caught his backpack and pulled it to his lap. “Whatcha got there, Bart?”

“I gotta take a picture for Stink,” Bart answered as he pulled out a disposable camera and snapped a picture of the kitchen. “Can I talk to Mommy and Daddy on your phone?”

“When I pull over… Okay?” Max replied. Bart put his camera away and opened his notebook. “What do you do to stay occupied during these long drives?”

“Sometimes, I write letters to Stink about what I see. Grandpa says it’s good to tell him about what I see,” Bart explained, “Where is Manchester?”

“Alabama,” Max answered. Bart nodded and clasped his hands together. “Did you get to see Metropolis while you were there?”

“Nuh-uh,” Bart replied, “But it’s gonna be different soon.”

Max inhaled through his nose, trying to find something to say that was kind and true. Bart’s condition was much worse than everyone let on. The medication made him sleepy, and he started forgetting things. It was little things at first, like where he put his toys. Then he started forgetting the names of characters he liked… And finally, Bart called Barry daddy on accident. It wasn’t an average slip of the tongue. Bart called Barry daddy for an entire day. Barry didn’t correct him at first, wanting to see if Bart could fix the slip without assistance, but he didn’t. It frightened Barry, but Max was much more levelheaded about the issue. Max understood Barry couldn’t shoulder Bart’s loss… And the specialist in Manchester was better anyway. “Bart, what’d you have for breakfast this morning?” Max questioned.

“Grandpa made me eat a banana,” Bart replied. Max smiled.

“Short-term memory’s good,” Max commended him. Bart thanked him. He didn’t understand Max’s compliment, so he returned to his notebook. “Your first appointment is next week. Your doctor’s name is Lila. She’s excited to meet you.”

“Why?” Bart asked.

“Because Lila’s good with sick kids… And she thinks she can make you feel better,” Max answered. Bart squinted. “What?”

“You’re too old to be an uncle,” Bart observed.

“That’s not true. There’s no age requirement for uncles,” Max corrected.

“My auntie isn’t as old as you,” Bart replied.

“I am a friend of your grandfather. Uncle is just-. It’s like a nickname. I’m not your real-. I’m kind of an uncle,” Max stammered.

Bart swung his feet as he smirked. “Grown-ups are silly. How come you didn’t say you don’t know? I tell people I don’t know all the time,” Bart giggled. Max laughed too.

[sassy-ahsoka-tano]

Snowed In

Character/Fandom: Scotty Moore - Elvis (2022)

Requested: yes! by @austin-butlers-gf my love 💕

Prompt: As one of the Colonel's circus performers, you're used to sharing a motel room whilst traveling. But when you find yourself snowed in with the BMB's charming guitarist, Scotty Moore, you have to find some way to pass the time.

TW: Fem!Reader, mentions of sexual themes + alcohol

Rating: Pg-13 || Word Count: 3.0k

A/N: can we hear it in the back for mr. winnie pls?? this man would have broken my heart fr 🥴

[ request | masterlist | wanna be tagged? ]

🦋 mila

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

“Scotty! Scotty, we gotta get going! If we don’t leave in the next,” you glance down at your wristwatch and sigh, “five minutes, we’re gonna be late for your gig. Hurry up!”

You turn away, prepared to rush back into the living room and gather your belongings, but the door suddenly clicks open behind you. Glancing over your shoulder, you gulp hard when your eyes land on Scotty, naked from the waist up. He’s leaning against the door, his muscles pulled taut. You squeeze your lips together and quickly avert your eyes before he can detect your embarrassment.

“I don’t think we’re goin,” he says with a deep chuckle.

You glance back at him with furrowed eyebrows.

“What are you talking about?”

“Uh…cause of this?”

He pushes the door open with his back and gestures toward the window behind him. Unable to see from your position in the hallway, you step forward, trying desperately to peer through the window. Your eyebrows shoot up as you come closer and closer to the vast whiteness outside. The ground is fully covered in snow; in fact, it looks like there’s at least three feet of it, stacking up all the way over the top of the sill on the outside of the building.

“Snow? Are you joking? It never snows like this in the south…what is this?”

“I ain’t never seen snow that much, but I’m pretty sure I know what we’re lookin at, sweetheart.”

You can feel your heart starting to beat faster in your chest and your palms are growing clammier by the second. You can’t deny the way your heart skipped a few beats when he called you by such a sweet name.

“Oh my god, no. No, no, no. I can’t be stuck in here all day with you. I can NOT.”

“Damn, girl, you done hurt my feelins talkin like that.”

“I should call the Colonel,” you say, ignoring him. “He probably knows more than us. He’ll know what to do.”

You ramble on as you reach for the phone in his room to dial the number for the Colonel’s motel room.

You’ve worked for the circus for as long as you can remember, just starting out as a young girl who needed cash. Moving away from the farm was the most difficult thing you ever had to do, but you had dreams of being a performer. Your lasso work was unmatched in your little town and the Colonel saw enough potential in you to bring you into the troupe.

Although your act gives you all the joy in the world, unfortunately you’re not popular or important enough to warrant your own room on the road. While you’re usually paired up with another one of the ladies in the group, this time around you found yourself awkwardly grouped with Mr. Winfield Scott Moore III, the lead guitarist of Elvis Presley and the Blue Moon Boys, a new act the Colonel picked up in Louisiana.

It wouldn’t do for two young people such as yourselves to share one bed. So, the Colonel was nice enough to get you a suite with two separate bedrooms, but last night was still uncomfortable. Not to mention the awkwardness that ensued as you both tried to navigate showering without showing each other any shred of flesh, something Scotty apparently no longer cares about.

“Colonel Parker? It’s Y/N and I was jus-...oh, okay…no, yes that makes sense. Thanks for letting me know,” you say before hanging up and turning to Scotty. “Canceled. The whole show, canceled.”

“Nice of Colonel fatsy pants to let us know so far in advance,” Scotty replies and you just shrug.

You don’t like the Colonel any more than the next person, but he is your boss at the end of the day. You kind of have to watch what you say about him behind his back.

“Well, I guess I’ll leave you alone to…do whatever it is you do in your free time. We don’t have anywhere to be, so…I’ll be in my half of the room,” you say awkwardly, turning on your heel.

You’d never admit it to anyone, especially not him, but you almost sort of have a tiny crush on Scotty. You’ve watched over the past few months as girls of all ages and appearances have flocked to Elvis Presley like chickens to feed. But you never did understand all that. Your eyes always find their way to Scotty. His elegantly handsome features draw you in and you never tire of the way he plays. He’s an extremely talented guitarist. You don’t know anyone who’s capable of playing the strings like that. The way his fingers move…

“You don’t gotta go runnin off like that, honey,” the sound of Scotty’s voice snaps you back to reality. “I mean we’re stuck in ‘ere together all day, anyways, so we can at least be friendly.”

You pause with your hand resting on the doorknob. Taking a deep breath, you turn around and cross your arms over your chest. You press them back, trying to get ahold of your tingling nerves.

“I suppose…but what would we even do? It’s not like we’re trapped in a house with activities to do. We’re literally in the cheapest, blandest motel room there ever was. What do you suggest we do to pass the time?”

“I got cards?” he suggests with a shrug.

“Cards?” you raise an unimpressed eyebrow. “Ugh, I guess. But before we play could you…put a shirt on, please? You’re making me-”

“Hot?”

“No!” you shout, maybe a little too suspiciously fast. “No, you’re making me uncomfortable.”

He holds his hands up defensively before turning toward his closet to reach for a shirt. You take a seat on one of the chairs in the corner of the room, shifting your eyes away from his figure. You can only stare at the faded lampshade for a few minutes, however, before your curiosity gets the better of you. You sneak a glance back over at him and bite your lip. You trace down his back, the muscles flexing as he pulls a plain white t-shirt over his bare skin. You gulp and quickly look away just as he turns back around.

“So what game?” he asks. “Rummy, Canasta, Poker?

“Poker,” you reply without missing a beat. “You deal.”

As you and Scotty settle into playing, you find yourself relaxing with each witty exchange. His voice is strangely comforting, the southern drawl unimaginably charming. It colors each word with a smoothness that you don’t always find in a man’s voice. You also discover that he’s actually rather kind and pretty damn funny. His sense of humor is witty and quick. But despite all the nice conversation, you’re actually quite bored.

“I’m bored,” you voice your thoughts. “Can we find some way to make this more interesting?”

A few moments of silence follow as you both glance around the room, trying to find something that you could use to spice up the game.

“Ah!” Scotty suddenly yells, snapping his fingers.

You watch in confusion as he pops up and rummages through his luggage, pulling out a half empty bottle of gin. You laugh in spite of yourself and shake your head.

“Forgot I had this. How bout it?”

“Bring it on.”

Whenever one of you loses a hand, instead of cashing in for chips like you’d do at a casino, you have to take a shot. Several hours later, you find yourselves nicely tipsy and all out of gin. Considering the bottle was only half full to begin with, you’ve done pretty well. But that was still enough alcohol to make you both relaxed enough to open up and get comfortable with each other.

“Well damn, we’re out,” you say after Scotty takes his last swig. “What now? I think we passed a whole three hours.”

“Hmmm,” Scotty says, his eyebrows furrowed as he nods lazily.

You notice how glazed over his eyes are and smirk to yourself. You quickly do the mental math of how many drinks you each had and come up with Scotty having drunk a lot more than you. You had beaten him almost every round. His head snaps up with a cheesy grin pasted on his lips.

“We could play strip poker.”

“What? Are you insane?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest. “How dare you even suggest that. That is so typical of a man! You’re just jealous that I beat you.”

“Jealous?” He laughs loudly, clutching his stomach. “Nah, honey, I’m just sayin. Now we’re out of alcohol and since that’s the only way I’ve seen you relax round me, I don’t know what else to do.”

You feel the sting of his words, wincing momentarily as his eyes flash with concern. You haven’t meant to be rude to him, you haven’t meant to be cold or aloof or any of that. You just don’t know him well enough. You’ve had your fair share of terrible relationships and, with the way girls act around the band, you’ve always assumed you knew exactly the type of man he was: no good. You’re guilty as charged when it comes to having your defenses up around boys, but as you gaze into Scotty’s soft blue eyes, you realize how rude and judgemental you’ve been.

You also gulp down the truth of why you’re so adamantly against strip poker: you want to play. It’s wildly inappropriate and sleazy to play such a naughty game with a man you barely know. But the truth is that you want to. Desperately. You shouldn’t. You can’t…right?

“Fine. Let's play.”

You clamp your lips together, hoping to hide the heat creeping up through your skin. A goofy grin spreads across Scotty’s face and he nods in victory as he shuffles the cards.

Somehow, quite suspiciously if you might add, Scotty manages to win the first three rounds, leaving you with no socks and your fingers hesitatingly stuck underneath the hem of your top.

“You know, I’m starting to think you were holding out on me,” you say with a quirked eyebrow. “How come you keep winning all of a sudden?”

“What’re you talkin bout, sweetheart?”

“You only won like twice while we were playing before but now, suddenly, when the price is me undressing myself, you’re kicking my ass. Seems sort of suspicious, doesn’t it?”

“Not at all. I don’t know what ya mean,” he says, leaning forward and tilting his head.

You gulp as a smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth. You squint and take him in, his adam’s apple bobbing teasingly. You’re suddenly overcome with the need to touch his skin, to kiss him desperately, to bite his neck, to—

You shake yourself back to reality.

“Well, anyway I feel like it’s only fair that you remove something,” you say. “We’re totally uneven here.”

“That’s not how the game works, sweet thing.”

“I know that, obviously. But it should still be fair. My feet are cold and I can’t focus as well as you can with your warm toes.”

Scotty laughs, his beautiful white teeth glinting in the light. His eyes flick down to your body quickly and he bites his lip. You take a deep breath through the loud sound of your heart slamming in your ears. Scotty nods.

“If ya wanted me to take it off, you coulda just asked, darlin.”

Without hesitating, he starts to pull his shirt back off. Your breath hitches in your throat and your eyes hungrily devour the sight of his bare skin. Once done, he gestures toward you.

“Your turn,” he says and your eyes widen. You make a noise halfway between a scoff and a laugh.

“Are you kidding? No, we just discussed this. Now we’re even.”

He glances down at your feet and then quickly slides his own socks off.

“And now we’re not. And you're still losin so you should be wearin less than me anyways. I’m technically lettin ya win right now. So, it’s your turn.”

“But-”

He just shakes his head firmly. You shut your mouth, knowing he’s technically right. With a frustrated sigh, you pull your shirt over your head, your heart thumping. As soon as it lifts from your frame, you blink up to his eyes. His expression is teasing, a soft smile playing at his lips, his drunken eyes dragging up and down your figure. You clear your throat and turn back to the game.

“Shall we?”

“Sure thing, angel.”

You continue to play a couple more rounds, Scotty losing one and you losing the other. He removes his belt and you remove the clip in your hair, after a lot of protesting from Scotty. In order to keep the game fair, you’ve swapped clothes as prisoners. In other words, Scotty now has total possession of your clip, your socks, and your shirt. Sitting across from each other half naked, you both probably look quite the picture out of context. 

Where it comes from you have no idea, but a freezing breeze blows through, making your body shiver violently. You feel goosebumps immediately rising on your skin and shudder, your teeth chattering.

“You shiverin?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow.

“Yes, I’m shivering, dummy. We are snowed in, after all. God, it’s freezing. This is your fault. Just give me back my shirt.”

“Oh, this lil thing?” he holds up your t-shirt with a shrug. With furrowed eyebrows, he turns it toward the light and stares down at it. “Uh….”

He winces and shakes his head.

“What? What did you do to it?”

“Looks like we do got a lil bit of that gin left. Well, we did.”

He points toward a section of the shirt that’s soaking wet with alcohol. You snatch the top from his grasp and sniff it, immediately recoiling at the strong alcoholic tinge.

“Ugh! I’ll wear yours, then,” you say as another shudder racks through your body. You rummage beside you but can't find his shirt among your pile.

“Uh…” his voice interrupts you again.

Your head pops up to see him grinning sheepishly at you. He holds up his shirt to show you that the stain has leaked all the way through his, as well. You glare at him with squinted eyes.

“Forgot to hand it over, I guess. But hey, no problem, no problem. Just come ‘ere,”  he says, gesturing toward his body.

“What? Into your lap?” Your heart flutters but you silently scold it to be quiet. “Absolutely not. I don’t think so.”

“Hey, if you’d rather freeze to death, it’s nunna my business. I’m just offerin warmth, that’s all,” he replies, gesturing again to the open space between his legs.

You pout and scoff, shaking your head. No, of course you don’t want to freeze to death but…wait, what are you complaining about? He’s willingly inviting you into his lap. A handsome and talented man like Scotty wants you, very single you, to cozy up to his bare body?

“Okay,” your voice escapes before you even have time to think about it.

You crawl toward him and awkwardly settle into his lap. His legs stretch out on either side of your body. You tense as he wraps his arms around you to pull you further back. When his warm chest makes contact with your back, you resist the urge to sigh in relief. He’s warm and his touch is soft, gentle on your skin. You can feel your heart pounding in your ears and butterflies flitting around in your stomach. You release a shaky sigh as you notice the feeling of his hot breath on your shoulder.

“Now this is better, ain’t it?” he asks in a low voice and you nod without thinking.

“Much better.” 

You turn to look at his face but find yourself only inches away from his lips.

His eyes drop down to your mouth, hovering on it for just a moment before flicking back up to your eyes. His lips are parted and they look absolutely delicious. You gulp as you waver in the space between. Your head bobs forward just slightly and you widen your eyes to keep them from blinking closed. Scotty’s head tilts to the side and he starts to lean forward. You know you should stop him, or something in your brain tells you to. But your heart is leading the dance and nothing can bring your hands to push him away. Your eyes flutter closed when his breath ghosts over your lips. You anticipate the feeling of his touch. His lips are warm and soft as they capture yours.

Your hand moves onto his chest, touching his soft skin as you spread your fingertips out across him. His lips move perfectly against yours and when he pulls back, you lean forward, desperate for him to continue. After a moment of tense silence, he does, pressing against you harder this time. His hands drop down to your waist, one strung across your stomach. He pushes down onto your lips, his thumb gently stroking your skin as he starts to maneuver you down onto the carpeted floor beneath you. You allow him to guide you, spinning in his grasp to rest on your back. He collapses onto an elbow next to you. His hand rests flat on your stomach, warm and heavy.

His lips separate from yours with a loud pop and he lifts his head up just enough to meet your eyes when they flutter open. He smirks down at you and then glances at your body, biting his lip after doing so.

“So I guess strip poker wadn’t such a bad idea after all, huh?”

“Listen, Winfield— yes, I know that’s your real name. I saw it on the employment documents — don’t get too cocky.”

He raises an eyebrow and then glances back down at your body.

“Try my best not to. But with you lookin like that? Can’t guarantee nothin.”

He presses himself closer your thigh. Your eyes widen and you gasp when you feel him against your leg.

“Scotty!” you shout, playfully slapping his shoulder.

He laughs and leans down to kiss your lips again.

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

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**If you notice any triggers or grammatical errors that I missed, please let me know!

taglist: @mrsjna @floralcyanide @austinbutler17 @slutforsomegoodlettuce @datsavageavenger @misspygmypie @yourfriendhenrywinter @queenslandlover-93 @kittenlittle24 @theliterarybeldam @guns-n-queen @adoreyouusugar @butler-trouble @kaycinema @mamaspresley @yagirlalexx @hangmanswhore @dark-as-love @gemstone9 @austin-butlers-gf @dollfaceyourfear @ch3rries-n-cream @coldonexx @sagesolsticewrites @mommy-maia @atombombbibunny @lexlexl3x @solo-pitstop-vibes @hopefulinlove @lordandmistress @domaniquessidehoe @elvismylove-blog @amiets2 @itsametaphorbriansblog @powerofelvis @austinstyles @18lkpeters

[murcielagatito]

post “Not *everything* is about racism” *goes on to do EXACTLY what fandom does to poc when we speak up about unfair shit*

hey anon! youre part of the fucking problem!! deactivate your account <3

have you ever heard of systemic racism? (but just in case)

have you EVER read ANY article about how people of color are treated in fandoms? (teen vogue) have you ACTUALLY critically read how writers write barbara???? tags from a fan

go to the avanine tag just go to it how much of those posts came from me?

ive been in fandom for a really long time and my favorite characters have always been the ones that dont receive as much love. if you REALLY wanna get into it, my all time favorite star trek ship b7 used to have CRUMBS for content when i first got into them. and you know what i did??? I FUCKING CREATED SO MUCH FOR THEM

link not that u need literally any proof but look through my trek sideblog. nowadays they get way more love and content but it want until i and a few mutuals got the ball rolling that b’elanna is finally getting the love and attention she deserves. ive created so much art for star trek ALONE that it literally takes up almost all my storage on a 64gb sd card. do u KNOW how many fucking art files u can store in 64 gb?? a fuckton

(for comparison most of my art files at that time were smaller than 6mb bc of discord)

im not saying shit just to say shit ive created so much fucking art but im not gonna keep doing it for people who are unappreciative. like i said before, we dont stick around when we r being mistreated why should we? its your role as a fucking white person to not make everything about yourself when a show is literally not made for you. its a love letter to black people and somehow yall still make that shit about yourselves. but sure go be a keyboard warrior and make more poc feel like shit amirite?

youre ignorant for thinking this way and your behavior is literally the perfect example of what happens when god forbid we speak up about unfair shit. stop being part of the fucking problem and listen for once in your life when we finally have the courage to call that shit out

i speak from experience

[ao3feed-chaleigh]

Save Your Strength and Run the Field You Play Alone

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/aD8X6dq

by awkwardCerberus

Hercules Hansen doesn't break his arm and he and Chuck both pilot Striker Eureka to close the breach. They both survive, but not in the strictest sense. Herc makes the last second decision to save his son, Striker Eureka makes the last second decision to try and save Herc.

Chuck comes out alive, minus some broken bones. Herc...he survives, technically. Not in the way anyone thought.

--

TW the second chapter will contain parental death and the decision to remove a loved one from life support! Please read at your own discretion.

Words: 15758, Chapters: 1/2, Language: English

Fandoms: Pacific Rim (Movies)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Major Character Death

Categories: M/M, Gen

Characters: Raleigh Becket, Chuck Hansen, Hercules Hansen, Mako Mori

Relationships: Raleigh Becket/Chuck Hansen, Chuck Hansen & Mako Mori, Raleigh Becket & Mako Mori, Chuck Hansen & Hercules Hansen

Additional Tags: everyone else is background - Freeform, raleigh and mako are platonic in this, Chuck Hansen Lives, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Operation Pitfall (Pacific Rim), Loss of Parent(s), chuck is not a perfect son, im gonna make it real sad so plz look out for yourselves, Explicit Language, chuck cusses A LOT, stg every other word is fuck, misuse of australian slang, bc im american and i googled everything, Medical Inaccuracies, im not a dr im an art major dammit, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Coping, Slow Burn, except i feel like im bad at writing it, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, but not really bc theyre not like enemies enemies, tentative friends to lovers?, Wakes & Funerals, i gave chuck emotions bc i like his character and he deserved more

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/aD8X6dq

[dirhwangdaseul-archived]

a rant

man y'all lead some real weird boring ivory tower lives with very little thought into your morality like very superficial morals really, i always knew the bl fandom was like that to more often than not the point of amorality with how easy they participate in certain dynamics supposedly in the name of fiction and romance, a conversation for another day like you ever think you could have more out of the text you're being given? cause man every damn time there's a bl with a dynamic of power that involves labor, consent is never part of the conversation, like is it even possible for palm to consent, is it even sth they can call part of the reality of the couple's love with how much the world is gonna try to tear palm and nuengdiao apart, like how does the commentary on labor escape the discussion of the messages of the series proper of what that means for two people to have to participate in said dynamics by force with one being less in the eyes of an empire than that of the king he protects... nor is it participant in the conversation what it means for a character to diminish themselves for the hierarchy of that empire which is maintained through the power money entails like ever, and being quite honest it's not isolated to bl using this kind of setting that this happens, years of romance exist before yaoi, where bl has its roots and which ofc simply borrows from straight romance things we still see in the feminization of one side of the couple but also a conversation for another day...

like, this all to say that i saw someone call nueng's mom a good mother in the tags man and i had a moment of why are stories never understood to be the sum of its parts rather than one isolated moment, and i really had to double check it was the actual never let me go tag because i don't think we're watching the same show people, i think you're showing how much you have sold yourselves to romanticizing capitalism and the hierarchies it creates to the extent you don't see or think about what it really means for palm to have to become subservient to someone else's literal life, to have to give up his life because another's is being held above his own, that palm knows that he will always be less than nueng whether nueng wants to accept the circumstances of their reality or not, and that nueng keeps wilfully ignoring it.

that this has been plotted by their parents together escapes you in its full magnitude like so much of what palm's dad does to palm flows from tanya, just because she's warm to nueng while she tells him that his life and worth are forever tied to an empire that has taken over the lands and livelihoods of thousands of people? it doesn't erase the weight of her entitlement, control, and thus her power, and that instead of creating trust in her own family, she decides to burn all bridges to isolate nuengdiao while also pronouncing the treatment of palm as a servant like i don't know where to fault the writers and where to fault the character because i believe a good dose of self awareness would serve either in trying to convince me and palm that his life is worth less than the money that is gonna be given to his father or to him before palm indeed has to die for nueng like if he turns i won't wonder why because idc there's no universe in which one life can be traded for some capitalist bitch's ambitions, this isn't even the mafia which entails cult like understanding as well of a rough world and trading one's life for some fucked up higher purpose, and like even there it's some sick shit to feed romance, like tbh the world has to justify it for me at least, but there the violence of what they have created justifies in some level laying one life for another person like the understanding of that higher purpose, but here for nueng and palm, here where money is so visible as the root of despair and separation.... palm doesn't get to have that fucking luxury, not in this story, he's falling for the charm of his charge, sadly, the romance is there for him baiting his very innocent understanding of life, how could it not bloom and be in him in such fucked up circumstances where nothing yields love for him, and yet, yet a part of him screams... servant... for he understands his degradation whether nueng sees it yet or not

SERVANT... one of the two in this sweet sweet sweet couple is dehumanizing himself in the performance of his labor AND the romance being joined together, his worth is tied to someone that sees him from the outside, but who chooses to obscure his eyes to who he really is, like again this is part of this supposed romance, palm's participating happily in his own dehumanization and somehow i'm meant to find the romance in how little control palm seems to have of his life and how much the creation of meaning is coming from nueng like it's insane how this commentary is there, the creation of a soulmate of a sick and twisted fairytale, and yet i do see some of you acting like the divine right of kings when it comes to nueng's position and his blindness towards that power, and just because tanya sells it with a warm smile and kind words doesn't make the destruction of land or the dehumanization of her workforce any less fucked up, tanya accepted her son, good for her, that should be the norm make no fucking mistake tho, but honestly let's go back to thinking into the fucking structure of the story, what choice does she has anyway i wonder???? when she has denied other families into her own, when she has denied her own family, so now even a tension now runs between chopper and nuengdiao over it, tanya is not a good mother, and honestly with the way the grayness of the show and jojo tichakorn's other works usually go....

i would just stop trying to categorize the characters as good or bad if you even believe there's such a way to see people in general, cause man live long enough to know you get the chances to be all, and like that's what gets me about fandom and stories like this, since for example where your eyes linger which clearly laid out freedom as the only means for this romance to work with a happy ending and not some romanticized worker abuse and people still preferred the power dynamic to thrive over getting to a moment in which both characters could consent freely in their meeting, and like i wish we actually got a better characterization for palm till this week when maggie stepped in finally to talk some sense into him because boy was he just reacting to everything only and he keeps falling for the beauty of his charge without caring for himself, like with all the messages of anti capitalism id expect a more critical view of the levels of the relationships and what their carefully crafted images present to us that's all like that's all im saying, my thoughts in the end but honestly i just don't believe tanya to be a good woman, she's just warm and kind in her life, but that hides how much she and her husband fucked up and are leaving an empire of shit to nuengdiao, i honestly hope he and palm get out, but most importantly i want nuengdiao to wake up to the fucked up amount of power he has, like for once i'd also like the writers to take this shit seriously if they're also gonna refer to real world politics...

[ao3feed-ateez]

I Can Buy Myself Coffee

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/51AIRQj by johnthegryffindor, Pardy_Parderson Fairy lights adorned the window frames and the ceiling was well hidden between all the flowers and plants of Seonghwa’s soon-to-be newly opened flower shop. The fact that a small coffee shop was right across the street from his shop just made everything even better. Wooyoung looked up from his current task of wiping one of the smaller tables and looked up at his new customer. If a man could look like an angel, this was it, this was that man. His features were soft but strong, he was elegant, cute, gorgeous, and his voice… His voice. “What?” Wooyoung said quickly, he had been so far gone he hadn’t picked up on what the other had said at all. Oh no, this was gonna be a problem. - aka - Two neighbouring shop owners are struggling to find love because they are dumb. Words: 2677, Chapters: 2/?, Language: English Fandoms: ATEEZ (Band) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: ATEEZ Ensemble, Jung Wooyoung (ATEEZ), Park Seonghwa, Song Mingi (ATEEZ), Choi San (ATEEZ), Kang Yeosang, Choi Jongho (ATEEZ), Jeong Yunho (ATEEZ) Relationships: Jung Wooyoung/Park Seonghwa Additional Tags: flowershop au, Coffeeshop AU, Seonghwa/Wooyoung, ateez ensemble - Freeform, Wooyoung the Dramaqueen, Seonghwa the Overthinker, Seonghwa is in denial, Wooyoung is a workaholic, they should just take a break honestly, Screen Reader Friendly, all of them are dumb, Mingi likes to get roasted, Jongho is a menace, light swearing (fuck), Drama, Fluff, Romance, Strangers to Lovers, Falling In Love, Opposites Attract, horrible flirting, Lots of blushing, just let them eat cake, sorry Yunho, he deserved better, he’s with us in our hearts, Yeosang literal loml, San should just open a bakery fr, Hongjoong is the loveliest grandson, there is some alcohol, rated T for alcohol and swearing, get yourselves friends that will treat you like shit (lovingly) read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/51AIRQj

[kermit-the-hag]

I posted 13,673 times in 2022

That's 12,481 more posts than 2021!

245 posts created (2%)

13,428 posts reblogged (98%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@justaleapoffaith

@bob-belcher

@winter-seance

@divineandmajesticinone

I tagged 1,222 of my posts in 2022

#stranger things - 267 posts

#steve harrington - 200 posts

#eddie munson - 194 posts

#steddie - 183 posts

#stranger things meme - 151 posts

#incorrect stranger things quotes - 125 posts

#fruity four - 93 posts

#robin buckley - 89 posts

#mcr - 85 posts

#nancy wheeler - 47 posts

Longest Tag: 134 characters

#ihave to tag because some people i genuinely love are anti-steddie and don't like the fandom and it makes me sad but i also understand

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Spicy Six as Troubled Birds

3,159 notes - Posted October 4, 2022

#4

[Helping Eddie move out of his trailer]

Nancy: Okay, Robin can make boxes, Eddie can wrap, and Steve can lift. Now, Eddie, go tell the kids they have to help out. Thank you.

[Eddie runs into the living room where the kids are]

Eddie: Hurry! Nancy’s gonna make you pack. She's got jobs for everyone. It's too late for me, but save yourselves!

7,218 notes - Posted September 10, 2022

#3

Steve: [Gently taps table]

Robin: [Taps back]

Eddie: What are they doing?

Nancy: Morse code.

Steve: [Aggressively taps table]

Robin: [Slams hands down] YOU TAKE THAT BACK-

9,638 notes - Posted September 5, 2022

#2

Robin: What if Mike was short for micycle?

Steve: Every now and then someone says something cursed that gets stuck in my damn head. This is it. I'm never going to be free of micycle.

Eddie: What if bike was short for Bichael?

Nancy: Oh my God there's two of them

9,734 notes - Posted August 22, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Inspired by this hilarious post from @eerielake

12,940 notes - Posted September 19, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[missmaywemeetagain]

Pink Scarf - PART 17 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)

Prompt: You are part of Elvis Presley's coveted inner circle, and the currently-disgruntled wife of one of the members of Elvis' famous entourage, the Memphis Mafia. After Elvis' dynamite first performance in Vegas, you find yourself in deep water when his magnetism finally gets to you after all these years.  [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: SEXXX. Verbal Abuse. Assault, both sexual and physical. Blood. Violence. ANGST. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.  

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)        ||     Word Count: 10k

A/N: PREPARE YOURSELVES, cuz this is an INTENSE roller coaster ride, y'all. Also, PLEASE READ THE TRIGGER WARNINGS. I'm not gonna say much else, other than this is a beast and I cannot wait to hear the unhinged responses after. And thank you for your patience!

As always, to all my babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL and your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments you've given me have been a blessing beyond expression. You all are the best community a writer could ask for! Thank you so much for your support. I am loving getting to know y'all better! I love every single reaction and comment and ask, and I'm sorry if I don't get back to them all as soon as I'd like but know that I love you all and am so excited to be making new friends! And a big "Hey, Y'all!" to our friends from Elvis Twitter, Elvis Discord, and Elvis Instagram--I see and appreciate you coming over to join us! 👀💋

If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks)! I think I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues or if I missed anyone. There seem to be some issues with tagging that I can't seem to fix, so please know I'm not leaving you out intentionally! Also, if you comment on a previous part that you want to be tagged, I might not always see it, so feel free to message me if I miss you!

I imagined this with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat! 

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch. 

(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my long-neglected AO3 account (which some of you already discovered!), so if you are so inclined, you can check it out over there!)

“You need me?” you question him, honestly taken aback by the sentiment, even though he has said it before. It’s just still so hard for you to believe that a man like this needs a woman like you. Running your fingers through the soft, damp hair at the nape of his neck, you look at him with wide eyes.

“Yeah, baby, I do. I really do,” Elvis says, wrapping his arms tight around you and pulling you close. His head buries in your neck, in your hair, breathing you in.

“Show me,” you whisper in his ear, surprised by your own boldness. But his declarations have you some kind of way and that coil is still like hot coals smoldering in your belly. You feel his body stiffen against you, knowing that he is even more stubborn than you and doesn’t want to give in to you just yet.

You run your hands over his exposed chest and under the deep V of the fabric, grazing over his nipple with your fingernails. He twitches and jumps under your touch, despite his efforts to stay neutral.

“I need you,” you breathe, pitching your voice up the slightest bit as you look into his eyes. And you do. You desperately need him, in every way. If you could crawl inside of him, you would. You need to believe his promises are true, that he will take care of you and be everything you need. You need him to show you.

This must read on your face, because he cannot seem to mask his response this time, his azure eyes widening and pupils dilating.

“Take care of me,” you say, your voice nearly a whine.

That’s the ticket. “Fuck, okay…yeah, let me take care of ya,” Elvis breathes in your mouth as his lips find yours, your sins forgotten for the moment, if not forgiven completely. His lips devour yours and your hands can’t get enough of him, starved from before when he had you tied up. They roam over his chest, wind around his neck and into his hair before scraping down his back and clawing at his waist.

Elvis pulls back for a moment and surveys the space in the room. You can see his wheels turning, then how his lips curve up in a smile as he figures out how he wants you. He leaves you hanging for a moment as he pulls a chair right in front of a huge, floor length mirror. Sitting in the chair, his legs spread wide, he beckons you to him.

“Come sit on my lap, baby,” he purrs at you, and you immediately obey, settling on one of his strong thighs and burying your head into that deliciously long neck of his. The salt of his sweat stains your lips. His strong scent surrounds you, magnifying your need for him. You suddenly feel very small in his arms in addition to that need. He seems to sense this, letting you first cuddle into him a bit before winding his large hand below your jaw and peppering kisses down your neck.

“Gonna be a good girl and do as I tell ya?” Elvis asks, his voice low and gravely as he grabs your chin.

You nod. He truly fucked the fight right out of you before, over there against the wall.

“That’s my girl. Now turn and face the mirror for me,” he says, guiding your hips to swivel in his lap. He pulls your dress up and over your waist, leaving you in your lacy panties. You feel a little self-conscious looking at yourself perched on his lap like this, your cheeks a flaming shade of red. You are very close to the mirror, too close. But you watch as your eyes go wide when he grabs your inner thighs, spreading them open with his large hands while sliding his strong thighs in between to keep yours apart.

The lacy fabric of your already-soaked underwear strains as he massages your legs from your knees to your hips. The groping shoots fire through you and you press back into his lap, encouraging him to continue. When he ghosts over your core, it steals your breath away, and you are so incredibly ready for whatever he has to give you.

“Let get these off,” he says, tapping your clit over your panties and causing you to jump with the sensation. Nearly frantic, you shuck them down and off with lightning speed, along with your heels. Elvis chuckles, spreading you open even further when you sit back in his lap. Your muscles strain with the stretch, but you don’t care.

“Be a good girl and put your feet up on the mirror for me,” he instructs, and albeit confused, you do as you’re told. “Nice and wide for me, honey. Yeah, just like that.” He scoots your hips down a bit as you adjust and cradles your upper body with his, his head resting over your shoulder, looking at you both in the mirror. You are completely exposed and utterly vulnerable before him once again.

“Now look at that,” he breathes almost reverently, “You’re stunning, in every way.” You both watch in the mirror as he runs his fingers down your face, your jaw, then over your body. You shiver in his lap, earning his famous lopsided smile in return.

Elvis gets more serious as his fingers reach your core. “But ain’t this the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen,” he whispers in your ear, running his pointer finger ever-so-lightly over your folds as you watch. The combination of sensation and the visual you are not used to seeing has you squirming in his lap, aching. He locks his other arm around your pelvis, pressing you against him and immobilizing you.

“Be good, baby. You promised,” he says in your ear, and you watch yourself nod furiously, stilling. He commences his lecture. “I wantcha to see what I see, baby. Look at how pretty and red you are for me like this, all slick and swollen and needy,” he says, watching intently, hungrily, as his finger grazes your lower lips, up one side and down the other. You whine and grip his arm for purchase, feeling like he is calling all the blood in your body to gather in your cunt. It feels heavy and pulsing, burning with need for him.

Elvis brushes up to your clit. “Hmm, one of my favorite little spots,” he hums, circling it softly, making you keen as you lean back into him. Then, obscenely, he uses his first two fingers to spread your lips apart. “Christ, baby, look at that,” he says, voice filled with lust and awe, “You’re fuckin’ weeping for me.”

Your eyes travel down to your exposed hole, and sure enough, you are literally dripping with arousal, both yours and his. It glistens as it gathers, a slow, eager little drop sliding out. You cannot stifle the low moan that escapes your lips at the erotic nature of this little show, your pussy buzzing with heat and want, on display for all to see.

Elvis senses you need more, and he lets your folds wrap around his long middle finger, dragging it up and down through your slick as you watch.

“Oh, god,” you sigh, thankful for the friction, your hips automatically rolling for him.

“Touch yourself, baby. Don’t worry, I’ll help you,” he says, moving your hand over your mound and guiding your fingers in slow circles over your clit before he returns to rubbing in between your slick lower lips. The wonderful combination makes your eyes flutter closed and your head fall back onto his shoulder.

“Nuh uh! Eyes open!” Elvis nudges you, and your eyes pop open. “I want you to watch yourself come, baby. I need you to see what I see.” He smiles, and it’s almost boyish in its mischievousness.

It’s not going to take much, considering how primed that coil was before you even sat down, and how strangely erotic this whole scene is. How it’s making you feel lightheaded and buzzy and hot all over. You begin to work your clit furiously, watching as Elvis runs his fingers over then through your sopping, swollen folds. When he dips one long finger, then another into your weeping hole while you watch, the string of curses that leaves your lips is utterly filthy.

Your senses are overloading, which you imagine was his intention. The sight of you swallowing his fingers so needily, so readily, your arousal shining, the wet suckling sound coming from your cunt as he expertly works his fingers in and out of you pushes you headlong to the edge. Coupled with this and your barrage on your clit, you hit your climax hard with a loud cry, pressing your heels into the mirror with such force, you’re afraid you might crack it.

“Look, look, look, baby,” he pants, forcing your focus back to him, back to what he’s doing to you. “Look at how you flutter around me!” He’s right; you watch, mesmerized as your hole clenches at his fingers through your orgasm, and fuck if that isn’t amazingly hot.

You whimper at the sight, shuddering and panting at the exertion. He chooses that moment to curl his fingers, pressing that special spot inside you that is only his, and another wave of pleasure shoots through you so strongly that you lose your breath. You crest the hill again, stars shooting through you, forgetting that you ever came here to break this off, to run away from him.

There is a wild, desperate look in your eyes that you’ve never seen before as you writhe against him in your ecstasy, keeping you fucking down onto his fingers even though you are sore from before. You can’t stop the waves that keep crashing over you, engulfing every inch of you as you watch it happen before your eyes.

And Elvis looks gorgeous, those blue eyes flashing with his magnetic sexual energy, his pouty lips open and pink and panting right along with you. He is hard again, his length pressing into your spine through his suit as you furiously roll on his fingers, and you can feel him begin to shudder underneath you. You know he gets off on watching and this is quite the show. You rock your hips more deliberately now, feeling the length of him slide between your ass cheeks, and he groans.

“Am I gonna make you come in your pants, E? Gonna make a mess for me?” you mewl seductively, wanting to push him over the edge, too. “You like watching me get off on your fingers, don’t you?”

“Jesus, baby, yes,” he moans, “but I need to watch you come again. Come with me, honey.”

You’re not sure you can. You are overstimulated and over stretched and near hysterical with pleasure. Your heart is thrumming so fast you can barely breathe.

“You can do it. I’ve got you. Let me take care of you, baby. Watch me take care of you,” he pants heavy in your ear, his eyes glassy, unable to take his eyes off your pussy. He moves his hips in tandem with yours now, then without warning, slides a third finger inside you.

Your eyes are glued to the mirror, seeing just how well you take him. You automatically adjust to him, and he works you as only he knows how. You work your clit and grit your teeth as you feel that coil poised to spring again.

“E-El-El-vis…F-f-fuckkk!” you cry breathlessly, coming completely undone around him again.

“Oh, fuck, honey…GodDAMN!” he groans into you simultaneously as he slams his hips up with a violent shudder that matches your own. You can feel the heat pulse under you, dampening the fabric of his suit.

But you continue to shake and shiver on top of him, your orgasm ripping through you, stealing everything you have left, draining every ounce of energy from your reserves, which isn’t much considering the insanity of the last 24 hours. You sense much too late that your body cannot keep up. Your heart is too fast, your breathing too labored, and your muscles too weak.

You shouldn’t be surprised, then, when your body goes limp, the blood drains from your head with a cold rush, and the world goes dim and then black.

*

“Y/n! Y/n! Jesus, Satnin, c-come on baby, w-w-wake up!” you hear Elvis’ panicked voice from far away, but you are so very tired and just want to sleep, thinking maybe it’s a dream.

…no, no! Oh, God, don’t—please don’t go. I-I lo…The faraway echo of long-ago words in this too familiar panicked voice fades away like a dream. You slip back into darkness.

It’s the piercing fear in his voice when he calls your name again that has you finally coming back into yourself. You blink a few times, willing the world to come back into focus, confused.

“O-oh, shit. Oh, t-thank God,” Elvis breathes. He is right above you, his eyes bright and flooded with fear, near tears.

“Wh—what happened?” you murmur, feeling buzzy and strange, and like things aren’t moving fast enough.

“You scared the shit outta me is w-what happened!” he looks down at you, now placed on the couch, his eyes quickly shifting from fear to anger. “You—you just fuckin’ collapsed!”

Your eyebrows furrow as you try to remember what happened. You’d come here to break up with him, to tell him you were leaving…then you argued. Then you fucked. The mirror.

Oh, god, had you passed out from coming too hard?

You start to giggle at that, uncontrollably.

“Baby, what the fuck? It’s not fuckin’ funny!” Elvis fumes, leaning over you.

That just makes you laugh more. “I came…s-so h-hard I p-passed out!” you hiccup out.

“That’s not normal!” he cries, throwing his hands up in the air.

Another peal of laughter at the absurdity of it rolls through you. He’s not wrong, but whatever is happening to you seems to be overpowering your sense of self-control.

“Are you on something?” he asks suddenly, grabbing your jaw to get you to focus. He looks over you carefully and then a flash of horror comes over him at what you assume is the thought that he’s somehow taken advantage of you.

“N-no, of course not,” you finally manage to get out. You are shivering now though, and suddenly freezing. “S-something’s not r-right,” you finally chatter out.

“No shit,” Elvis mumbles, eyes narrowed, obviously trying to figure out what’s wrong with you. “Baby, when was the last time you ate?” he asks.

You blink at that, trying to run through the last day in your mind, but all the days have been running together. You honestly don’t know.

“I-It’s been at least a day, I think,” you finally eek out. “Maybe l-longer?”

“’Maybe longer?’ Goddammit, y/n, you can’t just go without fuckin’ eating!” he yells, getting up from the couch and storming over to the phone at the other end of the room. You hear him ordering someone to bring food immediately as you attempt to sit up, but your dizziness has you lying back down quickly.

Yeah, well, maybe if I wasn’t in a constant swarm of emotional and physical upheaval for the last week, I would remember to eat, but who’s fault is that?

Elvis slams down the phone and paces back over to you. “When was the last time you slept, y/n?” he angrily asks now, his eyes a churning gray-blue, as he pulls your dress down modestly and throws one of his plush robes over you.

“Um, on the r-roof,” you get out.

“Christ, that was barely sleep,” he mumbles, obviously frustrated as he continues to pace the room. “You have to take better care of yourself, y/n!” he erupts.  

You recoil a bit but are touched by his anger, knowing it is fueled by concern. But you are also annoyed because it isn’t all your fault.

“Well, I’ve been a b-bit busy,” you manage.

“Not that fuckin’ busy!”

He’s not getting it. You shake your head, tears coming to your eyes.

“Th-this is part of the problem, E. I’ve been burning the candle at both ends, I’ve been so s-stressed, I don’t know which way is up…” you shiver out.

He halts. Your words must be sinking in because the blood drains from his face and you’re suddenly afraid he might pass out.

“This is because of me,” he finally says. The way he phrases it, you’re not sure if it’s a question or statement.

“It’s not—” you start, not wanting him to spiral more than he already is.

“Goddammit, you’ve been tellin’ me you’re strugglin’, and I been yammerin’ at you to trust me to take care of you and then I did the opposite. Shit,” he curses. “I’m so sorry, baby.” Elvis deflates onto the couch next to you and pulls you into his arms, kissing your forehead, your cheeks, your eyelids.

You are too tired to respond other than to brush the errant tear that runs down his cheek with your thumb. You wish you could see this sensitive side of him more often.

“Okay, here’s what’s gonna happen: I’m gonna get some food in ya, then I’m sending Jerry with you upstairs so you can rest—”

You open your mouth to argue.

“There’ll be none of that,” he hushes you. “There’s no way you’re doin’ the show tonight. And Jerry’ll get you woken up before we come up after the show, and everybody’ll be none the wiser.” He gives you a stern look.

There’s no point in fighting him or telling him how his plan could go wrong. You’re still confused exactly how things with Jack are going to be handled or if anything Elvis said while fucking your brains out earlier was going to come to fruition, but you’re not in the frame of mind to try and solve that this minute. So instead you just nod.

The food comes, somehow all of your favorites. He knows my favorite foods? runs through your mind, but you are too hungry to dwell on it. Then, as he instructed, you head upstairs with Jerry, who without judgement, sends you into Elvis’ suite to rest. You think your mind won’t possibly let you sleep, but between the food and your exhaustion, you drift off before your head hits the pillow.

*

Circle G Ranch, February 1967

You wake up early, your eyes blinking out the dull winter morning light streaming through the window. Well, it’s not early for normal standards, but in Elvis’ world, most haven’t even gone to bed yet, you think, looking at the clock. You being awake now is likely due to the fact you couldn’t keep up with the partying last night and had excused yourself much sooner than usual to go to bed.

It takes you a moment to realize where you are. Being at Elvis’ newly acquired ranch in Mississippi has been a welcome change of scenery yet is still a little disorienting. You are used to Memphis, and even occasionally California, but this place is new for you all.

Completely dissatisfied and not having any semblance of control with his career, Elvis recently decided that he wanted a place in the country, a place where they could all come to relax and ride the horses he’d bought for all the men and their wives. A place where they could work the land and have a little fun. And you wonder if he just wanted to feel a little normal for once, thinking that a ranch would do that for him, that it could give him the control he so desperately craved. That maybe it might bring him some of that happiness and zest for life that had been bled out of him for all these years, turning him into someone you barely recognized.

So, Circle G Ranch was purchased, and you’d all arrived to take in its splendor and fresh air. And it was working. Elvis seemed happier here than he’d been in a very long time, the sparkle beginning to return in those expressive eyes of his. And when Elvis was happy, everyone else was allowed to be happy too, theoretically.

You think maybe all that horseback riding and fresh air is part of the reason you were so tired last night. Turning over, you notice that Jack hasn’t come to bed. Your heart sinks, though out here in the middle of the country, it’s not like he can get in too much trouble. It’s just likely the guys are still awake.

Either way, there is an emptiness in your chest that misses your husband. Each time he leaves with Elvis, less of the man you knew returns. You are hoping that some leisure time on the ranch will help him, too. There is less temptation out here, and more opportunities for you two to spend time together.

Unfortunately, he has not been very receptive to that so far, opting to hang with the guys more than you. But considering that he has been drinking more, part of you is glad for it. If the last couple of years have shown you anything, it’s that Jack is a mean drunk, just like his father.

With that thought, you decide to get up instead of dwelling on things you cannot change. As you get dressed, you hear the door of the trailer slam.

“Jack? Is that you?”

“Who else would it be?” he replies belligerently. The tone of his voice tells you immediately all you need to know. Your heart speeds up as a warning discomfort blooms in your chest. You steel yourself before walking out into the living area.

“Morning, sweetie. Want me to make you some breakfast?” you ask in a light and easy voice. If nothing else, food might help sober him some.

Jack’s response is a grunt in the affirmative, and then he shoots you a glare, his brown eyes dull but cutting all the same. You have no idea what you may have done to upset him, but he is obviously not happy with you. The tightness in your chest increases and you force a smile, not wanting to set him off. If you act like everything is fine, he might forget what is bothering him. It happens that way sometimes and is generally the best-case scenario when he’s like this.

“Okay, I’ll get that started,” you smile, and he settles with a huff on the couch. Scurrying off to the kitchen, your smile falls and you get to cooking as quickly as possible. Steak and eggs, you think. That’s his favorite and will help clear his head.

Your mind races as you cook, trying to find a reason for his ire. You dissect every moment from the day and night before but cannot pinpoint anything in particular that you might have done to make him upset. This has you feeling uneasy, on eggshells. If you knew what you’d done, you could apologize and make up for it before things get out of hand, but it occurs to you that he might be too far gone for that anyway.

Lost in your thoughts, it takes until you smell the meat smoking to realize you may have cooked it too long. You are hoping he is too drunk to notice. With renewed focus, you plate your breakfasts and walk to the tiny table.

“Soup’s on, babe!” you say in a cheerful sing-song voice. Part of you cringes inside to hear yourself like this.

He grunts off the sofa and stumbles to the table, plopping down with a screech of the chair. You keep yourself from wincing at the sound, wanting to stay as sunny as possible as you begin to cut into the meat. You’re unable to keep from looking up at him to check his body language, his affect, as he begins shoveling eggs and toast into his mouth without so much as a word to you.

You pick at your own breakfast, your appetite low because you feel so on edge. You can sense the tension in the room and know better than to speak at this point.

“What the fuck is this?” Jack grumbles, throwing his knife and fork clattering onto the plate.

You look up quickly, your heartbeat skipping. He’s fuming now, his eyes bloodshot and narrowed at you, his scar an angry red with the flush on his cheeks. You don’t have time to piece together whatever has happened before he continues, his voice shaking low with anger.

“First, you embarrass me by taking off in the middle of everyone having a good time last night. Everybody asking, ‘What’s wrong with her, is she okay?’ blah, blah, blah,” he says with a mocking venom that sends a chill right down your spine. “And now you can’t even make me a decent breakfast. Can’t even get that right,” he growls, pounding on the table.

The table rattles and you start to shake a little, frozen to the spot. You realize that maybe Jack is more than just drunk, that maybe he took something on top of it that has him worse than usual.

“I…I’m sorry, I was just tired from all the activity yesterday, and I can make you a new—” you sputter out quickly, but still unable to move, trapped in his furious gaze.

“I don’t wanna hear your fuckin’ excuses, you stupid bitch!” he screams, exploding out of his seat, the chair toppling over behind him with a clatter. “What I want is a fuckin’ steak that’s not cooked to death!” he roars, then picks up his plate and hurls it over the table near your head. You barely have time to register what’s happening, leaning out of the way at the last second on pure instinct, and the plate careens into the wall behind you with a crash, sending food and ceramic flying everywhere.

Your brain misfires and your heart leaps to your throat, the terror in your veins pulsing through you so intensely that all you can do is turn and run. You have to escape because you don’t know what he’s gonna do, he’s never thrown anything at you before, and he’s yelled, yes, but not done anything to hurt you, and oh, god, you have to get out, get out, GET OUT.

You fly past Jack, his rage too consuming and his senses too dull to catch you as you go, and you are out the door of the trailer in a flash, not stopping to see if he’s following you. No, all you can think is you have to get away, you have to escape, and you fly through the rows of trailers housing the other men and their wives. Your heart slams against your ribcage, fueling your body forward as you sprint down the dirt road towards the barn in the distance. Your socks stick to the cold ground as you run but you don’t care—all you need is to get to the horses. You’re not sure why, but you just know that if you can get to the horses, you’ll be safe.

You run and run, only hearing the crash of the plate in your ear, feeling the splatter as it shatters behind you. Only hearing Jack’s screams, “You stupid bitch! You stupid bitch!” You don’t even register the tears burning down your cheeks as you finally reach the barn, flinging open the door with what little strength you have left and frantically looking in the stalls for the horse that Elvis gave you.

Moonbeam. You finally see her near the other end of the barn, her gray and white coloring standing out in the sea of darker equines. You skid to a stop in front of her. Knowingly, as if she can sense your distress and your need for her large, calming presence, she turns and pokes her head out of the stall, nuzzling your tear-stained face.

“Oh. Oh,” you gasp, completely out of breath from the exertion. You cling onto Moonbeam’s strong neck, her coat soft and warm under your shaking arms. Your chest heaves, desperately trying to take in air. If you could, you would jump right on Moonbeam’s back and ride as fast and as far as you can, but she is not saddled, and you have no idea how to get her ready.

The light tap on your shoulder sends you flailing into the stall door with a shriek.

He’s found me he’s found me he’s found me, is all that runs through your head, though if you were anywhere near logical, you’d know that Jack was in no state to chase you all the way to the barn.

“Hey! Hey, y/n, it’s okay! Honey, it’s just me!” You turn toward the warm, familiar voice and are met with concerned deep blue eyes, a far cry from Jack’s bloodshot and brown glaring ones.

“Oh,” is all you can manage to huff out as you look at Elvis, your muscles starting to burn and shake. Your heart is still beating too fast.

“Are you okay? What the hell happened?” Elvis says worriedly but gently, looking over you, seeming to sense how on edge you are. He goes to touch your shoulder, but you reflexively shirk backwards, knocking your elbow into the door with a thud. He quickly backs away a step, putting his hands up in a non-threatening way.

You suddenly slam into the present moment, realizing that you must look insane. Your hair is windblown, you are makeup-less with tears streaking down your face. It’s the dead of winter and you are without a coat or shoes, your socks dirty and torn and bloody from your sprint. You have food splattered down your left side, and you are gasping for air like you’re drowning.

“Y/n, I need you to tell me if you’re okay,” Elvis says, quiet and calm, as if talking to a spooked horse.

You glance over his shoulder, suddenly afraid that Jack could stumble through the barn door at any moment. Wide-eyed and frantic, you look back at Elvis. You realize he’s between you and the door and that gives you some comfort. Jack would have to get through Elvis to get to you, and while you know you’re not in your right mind, you are completely certain that Elvis wouldn’t let Jack hurt you.

With this relieving thought and your adrenaline beginning to wane, you suddenly feel extraordinarily tired as well as embarrassed that Elvis is seeing you like this. You realize he’s waiting for an answer, but you cannot speak. You don’t want to bother Elvis with any of this, so you nod your head, bobbing it up and down quickly.

Elvis tilts his head and looks at you perceptively. Of course you’re not okay, and Elvis reads it all over your face and appearance. You finally give up under his watchful gaze, shaking your head. It falls back against the door behind you, and you choke back a sob. Your exhausted body shakes with cold and the remnants of your fear, and you slide down the door, unable to support yourself any longer.

“Oh, shit, okay. Honey, it’s okay,” Elvis coos at you, stepping quickly to your side but not wanting to touch you and invade your space, lest you freak out again. Instead, he slides down the door with you, letting you lean into him for support. And you do. As you reach the cold, straw-covered ground, you lean your head onto his shoulder, his warmth radiating comfortingly into your side. You begin to shiver.

“Here, baby,” he says, taking off his thick coat and wrapping it around your shoulders. Immediately, you feel calmer, as the heat and his distinctly Elvis scent of musk and Old Spice, coupled with the woodsmoke from last night’s campfire surrounds you like a blanket.

You both sit in silence for a while as your body comes back down from the fear of Jack’s outburst. He’s yelled at you before, even called you names, but he’d never gotten so close to actually physically hurting you.

He must’ve been on something, you think. Jack would never hurt me.

I should’ve been more careful with the breakfast. I should’ve paid more attention. I should’ve stayed up last night with him. The thoughts run through your head, as though if you examine them enough, you can possibly avoid setting him off in the future.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Elvis asks quietly, sensing the wheels turning in your head as only he can.

Humiliated, you shake your head vehemently. Elvis does not need to know the specifics of your marriage. He does not need to know of your failures.

But part of you wants to tell him he’s created a monster.

Without Elvis, Jack might never have gone into the bottle. Without Elvis, he wouldn’t be taking other shit that makes him fly off the handle at any moment. Without Elvis, without Elvis, without Elvis…

You are too exhausted for blame and anger right now, though, so you bury it instead. It is what it is.

Elvis doesn’t push you, though you can tell he wants to know everything. You can practically feel that he’s quelling some deep instinct to protect you, his muscles tensing and releasing, his jaw working. But maybe he begins to piece it all together himself because he remains quiet. You are safe now, and that’s what matters, right?

And perhaps it is your heightened emotions, but you suddenly crave the nearness of the man who used to be your best friend. The man that, for reasons you don’t entirely understand, time and circumstance somehow stole from you when you weren’t looking.

So you lean into him, into his strength and sensitivity and his unique power to draw you to him, even when part of you wants to blame him for everything. Even after all these years of confusing behavior and emotional distance, you can’t begin to imagine your world without Elvis Presley in it.

And now you sit here on the cold floor of a horse barn in the middle of the Mississippi countryside in the dead of winter, wondering how in the hell your life became this.

*

Jerry wakes you gently with a whisper and a poke on your shoulder but you startle anyway, pulled out of the dream violently with a gasp.

“Sorry, y/n, but everyone is on their way up soon. EP told me to wake you,” he says apologetically.

The room is dark, and you are still exhausted, but you are somewhat grateful to be pulled out of that dream-memory. It leaves a bad taste in your mouth and a sick feeling in your stomach. You can’t help but chastise yourself for letting Jack grovel the way he did after he’d sobered up that day, for how you forgave him so easily because it certainly was not the last time he went crazy like that on you.

“Thank you, Jerry. I’ll be right out,” you say blearily. You blink the sleep from your eyes and stagger into the bathroom to make yourself presentable.

Anger at Jack festers like an open wound, but the dream has also reminded you of your anger towards Elvis about all of it. That makes you feel uneasy, especially coupled with that nagging feeling that he is hiding something from you. You don’t want to feel angry at Elvis, but some of his actions over the years have contributed to your overall dissatisfaction with your life.

You didn’t fully realize until now how upset it had made you that he just stopped being your best friend one day. You still don’t understand all of it, though you feel like these unearthed memories are trying to get you there. But it doesn’t change the fact that both he and Jack abandoned you in different ways. And this pisses you off.

Fucking men, you think, touching up your makeup and straightening your dress. Your unease deepens when you realize you are going to face the group very soon and you have absolutely no idea what Elvis is going to do or even if he will do anything. Is he just going to pull you to his side and tell Jack to go fuck himself? Is he going to act like it never happened at all? You’re not sure which is worse.

Your stomach churns and you desperately need to talk to Elvis before he does something stupid. Panic rises, but you slam it back down, willing yourself to just be normal for the time being.

Be normal. What a laugh. As if any of this is remotely normal.

Steeling yourself, you head out to the living room just as people start walking through the door. Sandy finds you immediately, giving you a concerned and questioning look. You can’t tell if she’s surprised to see you or not, but you turn from her, still annoyed that she ratted you out (even if it was in an attempt to help you).

As the room fills and bustles, something is itching at you, poking at the corners of your mind. You think maybe it is paranoia. It feels as though Red keeps shooting knowing, snide looks your way. You can’t help but examine everyone around you, searching for signs that they know. You squirm in your skin, unable to get comfortable.

It doesn’t help that Jack slides in behind you when you aren’t looking, wrapping his arms around you a little too tight. He reeks of whiskey and cigar smoke so badly you choke. “Where you been, treasure?” Jack asks a little too pointedly, suspiciously, as if he knows something is up. Your heart plummets and you resist the urge to push him away but can’t help but try to worm your way out of his clutches as Elvis strolls in the room.

Elvis’ intense eyes find you immediately, and you watch his jaw clench as he keeps himself in check. You manage to slip out of Jack’s grasp and Elvis relaxes a bit, distracted by one of the guys. It seems like he doesn’t want to make a scene over the two of you in front of the group, which has you breathing a sigh of relief.

What doesn’t have you relieved is that Jack is once again all over you as everyone finds a seat. You feel trapped as the conversation begins to flow, wanting nothing more than to go hide in Elvis’ room, far away from the fumbling hands of your husband. His hands are heavy on you, creeping up your thigh, drawing circles on your shoulder with his fingertips. It used to be a comforting gesture, but now it feels possessive.

He knows. Maybe Red already told him, you panic. Your heart gallops in your chest and you try not to lose it.

No, don’t be an idiot. He wouldn’t be this quiet if he knew, right? Jack is a few drinks in at this point, and the more he drinks, the louder he generally gets. Though based on his hands, you think that he is feeling something else altogether.

You can feel Elvis’ jealous eyes bore on you as Jack touches you, but you are caught between a rock and a hard place. If you shirk your husband’s advances to obviously, it will seem strange and garner attention, but if you don’t, you fear Elvis will give you both away. And you aren’t ready for that, not before the two of you come up with a cohesive plan.

If you are going to leave Jack (no, when you leave Jack, you remind yourself), you certainly don’t want to do it in the middle of an afterparty with the whole gang listening in.

“I’m going to get something to drink,” you finally whisper, excusing yourself with a forced smile, needing to escape Jack’s clutches. “You need anything?” you ask.

“Oh, I need something alright,” Jack breathes sloppily in your ear, attempting to be seductive and failing. But it has an edge to it that worries you.

“You’re hilarious, babe,” you say as sweet as you can while standing to make your escape. Jack takes the moment to grope your ass and you can almost feel the wave of irritation coming off Elvis from across the room. “I’ll get you a drink,” you sputter out, sliding out of Jack’s grasp, shooting Elvis a quick, warning glance to not do anything stupid. Then you scurry away as fast as you can without seeming strange.

Instead of heading to the kitchen, you make a beeline for the bathroom, desperately needing a moment away from all the eyes you feel are on you tonight, wanting things from you that you cannot give.

Fucking men, you think again, closing the door behind you.

To your shock, it doesn’t close. Jack pushes in and your heart drops into your stomach. The look in his dark and muddled eyes bodes nothing good.

“Hey, treasure,” he slurs with that disturbing edge to his voice, grabbing your waist and pulling you in for a sloppy, whisky-tinged kiss. You try rather unsuccessfully to not cringe at the feel of his lips on yours.

Maybe he’s too drunk to notice, you hope.

“I thought you were going to get drinks,” Jack says suspiciously. He locks the door behind you, warning bells exploding in your brain for a multitude of reasons, one being Elvis breaking the door down, another being whatever Jack expects of you.

“I had to pee first, babe,” you say as evenly as possible, “Now get so I can!” You playfully swat him on the shoulder, as you’ve done a million times before in your life together, but this time is different. This time, Jack’s chocolate eyes blacken as he grabs your wrist.

Your breath catches, and your heart starts to speed up as Jack’s hand tightens. “Honey, you’re hurting me. Let go,” you whisper.

His dark eyes rake over your body with what you think is lust, but it is tainted with something frightening. “Oh, I think you came in here because you wanted something else,” he says, backing you into the vanity. “You know, some of the guys are saying that you’re stepping out on me. Can you believe that?” His head buries in your neck, his lips dragging roughly against your skin.

Fucking Red.

“W-What? That’s ridiculous,” you manage to eek out, trying to lean away from his touch, but there is nowhere for you to go. Your heart is in your throat, but before you can say anything else in your defense, he’s changing the subject.

“You’re wearing this scarf again?” Jack questions because it impedes his barrage of his mouth on your neck. He unties it and you watch the pink and black silk flutter to the floor.

“It goes with my outfit,” you reply. You attempt to push him away but get nowhere, his broad chest stubbornly immobile. “Seriously, Jack, I need to pee,” you whine now, hoping that will do the trick. Every nerve in your body is on alert as he kisses your skin, as he presses into you. You can feel the bulge in his pants growing, poking into your pelvis.

Every fiber of your being wants out of this enclosed space, a space that only a moment ago felt like a refuge but now feels like a prison. You don’t want this, and if Elvis finds out, there will be hell to pay. But Jack is too far gone to listen and too strong for you to move.

Jack picks you up easily and places you on the counter, his hands pushing the unyielding fabric of your dress up your thighs so he can spread them open and step between them. It feels cold—nothing like the warmth and passion you felt when Elvis did the same thing earlier.  

“I told ‘em, ‘Not my treasure. She knows her place. Besides, who else would want her anyway?’” he laughs cruelly, grinding into you. The words cut, as he intended, and you become fully aware that you are in trouble. Your stomach rolls, nausea consuming you.

“Jack, seriously, stop it. I don’t want to do this right now. You’re too drunk,” you protest, pushing your palms into his chest to try and put space between you.

But he seems to take your protests as being coy, or perhaps he just doesn’t care, and chuckles darkly into your neck. “Didn’t stop you from sucking my dick the other night.” He lathes his tongue against your collarbone, causing an icy shiver down your spine that he interprets as positive, smiling on your skin. His hands roam to your back and unzip your dress.

You squirm, but it only serves to assist in his attempt to undress you, his hands roughly pulling down your sleeves and bra straps.

He stops abruptly, to your relief. “What are those?” Jack asks, suddenly on edge, his tone changing completely. He pulls back from you and for that you are grateful but confused.

“What’s what?” you reply as he stares at your chest, his eyes narrowing, the lust being replaced fully by anger.  

Jack is on you in a flash, too fast for you to register what’s happening and then he’s yanking down the front of your dress, your bra, exposing your breast.

“Jesus Jack! What are you doing?!” you shriek, trying to pull away as he manhandles you, but you have nowhere to go.

“What the fuck are those?” He pulls you roughly off the counter and spins you around to the mirror, pointing to the series of purple welts on your breasts.

Oh, fuck.

“I…uh…I…,” you sputter incoherently. Your brain misfires, too panicked to think of anything clever or even anything at all. There’s no logical explanation for the dark bruises other than them being what they are. Your mind flashes back to the other night, how Elvis had claimed you, his pouty mouth suckling your skin roughly as he’d fucked you into oblivion on the couch.

You hadn’t even thought to cover them with makeup, since Jack hadn’t seen you naked in eons.

“You stupid fucking slut! Who are you screwing?!” Jack screams, ballistic, swinging you back around to face him.

You’ve never seen him this angry, his face and scar turning beet red, his eyes like daggers. But this reaction is rich coming from him, which triggers your own anger as much as your fear.

“Really, Jack? You barely come home and when you do you smell of cheap perfume, but me, I’m the slut?!” you yell back at him, your body shaking all over, as you pull up your bra and dress. You certainly hadn’t planned to do this here, now, but you’d known in your heart for days that this was coming.

The vein in his forehead pulses dangerously, and he looks like he truly wants to hurt you. He grabs your wrists painfully as you try and zip up your dress. You’ve never seen him look at you this way, even in his worst moments, and it send a shudder of fear through you. “You’re my goddamn wife! Nobody touches my wife!” he yells, his spit flying in your face, ignoring your reasoning completely, too far gone.

Then, he unlocks the door and yanks it open so hard it slams into the wall with a crash, and then pulls you into the hallway, dragging you behind him.

“Jack, stop. You’re hurting me!” you say, trying to wrench out of his iron grasp. “What’re you doing? This isn’t the place for this,” you hiss frantically, scared of what he might do or say next.

Jack manhandles you into the living area where people are conversing and laughing at someone’s jokes, and roughly pushes you into the middle of the room.

The laughter dies out quickly as all eyes turn towards you.

Your heart pounds in your chest and heat burns your cheeks. You are furious and scared and now embarrassed, the back of your dress undone in front of everyone. You watch as Sandy’s eyes widen, immediately gleaning what’s happening, and she starts to stand, but Jerry grabs her arm to stop her.

You rub at your raw wrists, but you don’t turn to look at Elvis, who is behind you. That would give it all away, and for now you at least have control over that.

“Who is it, huh? Who are you fucking? All of them?” Jack shouts at you in front of the group, pointing aimlessly at the men. There are confused and alarmed glances on most faces, though Sandy, Jerry, and Red all attempt to cover their knowledge with surprise. Some are better than others at concealing it, but Jack is too busy looking at you to see them.

“Hey, man, cool it,” Elvis says from behind you, trying to be nonchalant and deescalate the situation, but you can hear in his voice the effort it’s taking him to be calm.

Jack whirls you around roughly by the arm to face Elvis, as though he’s trying to shame you at court in front of the king. Elvis looks at you, unable to hide his concern and budding fury completely, and you shake your head the smallest amount, for only him to see, telling him to lay low and not give himself away. You may be fucked, but this can still be contained, at least until Jack has calmed down and not everyone is watching.

“This ain’t your problem, EP!” Jack yells. It’s as though the most obvious has escaped Jack’s rage-addled mind, since he’s not even considering Elvis when he’s the biggest threat of all.

But one doesn’t yell at Elvis. Not without repercussions.

“The hell it isn’t, not when you come in here drunk and hot like this, fixin’ to ruin everyone’s mood,” Elvis warns, standing slowly. He’s not yelling yet, but his eyes are starting to turn hard and dark. Elvis can be incredibly patient, but if his temper turns, it won’t be pretty. And he was already done with Jack before this wretched display. The tension in the room thickens to a heightened degree, leaving everyone on edge.

So hot with fear and embarrassment and anger, you think you might burst into flames right here. Your heart is thundering against your ribcage and you can barely breathe. Your legs itch to run, but you are surrounded by prying eyes, trapped between the two most important men in your life.

Jack is incensed, fuming, and not backing down. He’s gearing up for a fight, which is bad. His grip on your arm tightens and you can’t help but wince. You watch as Elvis takes a step towards you both and you shoot him a look to stay put.

“Jack, stop this,” you say as calmly as you can. “Let’s just take a breath and talk somewhere else and let the party go on.”

Jack’s chest heaves and he turns on you. “Shut the fuck up, you whore!” he snarls.

Then his fist brutally collides with your face.

Everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion after that. The pain is instant, radiating through your cheek and your jaw, up into your eye socket. The metal of his rings snag at the corner of your mouth and scrape your face. Shock and disbelief course through you as the air rushes out of your lungs and hot tears spring to your eyes. The momentum of his strike sends you careening to the floor, and you manage to throw your hands out to catch yourself just before you hit the carpet.

A stunned silence falls over the group.

He hit me. He fucking hit me, you think in disbelief, through the pain, through the ringing in your ears.Jack had never, ever laid a hand on you before. You reach your hand up to your face, and it comes away bright red, bloody, your lip split. You can’t hold back the choked, shaking sob that escapes your lips.

Everything explodes at once.

The roar that comes from Elvis is like nothing you’ve heard before. The anger he’d shown you is but a fraction of what you see now as he crosses the room, a menacing bull after a matador. He strides so quickly and fiercely with those long legs of his that Jack barely has time to register what is happening before Elvis punches him square in the jaw, then rapidly again right in the nose. You can hear the sickening break of it which turns your stomach. Or maybe it’s your own pain doing that, you’re not sure at this point.

Elvis doesn’t even say anything, so blacked out with rage that he can’t even speak. You watch from the floor as Jack stumbles back and his eyes widen in shock, then confusion.

“EP? What the—?” Jack starts to say, holding his nose as it starts to bleed down his face, but before he can get it out, Elvis has him by the throat. Those long fingers wrap around and begin to squeeze as Elvis walks Jack back into the wall. Shocked, you watch from the floor as Jack’s face begins to turn red and he begins to sputter, clawing at Elvis’ hand and arm. True fear begins to play over Jack’s features.

Suddenly, the guys are all yelling and rushing around you. Sandy’s hands yank you up and back out of the fray, and you feel dizzy, swaying on your feet. You’re not sure how, but she manages to get you on the couch, zipping up your dress in a flash, and then examines your injuries.

“Are you okay? Y/n, are you okay?” she asks frantically, but with the commotion in the room and the fuzzy white noise in your head, she feels a million miles away. Your eyes are locked on the insane sight in front of you, freezing you with shock.

The guys are desperately trying to pull Elvis off Jack, but his hand is like a vise around Jack’s throat. He’s strangling him, truly choking him because you can see Jack’s face start to go purple and his eyes begin to roll back.

Three of the guys are on Elvis’ back now while Red chops at his arms, trying to break his hold on Jack’s throat unsuccessfully.

Oh my god, if Elvis kills him, I’ll lose them both and it’ll be all my fault, you realize.

You rise to your feet, ignoring Sandy’s protests, ignoring the dizziness and throbbing in your head, and you somehow, through pure will, push yourself through the throng of men to Elvis’ side.

“Elvis! Elvis, you have to stop this,” you say firmly, staring into his beautiful, terrifying face. His eyes are black and unyielding, almost unrecognizable. His jaw is so clenched in his murderous fury that you think he’ll crack his teeth. You’re not even sure if he can hear you because he doesn’t give any indication that he can, but you have to get him to stop.

“Baby, you can’t do this. You’re killing him. You can’t kill him. Satnin, I can’t lose you and if you do this, we’ll both be lost,” you murmur, pleading in his ear for only him to hear, hoping against hope it gets through to him.

You watch Elvis blink a few times, as if waking briefly from his trance, his shoulders relaxing just enough that when Red slams down on his arms again, they give way. Jerry pulls you backwards with a yelp, as Jack coughs, sucking in deep, rattling breaths as he slumps down the wall.

You do not go to him.

Elvis’ lapse in rage is short lived, for he sees Red and turns on him quickly with another roar, throwing brutal punches. You see on Red’s face that he knows exactly why Elvis is coming for him. A few punches land hard, and you hear more of the crack of flesh on flesh. You can’t help but smile a little inside at Red getting what’s coming to him, but horrified at yourself, you push that thought right out of your brain.

But there is a reason Red is Elvis’ bodyguard. He’s tough and scrappy and much more prepared for a fight than Jack was. You can see he doesn’t want to hurt Elvis but blocks and dodges some of his punches more readily. Four of the Mafia surround Elvis now, grabbing his arms, his waist, holding him back from Red, holding him down.

Elvis struggles against them and lets out one last terrifying primal cry before they get him subdued, pushing him to his knees. His chest heaves as they continue to hold his arms, his chin lowered, those lethal blue eyes peering out from under the black hair falling in his face. They still home in on Jack and Red, who are licking their wounds at the other end of the living room.

Adrenaline courses through you, your heart threatening to pound through your ribs, the blood rushing in your ears, as you watch four men have to hold down the man you love to keep him from killing the men that hurt you. And you aren’t entirely sure how to feel about that. A small part of you is frightened by this side of Elvis, how he is gone so deep into his rage that the man you know is barely there at all. And you can’t help but feel responsible for this turn in him.

But another part of you feels vindicated and relieved and almost proud of his defense of you. Part of you swells with so much love for him that you want to fall to your knees and kiss him as if your life depended on it.

“You sonofabitch. You fucking wife-stealing asshole,” Jack rasps out bitterly at Elvis, cowering on the floor with Red and a couple of the other men surrounding him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” some of the guys cry, having to hold Elvis back from going ballistic again. His glare at Jack is so fierce, you think the look alone might kill him from across the room.

But you don’t stop to find out because you wrench out of Jerry’s grasp and somehow make it over to Jack before your brain catches up with your body. You don’t even have time to think twice before your hand pulls back and slaps open-handed across Jack’s cheek, the smack reverberating in your ears and stinging through your hand and up your arm.

But you don’t care.

Silence falls over the room once more. Jack stares up at you wide-eyed, with shocked indignation.

“Shut the fuck up, Jack,” you seethe, now fully infuriated that the man you once loved had hurt you so badly, in so many ways. “You lost me a long time ago, and Elvis had nothing to do with it, you cheating, lying, drunken bastard!” You lean over into his face, your voice low and biting, “And don’t you ever, ever, lay your hands on me again, or next time I won’t stop him from tearing you apart.”

You watch the mixture of surprise and contempt and fear play over Jack’s features for a moment before stepping back. You look back at Elvis and see his lip curl into a sly grin.

And then it all hits you at once. All your mistakes. Everyone staring at you in shock. Your dirty laundry aired out for all to see. The blood and pain bruising on your face, your head pounding, your vision hazy. The mortifying violence that has occurred in your name. Your lover almost murdering your husband.

Oh, god.

Suddenly, vertigo hits you hard and you are so dizzy that the room swims and sways in front of you. The bile rises so quickly that you don’t even have time to process what is happening before you are hurling your dinner onto the shag carpet.

Something is quite wrong, you realize. All your anger and doubts and regrets and love drain from you with a tingling coolness, and everything and everyone feels very far away, their cries muffled by the pain in your head. Then you fall into a dark oblivion, leaving the pain and consequences of your actions far, far behind, and you wonder fleetingly if it was all worth it.

Taglist:

@atombombbibunny @yesimwriting @uselessbutinteresting @mirandastuckinthe80s @dark-as-love

@domaniquessidehoe @im-lame-irl @allybrooke05 @hangmanswhore

@jazmin2211  @kvcssghbjbcd @coldonexx @dudinhahoff @whatstruthgottodowithit @tiredbuthappy  @amiets2  @saintmagx

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@liaaacantwrite @kittenlittle24 @kaitaesupremacy @butler-trouble @eliseinmemphis @russian-soft-bitch  @tattywood 

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@fic-over-cannon @lacyluver

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[dailyfanfix]

Fic Rec II: Today I Bury You in Me

source: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40934916

(This fic is in progress, and the author uploads bonus content which I will get to after I’ve done all the uploaded chapters.)

Author: @the-darklings

Fandom: The Sandman 

Relationships: Morpheus/Reader

Point of View: Second-Person

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Word Count: 26,337

Chapters: 7/10

Language: English

Tags by the Author: Angst, Mutual Pining, Fluff and Angst, Slow Burn, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Slow Build, Tenderness, Platonic Relationships, Non-Sexual Intimacy, this will span 1000 years because Dream is Like That™

Summary by the Author:

"What does the Lord of Dreams dream about?"

What you can expect:

Major slow-burn. You’re gonna be seeing pre-Roderick Burgess Morpheus for a while, so the denial is real. Wanderer’s character is really interesting, and you’ll be seeing interactions not just with Morpheus, but other creatures as well—and I’ve gotta say, the author does a great job at writing the characters. 

The dynamic between Wanderer and Morpheus is a rollercoaster. Both of them are clearly into each other but being immortal just means that pining can last a hundred years and they still wouldn’t be a quarter of the way to confessing. 

Expect a satisfactory amount of fluff and angst. Although I will say, when there is fluff, it’s really fluffy. But when it’s angst…well, it’s pre-Burgess Morpheus so brace yourselves.

---

(Masterlist)

Posted on September 6, 2022

Posted by Sophia

Ko-fi

Masterlist of the Chapters

Thoughts on Chapter 1: Year 0-200

Thoughts on Chapter 2: Year 200-300

Thoughts on Chapter 3: Year 304