#i promise the context of this is more humorous than you think

[thegreatyin]

im continuing to not say a lot in regards to my eventual BaL protagonist (because revealing too much about him right now will ruin an idea i have for his reveal Later™) however. i will say. in the scoundrel's canon. when veils meets him for the first time. that will be an incredibly funny interaction from its perspective

[mins-fins]

âme sœur ﹙l. jn﹚

❛ âme sœur ❜ means soulmate in french.

synopsis . . with the new responsibilities as the kings courtier, you find yourself at a crossroad where you can't exactly determine your feelings for your childhood friend.

pairing . . king! lee jeno × courtier! male reader

genre . . royal au, fluff, some angst, some humor, childhood friends to lovers, medieval.. kinda

warnings . . some profanity, just mentions of forced marriage, somewhat inaccurate depictions of the medieval era, our main leads are SICK

word count . . 4.9k

notes . . take this mess that was meant to be something.. that eventually became nothing but some royal childhood friends to lovers conglomerate that could've been more specific but it was never going to get that far 🤷‍♂️ in light of my obsession with french phases (considering i literally am forced to learn the language) and obsession with putting every nct member in a royal setting, this is for jj 💗 only three scenes.. but it was never going to be more anw

THE SCENERY IS ENCHANTING, lavish gifts, lavish cakes, lavish everything. the wealthy are extra, even extra for the king— well, newly turned king. he was still a prince no more than a few hours ago, you were right there when he was overwhelmed about his own coronation, it's only been an hour and a half since this event has began, yet you've already found yourself at the receiving end of many personal inquiries.

who thinks to ask you about the king? you've been his friend longer than his advisor.

"no marriage? this is blasphemous!"

and of course, lee donghyuck can't keep himself away from a glass of wine. he's far from sober at this point, which draws a small chuckle out of you, the use of the word 'blasphemous' amusing you out of your dissociative episode. "i'm sure he'll be fine".

"he's lonely y/n" he slurs, twirling the glass of wine in his hands, an anxious gasp leaving your lips at the sight. good god if he drops something you're going to kill him. you promised him this day would be perfect, he had already been so worried about it for several months, you had to make sure nothing went wrong. "do you see how sad he is?"

"not sad, just worried".

another sip of the wine, a sigh releases from your lips, he's going to have to be carried home tonight, but the thought of that vision makes your lips turn up. it's pretty hilarious. "how boring, marriage is important!"

you allow for yourself to get distracted by the many treats which litter the expensive dining table. you scrunch your nose, unable to work up an appetite. now you feel nervous. what is that even about? it's not like today is your coronation.

"you sound like your mother" you mutter, teeth biting into your inner cheek. "can't you just be happy for him?"

lee donghyuck snorts, his breath reeking of grape juice. "i am happy for him, just pointing out the obvious".

"the obvious isn't always correct".

"at least someone here is reasonable" na jaemin is exhausted, and donghyuck laughs at the expression of misery on his features. "i swear all the people here are on the same mission, trying to set up young debs with the new king, do they realize how ridiculous they sound?"

"they'll never get out of their own heads".

jaemin hums, sharing a weird look with a certain lee who can't stop his wasted giggling. "is he insane?"

"the wine is adding to his idiocy tonight".

as soon as you say that, lee donghyuck lets out yet another overdramatized laugh, not his last drunken chortle of the night unfortunately. you lightly grimace, put off by the behavior. "you haven't happened to see our beloved king have you?"

you offer a shake of your head. "not since before the coronation anyway, i thought he would've been hard to miss".

"well he is hard to miss, he's a spectacle".

you let yourself snicker, giving a mere glance at the strawberry scones on the table. "you make it sound like you have feelings for the guy".

"don't take my word out of context, a beautiful man is a beautiful man".

you simply smile at that, jaemin can certainly speak the truth on some occasions. he scoffs, just barely fighting back a gag. "i hate strawberries.."

"not on his coronation day, nana, you're gonna stress jeno out".

na jaemin gives an incredulous look, his stare reminiscent of those he sends donghyuck. "you're on first name terms with the king?"

you laugh, just a little bit of disbelief hidden in the sound. "we've all been friends for years, wouldn't it be strange if i wasn't?"

"considering your his courtier now, it seems weird".

"jeno isn't like that".

jaemin hums. "i guess you know him best" he scans you up and down, a bubbling thought in his head itching to leave his mouth, but he decides against it last minute, picking up a sweet chocolate tart which he takes a bite out of. "let me know when you catch sight of him, i've been meaning to talk with him".

you only offer a nod in return, and when jaemin turns on his heel, donghyuck jumps up to follow quickly behind him, annoying the other to no end. "give me a tart minjae-ah! pleaseee!?"

ah, donghyuck sober is no different than donghyuck drunk.

considering you still couldn't work up an appetite, you entertained yourself by conversing with the people around you. gossip is high, other people can't really do anything but worry about what their king is doing. you somehow manage to make it through an intense conversation before the ones whispering realize that you indeed are the king's right hand man, you can't lie, their reactions were priceless.

it wasn't as easy to turn down dance invites as you assumed, you aren't exactly the prized possession of this gathering, but when people have a dance opportunity, they'll take it. you can't believe the amount of polite smiles you've faked tonight, it's astonishing.

but with no sight of the king, you couldn't exactly refuse advances for long, the excuses took much too long to form. you danced with at least three woman, one of them specifically curious about the details of the palace's pastries (as if you knew anything about that, you just enjoyed watching treats bake in the oven). she almost spun it into an opportunity to ask if you were single, an opportunity that you quickly rushed away from with the excuse of needing to go find the king.

not that much of a lie, but you couldn't exactly find another way to escape the situation. you gave her one last twirl and rushed off to another corner of the ballroom, good lord the king couldn't be more invisible today, on coronation day of all days too? you haven't seen him in hours.

"you look lost".

you jump from your spot, startled by the sudden voice. you only relax when you catch sight of the one man you've been searching for the entire night. "good lord jeno! don't do that!"

the newly appointed king smiles, eyes forming into crescents. "sorry, i couldn't resist".

your eyebrows furrow, indignation in your eyes. "do you know how long i've been looking for you? i assumed you bailed on your own coronation".

"you think so lowly of me" jeno sighs, batting his eyelashes excessively. "mother was being hard on me".

you narrow your eyes. "i'm sure it's just the usual, she's looking out for you".

"it's all piling up pretty quickly though, this room is so.. hot don't you think?"

jeno's eye twitches, the irritation getting to him quickly. "it's only a few more hours, i can get through it".

he's muttering, a clear indication he doesn't exactly have faith in his own words. his habits are customary for you to pick up on, your teeth sink into your bottom lip, you have to distract him.

"hey, did you know they made strawberry scones?"

you whisper the word of the baked treats, a little nod to a joke you two have. jeno immediately snickers, looking down at the floor. he almost looks astonished, as if he couldn't believe such a thing. "scones? you're serious?"

"so serious".

all jeno can do is sigh, not exactly disappointed, but not exactly impressed either. "i can't even eat anything, is it really that weird i don't want marriage at this time in my life?"

"they say most kings need queens".

jeno scrunches his nose, those words upset him clearly. "i thought mother would be angry but it's just everyone else.. i can do well on my own, i have you by my side".

you can barely fight your smile. you always wonder why he decides to say things like this, your heart pounds against your chest. maybe their just normal words to him, but to you? they aren't just words. they're so much more. if you feel the room grow hotter, no one should know that.

"you're bound to do well anyway, i'm just a little tick at your side".

"there's no need for such irrelevant words, you're much more than that".

you let another sigh leave your lips, he's so sweet, the man you've known for as long as you remember is simply the same sweet boy you met while sneaking through the kitchen to eat cake in the wee hours of the night. nothing has really changed.

lee jeno is simply wonderful.

"oh you flatter me" you choose to respond, fanning your face to accompany your dramatic tone of voice. "choosing me as your courtier? surely there were better candidates".

"no one was better than you, it was barely a challenge".

he doesn't glance at you, instead focused on the many decorated tarts on the table. "i cannot stomach these".

you chuckle. "you could at least try them".

"i might vomit".

"don't be so vile your majesty" na jaemin places a light hand on jeno's shoulder. "give credence to the chefs".

"i'm not demeaning their efforts, it looks good yes but i can't eat anything right now".

"it's not just you.."

your silent mutter earns a small smile from jeno, and he sighs. "i see none of you have a shortage of admirers, courtesy of our new king of course".

those words just get the slightest hint of a chuckle out of you, your shoulder shaking as you try to hide your laugh. you miss the incredulous look jeno gives you, too amused by the comment.

"are you actually laughing at that?" you only laugh again when you hear the offense in his tone. you can barely contain your giggles, but you have no idea why the statement is so funny.

"no not at all" you shake your head midway through your fit, mouth twitching as you try your best to stifle your smile. "i would never".

jeno narrows his eyes, and you just barely make it through eye contact without breaking under his gaze. "see? y/n enjoys my joke".

"it wasn't even a joke".

jaemin lets out a loud 'hmph', just the slightest bit upset. "you don't understand my comedy your majesty".

jeno sighs, why is he even beginning to argue with him? it's all useless anyway, he's just running into a wall. "maybe you won't come to another event at the palace then".

you almost laugh again, but jeno glares peripherally, so you suck in a breath.

"what a snippy king you are, surely you'll get along with your subjects".

"is that your attempt at sarcasm?"

"nope, just a show of truth".

jeno scoffs, an eye roll being his silent response to jaemin's smile. you glance between the two, sensing a budding tension. you have to kill this.

"you haven't happened to see mark have you?"

the na suddenly brightens, a light bulb going off in his mind. "oh you're correct! i have to discuss kingdom relations with him! you're a blessing y/n, enjoy your night your majesty!"

jeno narrows his eyes, irked at the exaggerated pitch of his voice. you simply smile, waving him a goodbye as he skips away, the man beside you immediately scoffing once he's far enough of a way. "he's truly a.. character".

"i think eccentric is the word you're looking for".

"you truly do get me l/n".

you chuckle, feeling your cheeks flare up.

it's just the heat of the room, it's just super hot in here, i'm being squeezed to death by this suit.

yeah, what an amazing excuse.

"if you aren't gonna eat, then what exactly do you plan to do?"

"i originally wanted to use feeling bad as an excuse to avoid dancing but.." he pokes your shoulder, motioning toward a group of woman eyeing him like candy, he probably wouldn't be able to escape them if they decided to come over. "they know i'm feeling just fine" he whispers to you, and you stifle your laughter by putting your head down.

"you can just turn down advances, you know".

"as if you don't make excuses to scurry away from waltzing, i know how you play".

you lightly nudge him, he did get you there. his lips turn up in victory, and you resist your eye rolls. "you're ridiculous, your majesty".

jeno furrows his eyebrows. "don't call me that".

"it's your title".

jeno's lips press into a thin line. "it sounds lousy coming from you".

"lousy?" you probably would be offended if not for knowing jeno.

"it doesn't make any sense, we've been friends forever, don't just switch like that".

"i'm technically your staff now".

"you'll always be my friend first.."

you don't even fight your smile at this point. did you say lee jeno was wonderful already? oh who cares? he is. he is so wonderful. in his own strange way, his eyes sparkle as he stares, a barrage of stars hidden in his irises. "okay jeno, i see".

jeno hums, again glancing at the center of the room. he scratches at the pure white tablecloth with his nail, you can practically hear him thinking. "would you like to dance?"

you blink, completely puzzled. "what?"

now it's his turn to laugh at the expression gracing your features. "i'm asking for a dance, with you".

"you usually dance with your staff?"

"you're more than that, don't start".

he holds out his hand, beckoning for you to take it. waltzing with the king? you've surely been blessed tonight. his empty hand practically speaks to you, begging for you to take it. you have nothing to lose y/n, there is no need to be nervous about it y/n.

you stare for a moment, the skin of his hand looks soft.

you sigh, you really can't resist lee jeno. you take his empty hand, your fingers intertwining as they fall together. his hands are just as soft as you imagined they would be, how fitting.

"you agreed without a single indirect comment".

"i'm simply speechless".

jeno seems amazed by such a prospect. "and why is that?"

"you want us to dance? is there any specific reason?" you lace both of your hands together, sighing in contentment as you begin stepping in motion.

"does there have to be? i happen to enjoy dancing with my friends".

friends, right.

"you just sprung it on me all of a sudden, i'm a little puzzled.." you mutter, successfully able to avoid his eyes considering you had to worry about not stepping on his feet.

"you can't see how attractive you are, y/n".

see this? this. how does lee jeno expect for you to act sane when he says stuff like this? does he even consider how you're feeling? how do you let him get away with this?

you let a breath fall from your lips, making sure to focus on the rhythm. "oh.. and you can?"

"it all just comes down to how i see you through my eyes".

is this some sort of romantic thing? is this a build up for him to ask for your hand in marriage?

now why would you ever assume that?

your about to inquire once more, and jeno senses that, because he cuts you off. "is there a reason to question it? you should've read my mind already".

"things can change, i assumed any of the other pretty women would be your pick".

jeno finds that amusing, indicated by the way his lips turn up to reveal a smile. "can't you stop questioning my decisions now? you're my right hand, i think it's obvious why i chose you".

you stare, mouth going dry. you pretty much have no responses left, you can't fight him on it anymore.

"you're sometimes an enigma to me".

and maybe lee jeno doesn't know how to respond to that one.

IT'S NOTHING SHORT OF overwhelming, you'll never be able to understand what jeno is feeling, but you can practically feel the anxiety permeating from him. he takes all the kingly responsibilities with fear hidden behind his eyes, it's a lot, and maybe he feels as if he isn't ready yet. you can sense his thoughts at this point, lee jeno is an open book to you.

"you haven't slept yet?"

"hard to sleep at a time like this" jeno mutters, caressing the material of his nightgown. he admires the night moon through the window, the light pretty much illuminating the whole kingdom. "i didn't mess up did i?"

"mess up what? you're spectacular".

he doesn't look away from the window, simply makes eye contact with you through the glass. "i want to make sure everything is okay, can't fall asleep feeling so.. nauseous".

"do you want tea?" you inquire, fingers beginning to pick at your nails.

he immediately shakes his head. "no need to bother the castle staff".

"i mean.. i could make you tea".

"don't waste your time" jeno replies, finally peeling his eyes off the moon to walk over to his desk.

you snicker. "it always helps you sleep, don't want to be sleepless at your first meeting as king".

"you're really taking that advisor role seriously now".

"there's a difference between being an advisor and being a friend who looks after you".

"you're really beginning to blur those lines.." he states with a hidden feeling of distaste.

you raise an eyebrow, puzzled. is he angry with you or something? he doesn't exactly seem pleased by your presence. a small breath falls from your lips, a breath jeno hears. "clock's about to strike midnight, make sure you get sleep".

"can't you stay for a while?"

you pause at that. okay, so maybe you're wrong. maybe he isn't exactly sick of your presence, maybe you aren't as good at reading him as you assumed. "how long is a while supposed to mean?"

"just until i get sleepy".

so he just wants to talk, alright, you can deal with it. "it isn't tea that helps me sleep, it's you".

the words seem too honest to have any feigned meaning. you can believe he isn't just uttering them to please you, he continues to catch you by surprise. he sits beside you, a heavy sigh falling from his lips. "i'm afraid of not fulfilling everything my father did, it's scary how fast it all is going, what if i don't do well?"

"well there's no need to worry" your hand graces his, but your eyes avoid his. "even as a prince you were at the top of it all, you aren't your father, and i know you're going to be exceptional, i'm right here, you know i always am".

jeno stares, fully taking your hand and basking in the warmth of the feeling. "choosing you as my courtier was a good idea.. you understand me".

"is that flattery i hear?"

"simply the truth.." jeno mutters, fingers softly intertwining with yours. "were like soulmates aren't we?"

ah. there's that word.

soulmates. is that really what you two are? is that the essence of your bond? you two fit. even the king thinks so.

"soulmates?" you whisper, not really looking for an answer, simply trying to figure out exactly why he decided to say that word.

jeno hums, agreeing with your question-not-question. his finger caressing the back of your palm, there's a certain feeling hidden in that hum you can't exactly decipher. it must be pleasantry, maybe satisfaction, you have no idea how to read him at the moment, and that prospect sends alarm bells ringing through your mind.

what is going on?

"mother told me certain people are simply made for each other, sometimes i feel as if the world handed you to me, you're my symbol of luck".

your lips press together, words dying in your throat. jeno doesn't mind the silence, simply basking in the air of the room, your hands squeezing against each other.

a small gust of wind drifts in through the open window, his eyes closing momentarily. "you say things that confuse me sometimes.."

"it's late, i'm overwhelmed".

your hands stay the together, the puzzled nature of your mind not exactly willing itself away. "maybe i'll take you up on that offer for tea".

you light up immediately, the upward curve of your lips being parroted by your eyes. "i'll come with you".

your chuckle is breathless, and your fingers slip from his, catching just the smallest slight of his smile dropping in your peripheral vision. "it's so late, though".

jeno uncharacteristically snorts, slipping on a thin layer to protect him from the cold. "i assure you that the night breeze won't take me away".

your narrow your eyes, opting to scrunch your nose at his show of sarcasm. "alright then, come on" you offer out your hand, an action reminiscent of the very one he performed earlier tonight when asking you to dance.

he takes your own hands rather quickly, the comforting feeling of your intertwined fingers is homely, something you two have both found comfort in with the long stretch of time consisting of your friendship.

it's a firm hold, one that could provide you enough safety and security in a terrible place.

"holding hands with your advisor must be typically frowned upon".

it's joke, tease on the tip of your tongue as you two walk the wall with your fingers intertwined, appearing as some sort of couple.

you'd be a pretty cute couple, you consider.

jeno closes one eye as he contemplates his next fit of words, but there's a strange smile on his face, whistling in the air. "i don't care what others think".

your chuckle is again breathy, and you decide to stick your gaze onto the floor.

lee jeno is a huge enigma, yes, but figuring him out is about the most engaging thing you can say works.

THOUGH LEE JENO IS a sweetheart, he is also just infuriating in the worst way possible. weeks pass from his coronation, kingly responsibilities seemingly taking years and years from him. you thank the ones above for jeno having chosen you as his courtier, because if you simply remained a regular noble, you wouldn't see him for hours upon hours of eligible days.

jeno has never been good at taking breaks, and the hours he spends locked away behind the stupidly large doors of his father's former office clearly indicate you of that.

you can barely contain your eye rolls when he makes up excuses at breakfast, his eye bags growing much more prominent as the weeks pass by.

you bite your tongue once he sends you occasional glares, your worries now kept in your mind.

you're an advisor, yes, but you can barely even attempt to bring up his newly terrible routine without him shutting you down.

it's an order, lord, you really want to punch lee jeno sometimes.

"donghyuck takes me for a fool, can you believe that?" your irritation is endless as you suck your teeth, dropping a stack of papers atop jeno's desk.

jeno leaves your inquiry unanswered, your eyebrows raising in retaliation to that silence. his eyes trail off into the darkness of the shrouded night sky, fingers tapping on the stack of papers placed onto his desk. "hello? someone in there?"

jeno glances in your direction, and you suck your teeth, irritation skyrocketing. "what's wrong?"

your tongue prods at the side of your cheek, arms crossing defensively over your chest. "i should be asking you such a question".

jeno narrows his eyes accusingly, and you manage the nicest scoff which can escape your lips. "jeno, midnight is rounding the corner".

"i'm not tired".

"yes you are".

jeno's glare settles something terrible in your stomach, your hands dropping at your sides. you lick your teeth, rolling your eyes. you step closer to him, turning his chair around. "are you going to try to convince me all the exhaustion is a front?"

"i'm.. fine".

"you're typical word of choice" your arms cross above your chest, disappointment etched on your features. your hands settle on his shoulders, and jeno simply watches as you keep him grounded in his place. "when was the last time you slept?"

"is sleep really that important?"

"is sleep really that important?" you mock with your hands on your hips, slapping his shoulder with a curse on the tip of your tongue. "you're an idiot".

"i can have you beheaded, you know".

"try me" you bite back, hand again trailing onto his shoulder. "it's time for you to sleep".

his fingers grasp at your wrist rather quickly, an immediate act of defiance. of course. your glare is as quick as it is tired, but you don't immediately attempt to escape his grip, instead scrunching your face. "you're acting like a child".

"i still have things i need to do".

"things you can do in the morning, you shouldn't argue with me".

how is it always that when you question his well being he chooses to fight you on it? you find that spectacle of him to be the most infuriating. "i think part of being king is learning to sacrifice the luxury of sleep".

you tsk, shaking out of his grip. "that isn't exactly convincing".

"it wasn't meant to be".

you question his integrity, licking your teeth. "jeno, as your trusted advisor, i advise that you need a good twelve hours of sleep".

"i haven't been awake that long".

"almost two days whole is pretty long" your eyelashes flutter, extending out your hand for him to take. "it's a good time to sleep now".

jeno sighs. "y/n".

"jeno" your teeth grit, right eye twitching at his stubbornness. "sleep, now".

it's astounding how easily the king follows your orders, you assume it's something concerning your tone, maybe it's the way you stare that gives him the unknown feeling of being small. jeno takes your hand, intertwining your fingers together.

you click your tongue at his eventual obedience, gaze softening. "you could at least not look at me like.. that".

you cast him a look. "it's not like i threatened you".

jeno narrows his eyes. "i'm inclined to disagree".

"nothing physical happened, you can't make a case against me".

he doesn't seem to like the display of sarcasm. "you seem quite content with that outcome".

"i didn't say anything".

your pointer finger completely directs itself in front of his face. "if i find out you aren't sleeping".

jeno finds this display to be the one of amusement. "now this is a threat".

you merely tilt your head. "maybe i'll finish you off myself, then you'll finally sleep".

jeno's gasp is of audacity, yet your grip nor your pointer finger neither falters. "that's awfully sweet of you to say".

you pay no mind to the sarcasm thrown your way, squeezing his fingertips that just happen to be pressing against yours. "a good king won't risk fainting at his upcoming announcement, get to sleep, it shouldn't be that difficult with all of this fatigue coursing through you".

"y/n.."

"jeno, quiet, i care, just.. sleep, i'll take care of everything".

"you don't have to".

you, again, scoff. "it's my job, jeno" your hand graces his shoulder, gaze still. you look even more exhausted than he is, sucking a breath between your teeth. "besides, i'm always here".

jeno pauses, staring at you with a gaze that you could only describe as.. loving.

affection, in all it's forms, has always been apart of your friendship. from the moment you two met as kids, it was established in the air, no words having to be said, just actions having to be performed.

your eyes don't stray from him, and neither does his from yours, it's a silent exchange that settles into the air, nothing verbal, simply stares.

stares can mean a lot apparently.

"i know".

you raise an eyebrow, watching him contemplate his next course of speech. "are you gonna stay with me tonight?"

you blink. "would you like for me to?"

jeno keeps your hands locked in place, forbidding your fingers from slipping apart. it's important to him that they don't. he remains standing before his bedroom door with your fingers intertwined, it's something that seems to be a tradition at this point.

"i'd love for you too".

love. love. love? that's what it must be.

maybe that explains why, even in all his mystery, lee jeno is simply so alluring. it's love. it isn't the replica of love that you felt for him back when you were young and naive, no, it's grown into something more.. determined.

you're in love with lee jeno, which, when you think about it, isn't as much of a revelation as any other result that could've been the case. your lips part, and you clear your throat as to keep your words to yourself.

you opt to sigh, letting your gaze fall to the floor. "give me a minute".

and you can't help your smile when jeno smiles, it's simply to difficult to ignore.

[therealslimshakespeare]

Let’s Fall Out of Love

Divorce Part 1

Fully co-authored with @elvisabutler 💋

Thanks: are due to so many friends on here who helped craft this timeline and concept and helped me hone the motivations into something I trust our readers will find evocative and sympathetic. Y’all know who you are, thanks for being my buddies

Warnings: 18+ for thematic and sexual material. Strong language and bitter accusations between spouses, mentions of drugs, divorce proceedings, lying to spouses (for their eventual good???) mentions of past infidelity, Colonel Parker being the worst, poor Elvis being in a bad place with his health and mentally -and dub con smut. It is in no way non con but the context, the lack of voiced or implied consent and the aggression make it dubious. It is fairly clear both parties are engaging in hysterical bonding, still the scene is dubious as is the language used by the man regarding a wife having no say in it. So please heed that.

Note: it was the attempt of the writers to craft a rather cinematic experience with this fic, one aim was to skip times and have plenty of fade to black moments. Please note the time stamps above each scene to keep track of progression. Anything that is not clarified in this chapter will either be clarified in the next part or else in others. You’re of course welcome to ask questions.

|| 10th, APRIL 1977 ||

Divorce. Lil Tink is divorcin' him. Lil Laney is gonna be his ex-wife.

The thought rattles around in his aching brain as he chases her up Graceland’s stairway, past the portraits of their children and the plaques celebrating their successes and haunting likenesses of younger selves. Both of them home for a brief stint after Vegas Showrooms and California Courtrooms.

Home -it won’t be his home much longer, she’s gonna see to that.

Divorce.

It had taken up half his year already but he was so sure, so damn sure all she needed was to make a fuss and threaten like she does and then it would cool down, smooth over. He was ready to humor all sorts of shit and then she went and pushed for more. More money, more assets, took out a damn lien. His Tink who happily chucked half of custody at him without a fight has now drug this little show on for months, all for a couple more bucks.

She’s takin' everythin' he's worked so hard for, takin’ it all, going back for more even, just to make sure she can still be taken care of in the conditions and standards he had raised her to.

Spoiled lil middle class girl grown into a spoiled, hardened rich woman.

“Till death do you part”, he hurled the promises at her over the phone, as soon as that court order had landed in his hands -but if ya ask Elaine, he's been dead more times than she can count. Maybe he's dead to her in everythin' but body. Ain't that the other joke, he feels half dead even in body.

"Elaine Presley! Turn 'round when I'm talkin' t'ya! Ya know I hate it when people do that” As if she’s required to listen to him or required to pay attention after two decades of focusing so much of her attention and time and energy on a man who has forgotten all of that. On a man who’s forgotten that he’s married to her. That’s forgotten he has children with her, a life he promised her, and not to his manager who's twisted so much of what was between them into this. Whatever this is.

"Why?" She spits still climbing stairs she's climbed a thousand times before. Faintly she hears Marie playing in her room and a surprising amount of silence from Jack's and her heart twists. They don't need to hear this. None of her children do but her youngest- oh her youngest deserve to think their father is still something resembling a good man.

"Why?" As if Elvis is some sort of parrot, he repeats the question back at her. His confusion colors his face, warring for control with his anger and frustration as he follows her through the padded master doors. "Why? The hell kinda question is that?”

“I told you come by and grab those things you said you needed so badly.” she hauls open one of his drawers and the thing squeals on its track from her violent tug. “So do that. If you wanted to chat then we coulda chatted somewhere else. Or, you know -a year ago? Ten?”

“I’m just askin’ why.“ He embraces her own wording and tries to get nearer her, hem her in against the dresser like he’s done countless times before in this very room with dazzling success.

Elaine slips away between them like water and he’s left bracing himself on the smooth wooden top.

“I’m not actively trying to be a shrew.” she murmurs as she turns away and goes to the other side of the room, opening the wardrobe, “No matter what you believe. I told you that you’ll be welcome in this house no matter what, so that’s why.��I’m not allowing you to come around -you just can, it’s your mama’s house still, for all I’m concerned.”

“No, no I mean- why’re you throwin’ this away?” He emphasizes it with his hands, a pleading gesture that sweeps the whole room and its host of sacred memories. He’s used this before but that was back when he figured it was all one big tantrum. Signing custody papers has rather shaken that hope, delusion, comfort.

Tink purses her lips and he notices her face has gone so white this summer, rarely in the sun and addicted to wearing black like some melodramatic Prima Donna. She does look stunning in the papers all decked out in veils and heels, he’ll give her that. He doesn’t know when she turned from being the heart of the operation to the glamor of it all -and he the opposite.

“What’s my favorite color these days?” she asks him instead.

He stares at the sable color he’s seen her wearing for months now and sighs in exasperation, “Shit I dunno -black?” he swings, knowing it’s a miss the second he says it.

“I can’t do this anymore.” she informs him, like color has broken up a twenty year long marriage and he grinds his teeth so hard he thinks he cracks a filling. The pain adds to his headache that matches the pounding in his chest and the roaring in his ears builds to such a degree he’s honestly terrified for them both.

“Stop this.” he warns her, quite sure she knows the red hot fit she’s stoking with her callousness and hurt that she won’t help him out of it like she used to, that she’ll let him go into a blind rage and then blame him for it, no doubt. “I know when you’re lyin’, woman, and I ain’t ever seen a more lilly livered liar than you right now.” he snarls and tries a last appeal that comes out as a barb anyways, “You wouldn’t be goin’ on so rash if your daddy were still alive,” he jabs a finger at her, “guess I can be grateful he ain’t, so he’s not breakin’ down my door for explanations ‘bout a offense you won’t admit to me!“

Elaine absorbs this blow with a wavering face before the nonchalance cloaks her features once more and Elvis would resort to smacking it off her if he were a different sorta man. “Black is practical, that’s why I wear it. It’s not my favorite though.” she simpers, clutching at the shoe she’s picked up from the floor, something for her hands to worry, to hide her own anguish at having to keep him in the dark. To lie repeatedly to him as he breaks apart, she didn’t know it would cut him up so much.

It’s a mess, this web of connections that used to prop them up, used to be a community. Now it’s a den of tattle tales and if one of them suspects she’s anything but angry at Elvis, that this this divorce and seizing of assets isn’t a scorned wife gone nuts, but rather a calculated endeavor to get at his manager once and for all -well Charlie will spill to Vernon and Vernon will spill to Elvis and Elvis will have all the fuel he needs to plead her right back into complacent heartbreak in his arms -before he goes on tour again and murders himself from the workload.

“I’m on orange kick, actually.” her voice is hoarse.

“Then I’ll buy ya some fuckin’ orange curtains and you’ll stop divorcin’ me.” he jabs a tinged finger at her and he looks like he might fall over, his face is so flushed and sweaty, from pills and passion. Elaine readies to catch him, break his fall if he tips. At least here there’s carpet, unlike the hotel hallway that busted his head last year.

“I’m rather in the mood to buy my own from now on.” she lies and sweeps past him to get to the closet.

She never gets past him. His hand darts out and engulfs her dainty wrist, tugging her back and in a spin like he practiced in his movies so many times, a romantic, gallant, possessive gesture that lands her smack against his broad chest, locked in with an arm around her shoulders.

"Buy your own, hm? Gonna sell my mama's house to do that? Gonna sell ya children's home to do that?"

“Elvis, you get your damn hands off me.” she bites back, throwing her weight on his forearm that might as well be made of steel, so little room does she gain from her effort.

"Never minded my hands on ya before. Even 'fore I married ya, it was fine for me to touch ya. To inspect that lil house of yours to make sure it could have all those lil babies ya wanted. Gave 'em to ya didn't I? Gave ya every last one and two've ‘em are even still with ya till they leave." Never mind that Jack's been bouncing between here and California in an effort to do what he's wanted to do since Elvis would play sharks in the bed with him. "But now you're wantin' my hands off. Goin' on 'bout gettin' new curtains yourself."

His words are punctuated with spit and a hissing anger Elvis doesn't normally indulge in. The bitter anger she used on the road with champagne making her head float in a sea of lies and wants and needs and a twisted sort of love till she had to call it. She can feel her jaw tensing up at his calloused fingers finding their way under her chin, tapping at first to try and have her look up at him before clenching around it and tilting it upward instead.

"Who is it, Laney? Who's the person who's gonna take care of ya? Gonna help ya buy those curtains? Get Marie those cameras? Help Jack and Rosie pay for those commie schools of theirs?" With each passing word Elvis’s voice drops lower and lower in octave until he's reaching levels Elaine's never heard. Against her will, her body shivers in his arms. A sneer crosses his lips- a twisted version of his raised lip that everyone knows and loves. That raised lip she's kissed before with laughter and jokes on how "if you keep doing that your face'll stay that way, Naughty." It shouldn't be there like this and yet it is. "That why ya dragged me to our lil Ella Bella's weddin'? Figured the Martins could spoil our daughter rotten away from you and your new caretaker? Your new piggybank? Don't get shy on me now, Laney! Who's the lucky sonuvabitch who gets to have my wife?"

Elaine's learned how to be composed in every situation with Elvis. She'll shoot at the Colonel over love handles and movies that killed her Elvis's spirit. She'll titter at army wives mocking her house and implying she couldn't keep up with being Mrs. Presley and growing a second set of twins in two years. She'll handle losing little Joesphine with a body that betrayed them all and with a smile on her face because Mrs Kennedy had just lost hers and then John died and the US can't handle their Irish Catholic and their Southern Baptist Camelots falling to pieces all at once. But this, this is too much. This is her soon to be ex husband mocking her. Like she'd have had time to find someone else who would take care of her, like taking care of Elvis and their children allowed her to seek any other comfort than in the aging movie star her husband sought to emulate once upon a time before realizing he's just a man too. The aging movie star she considers one of her nearest and dearest friends and who'd- who would be her caretaker if she let him.

Knowing her luck it'd end up worse than this.

No, this is Elvis throwing out an insult to her character, the one he'd have defended till his dying breath except for when she turns on him like Red and Sonny did. Their book's gonna be coming out sooner rather than later and- she's made it obvious he can't trust a soul any more.

It won't do either one of them any good to react. It's not going to help her escape from his grip that's a vice around her. It won't help him see what she's doing and how she’s doing it for him. But she is only human just as he's only human and her lipstick covered mouth opens in defense of her own honor.

"What makes you think you deserve to know?" He can't see through everything to see why shes doing this, so why should he get an answer. "You won't have to worry, we'll all be taken care of. And you can be rebranded! A seasoned entertainer who's free as a bird to do whoever and whatever he wants. Or oooh -maybe the colonel will pick you out a new wife. Pretty little fool to take my place, without trappings like children -or brains."

“I chose my wife.” it sounds like a beg, anger and hurt battling for the upper hand in Elvis’ heart, his hand squeezes her chin stronger, watching her lips pucker just that little bit. Such a soft mouth has no right being so stern and derisive as it’s been these past months, once upon a time he knew how to make it gasp and smile with a word, a kiss, a mere glance. “I chose you, and you promised. It ain’t me breakin’ that promise, ain’t me sayin’ I can’t do this no more -I-I-I’ve spent my goddamn career givin’ you all this, I gave up w-women for you, I gave up movies for you, when you come to me with what’s wrong I do my damndest to fix it. Now you won’t tell me nothin’ but orange curtains, and if I thought those’d fix us I’d be out the damn door right now, headed to find you the best in the country. I would, Laney, you know I would. I’ve given-“ he stops to gasp in a ragged breath, unsure of what part of himself he hasn’t poured into his Tink, entrusted to her once caring little hands, vulnerability poured like so much oil into her heart for safe keeping, his flaws and secrets tucked safely in the little nooks and crannies of her generous mind. “I’ve given-“

-So Damn Much.

“I’ve given you my life.” His Laney stares back at him entirely unmoved, her eyes hard and sharp with their ebony liner, the squish of her lips beneath his fingers barely dismantling her disdain for him, “And seven children from my body. I never said you weren’t a good man,Elvis, or that you're not generous, but we both know we don’t want to go toe to toe in measuring costs for twenty years in heaven. And I’m saying, -I can’t do it anymore.”

“Anymore?” it’s bothered him all these months, that word and he wonders what she thinks she’ll have after this, like they’re not so intertwined and connected that, like twins, they will forever feel what the other feels, want what the other wants, a string tied between them from countless, immeasurable amounts of time spent merged as one, “I ain’t ever not gonna be in you, woman, once mine -always mine. What’s there for ya after this, huh? Seven children -twenty years! -Goddamn I’m in you!” he shakes her at that and sees a spark of something he knows light up her eyes.

Elvis slides a hand from her shoulders, down over her sternum and feels her heaving intake of breath at the missed feeling of his hands on her, down past the tie at her waist, down to the planes of her firm belly, just a little swell and some soft skin that speaks of the souls they once made with their love. He presses his hand, large and warm and cupped to that precious sanctuary, kneading it, lifting it, weighing it just that little bit in his palm.

The little house is empty.

Elvis outright laughs at his mistake then, a booming, jarring laugh at having forgotten just who he’s got in his arms. He can feel Elaine’s violent shuddering along the entire length of him at the strange sound in their gloomy bedroom. Or maybe it’s from the dig of his fingertips at her womb, like he’ll claw inside it from the outside if he’s barred from plundering her the natural way.

Sweet Miss Phipps, Elvis thinks, with her hungry mind and starved body, so damn eager to be possessed, to be made good use of, to be pumped full and burdened with child again and again. He shoulda kept her swollen this past decade, prioritized her hunger over the tours and then, maybe then, she’d not have gotten notions like this.

“God gave me a remarkable woman.” he murmurs to himself in realization, his hands loosening their grip on her jaw to run the backs of his fingers against against the soft swells of her cheeks and Elaine’s heart speeds up in recognition of the shift in his demeanor, that thrumming resolution taking over his body behind her and helplessly her own responds to it.

As if she's another person, someone she would counsel to resist, to stay strong, Elaine feels her face turn towards the caress of his ringed fingers, towards the admiring touch that’s been her joy to wake to a million times, a touch that’s brought her purpose and comfort for twenty years. Her mouth falls open with a surrendering quiver and she makes no move to avert her mouth when his fingers sweep over her face and across her lips in a revenant mapping of his wife’s well known features. Her tongue darts out to taste even a sliver of his salt, she tastes metal instead as his ring glides by. It’s a heady feeling for anyone to realize Elvis Presley intends to fuck them, it’s entirely heightened by a familiar knowledge of his capabilities and a divinely witnessed right to his person.

It’s no villain staring down at Elaine, pressing himself to her -the distance has been necessary all these months to keep her anger and fear prominent, to remind her of the need for such dire action as divorce, the slightest, kindest of touches from him would dismantle that resolve, that garish image in her imagination. Now she’s close to the finish line, so close he’s fully panicking and she can feel the lightness of soon being free of her deceit. He’s no villain, he’s just a good man who has hurt her, who hurts himself more often and worse than how she’s hurting him. And soon they’ll be able to save each other. Just not today.

His hand slips to her throat and he kneads it, contemplating the give and delicacy of her pale flesh, and her responses, the languid subjugation of her body to his touches, just like he’d taught her in this very bed across from them.

She sees when his eyes flick up from her throat to their marriage bed and it’s like a million hummingbirds erupt in her belly in disbelief, in panic, in a frantic sort of hopeful missing.

“Elvis-“ she doesn’t know if she’s trying to warn him, trying to remind him of the wrongness of what he’s thinking, or if it’s a beg for him to ignore her sensibilities, to take her and make her that new little wifey with the carefree face and the mindless little head.

His face is dark and flushed like he gets when he’s aroused, his features seeming to get richer with the heightened intensity of his feelings and she can feel the sweat break out behind her through his silk shirt, slicking up her own back through the gauze of her dress. Elvis’ eyes drop back to her face, remaining there with a million intentions painted therein but not a single flicker of wavering shows.

Elaine had no reason to be as startled as she was when she felt his hands drop to her waist and spin her around, picking her up beneath the ribs with his astounding strength and tossing her like he would rag doll on his karate mats. She landed with a silly bounce amongst the bedding. It could have been romantic if he had any blue left to his irises as he looked down at her, sauntering to the foot of the bed himself and surveying her where she lay.

“Wife.” he greeted before taking hold of a footsie in each hand and spreading them apart for him to step between her legs.

"Elvis." A whisper as if saying his name any louder would unleash something they might both come to regret. As if it'd cause the dam she's locked her emotions in this entire ordeal will finally break. If she calls him husband it's over. He knows her inside and out, every crevice and dip in her body and soul has been mapped by him. The lie will come apart with a simple utterance of his title that he still has in this moment. The title he still has for three more weeks.

"Elaine." Her name comes out in a shaky breath that she can tell he's attempting to control, to rein in. Those blue eyes she's fallen in love with more and more as years had gone by are an inky void, pupils covering every inch they can and not just because of some pill he had to take or because she had watched him die right in front of her. Both their tongues dart out to wet lips and catch errant drops of sweat before she hears the *clink* of his belt.

That noise isn't new to her, the jangle and clanging of the metal a familiar sound. In the quiet of the room, in the quiet of the house? Of their home? It steals a breath from her lungs as sure as his body pressing down on her would have. The belt sounds like one of the heaviest ones he owns and a shiver unbidden rolls through her body as the cacophony of that gaudy belt gets louder and louder in her ears. Each breath takes effort, forcing air between the two of them that threatens to stifle any calming thought or action. A final puff of air- of his breath- warm and humid runs across her hair, forcing a loose strand of it to move.

Elaine doesn't. Elaine doesn't move an inch even as his belt finally comes off in a subdued flourish and a minor curse. Her eyes focus on the gaudy little harem lamp above them even as Elvis drops the belt ever so gently next to her body. It still clangs against the rings of his hand and its own golden links.

Sweaty and warm, his bejeweled hand moves to cup her cheek. "Mrs. Presley." he breathes her title into her lax mouth like it’s Holy Spirit anointed before slotting his mouth against hers with firm conviction in the rightness of his claim to her.

"Elvis."

It's not fair that all this force, all this passion, all this wanting that has -if she’s being honest- waned for her at times over the years is coming out of him only now, now when he thinks he’s lost her. Now that he’s more fool than he’s ever been. They’ve been alone too often in their marriage, if not separated by miles and oceans, separated by intent and interpretations of it.

“Still mine, for a few more months you’re still mine. Ain’t nothin’ you can do about it. You jus’ take it, jus’ take me, Laney”

And if she weren’t blinded herself by a heartache the proportions of which were only matched by losing a child, she might think every grip and clash of their bodies tells her he wants her every bit as bad as she wants him.

Still.

Mindless and hazy she waits for him to notice how every give and shudder of her own frame declares her want for him. He thinks he’s forcing the matter -but all he’s doing is giving her some false hope to curl around and cry over when the fissure finally splits apart.

I wanted you. But I thought I was alone in it, she thinks she hears them both saying it with every lewd squelch and pant.

It’s cruel confirmation of how entwined they’ve become, how much knowledge of the other they’ve collected over the years that he can make her writhe even under these circumstances, have her shattering beneath him effortlessly like older, kinder, gentler times. It’s made worse when she can feel him slow, stopping partway in that familiar way when he’s edging himself, intending to make her go round the loop once more, the familiarity of it makes her want sob, not from any hurt of the present, but at the notion this may be the last time she feels it -they both want this to last. And that unity is a mocking thing, all context considered.

He’s sweaty and she’s trembling, there’s so much warmth coming off his angry frame that she feels like curling inside the furnace and letting him make her forget anything beyond this physical connection that was never in doubt, the sheets are cold and dry and foreign against her back by comparison and she thinks of sleeping alone amongst them for the rest of her life. Elvis seems to sense this weakness of hers, one he wished he supported sooner, taken advantage of back when she looked so indestructible but was privately fraying at the seams, trying to hold the whole fairytale together. He shoulda done this sooner.

Old dog, new tricks, maybe, but Elvis has always been clever, opportunistic even, and he keeps his thrusts shallow and tantalizing as his wife gasps back to life beneath him and he keeps her close, his hands wound into her hair, hairy forearms beneath her shoulders, her ankle caught somewhere near his ear and his sweaty nose dripping onto her cheek.

“C’mon now Tink, you’ve thrown your fit,” he reasons to her in a coo that is underscored by the cajoling gait of his hips rocking into her, it has her clenching around those first few inches of him again, “ya made your point. Don’t -don’t do this to us baby. You c’mon back now. Ain’t anythin’ out there that’d satisfy you like us. Ain’t nobody else needs ya more dan hims does, satnin, don’t leave hims, baby.”

A good fuck, that’s all she needed, he’s sure of it. Or a couple of ‘em. He shoulda started dishing them out in Palm Springs but he’d been so angry when she filed and she’d been so cold. A couple of good fucks, that’ll solve it.

And to be heard. Which -she’s gotten that, all of America’s been hearing how he can’t keep his own wife.

Whatever bit of sentimentality he’s feeling right now, the sort that makes him wanna spill over how pretty she looks, vanishes in the angry tumult of his recalled humiliation. It fires him up instead and he snorts in his breath above her like an angry bull, perfectly capable of making her pay, making her see some sense, too. The longer she doesn’t reply the more this feeling surmounts the gentler ones and if Elvis were being honest, he knows denial had given way to rage and now bargaining and he’s full on panicking, trying to keep a woman who he shouldn’t have to chase.

She’s his wife.

“Elaine?” even to his own ears he sounds frantic and rough.

She is crying beneath him now, he thinks, that’s not all sweat making her face shine and her lips are taut like when she’s trying to hold it in and he wonders why the hell she’s the one crying. He feels like crying, he’s being left without an explanation or a pot to piss in. And all that while he’s still perfectly capable of proving he’s the best she’ll ever get. It’s like she’s agreeing with him when her hips start to move on their own accord, disagreeing with his teasing thrusts and instead she impales herself up on him, rough and sloppy to the rhythm of her fits of crying.

“I loved you.” Elaine sobs into his neck and he could wring hers for the confusion of it, for the way he just doesn’t get her after a lifetime of trying and how only this, this communion, this passion, this fucking is the only thing they make great sense at. Back when it had a purpose, back when it was to bring joy, to make a baby or five, and even now -to tie her to him somehow.

He folds her body viciously and plants his foot on the bed, thrusting so hard into her with all that wild abandon he knows she’d been jealous of him expending on his audience and not his family. “You greedy lil bitch, you love me,” he growls, “-what a revelation.”

‘Just an ounce of all that passion would go a long way, Elvis’ -he can hear the echo of her stupid little voice even now.

Passion? You want passion, Tink? He doesn’t think he’s ever been so passionately furious when he’s climaxed before ever in his life. For once it’s quite obvious he’s not ‘made love’, war maybe, but not love -and ain’t that another joke, he’d meant to make her love him again.

Elaine tears at his back with her fingernails and hears him snarling at her that he won’t stop, can’t stop, why can’t she stop this nonsense? She grips him harder, she seizes herself as he starts to slow, claws at his back with each vicious pump -seems they’ll both be shifting in their seats next time in the courtroom.

“Elaine?” he sounds so broken, like he does those times when they bring him back from heaven’s gates, it’s mumbled into her neck again like always but this time there’s no drugs to blame, not directly, not if she’s honest. She’s the one killing him. This little plan of hers to save him, just might finish him.

She prays God will be kind, prays he’ll keep her man alive long enough for her to finish this ugly business and restore his freedom, prays that maybe the hot slosh of spend coating her womb won’t be a waste. That she’ll have something of him left, just once more, please just one more. Something left of the man she married. Something to remind her of why they married and of what it was like to be happily married. Maybe just once more she wants to carry his entire world inside her.

“No, Elvis. I-I’m sorry, no.”

When he pulls away, it's not just sweat coating his lashes and his face. This plan of hers might just finish them both.

_______________________________

Every day in that courtroom is another layer of pride and image stripped away from Elvis and her and their perfect Southern Camelot. Every day is another headline for the papers with pictures of Elvis making a fool of himself in a way that can’t be smoothed over by anyone. Every day has cameras being shoved in Elaine’s face as she leaves with another hickey on her neck, bruising and blossoming in a way that looks grotesque when she sees it on the news later that night. The black outfits don’t help the contrast.

Every other day is being thrust against a bathroom stall’s wall with heels digging into Elvis’s back.

“E-Elaine-" He’ll stutter out, the feel of her clenching around his cock making it hard to focus or maybe it was the bite of her nails through his dress shirt. "You stop this. Been grovelin' 'n I deserve to have my wife listen."

"Ex. Wife." Elaine will huff out, words slurring into a quiet mewl as his cock brushes that one spot.

"Wife." An argument and a fact that he'll hammer home until the very last second he can. She never corrects him after the first time, too worried the knowledge would crush him to the point of everything finally giving out.

Jesse has taken to looking askance at her, worried and haunted little looks with fluttery hands at shoulder level that remind her of Elvis before he married her. If she had Elvis’ grit she’d ask her son if he had something to say and tell him to say it.

As it is she just pats his elegant hands, a man’s hands, she realizes, and thanks him profusely for his support, for being there at court with her day after day, missing practice and missing dates, letting a youthful spring and summer slip on by. They’ve been at this for close to a year.

“It’s nothin mama.” Jesse insists, almost offended at the idea he’d be anywhere but by her side.

________________________________

|| 5th, JUNE 1977 ||

When Ann makes her call, Elaine’s heart fills with all the old butterflies and girlish excitement of a past decade. They’ve kept in touch, of course they have, but between the touring, the marriages, and the unspoken acknowledgment of life falling apart from one and coming together for another, there’s less common ground to chat about compared to the days when Elaine used to share her husband and two little vixens named Thumper and Tink got to pick him apart in gleeful adoration like girls with their crush.

“Can I come by?” Thumper asks her, soft and kind but without the playful undercurrent that precipitated all her other visits.

“Well of course you can, you know you can.“ Elaine puzzles, finger worrying the wire in a nervous tick that has nothing to do with anticipation, dread pools in her belly instead.

There’s no children to greet Ann when she comes to the door, Marie at school and Jack away at his apprenticeship in California, Jesse has taken to spending his days in the studio when he’s not needed elsewhere, Daisy on the road and Rosalee in College, Ella married and attempting to assimilate with her in-laws. It feels like a ghost house compared to what Ann recalls. Maybe it’s just the passage of time but something terribly wrong and lonely strikes her at the lifelessness of the grand house, like it’s become haunted without a single death.

Unless it’s the death of the Presley’s as a whole. That would do it.

Elaine stands at the top of the stairs like old times, but there’s no gambit of children to wait for and so she speeds down the stairs at a breezy gait, smiling soft and subdued even as she refuses to be coy with her hug. She wraps Thumper up in a deep embrace and Ann squeezes her back, saying a million things at once by their clutching hold, murmuring little half sentences of condolences and “missed you’s”.

“What’d you come for?” Elaine asks her at the dining table after having supplied ice water and coasters for her guest. Ann turned down the saltines Elaine devoured with peculiar relish.

Always a straight shooter, Elaine. It makes Ann sigh and smooth out her skirt, clearing her voice to repay her candor with like. “I came to see what on earth was going on. To see if you were ok. And, I guess I came to see if it’s really happening. Nobody really thinks it’s happening. Or -I don’t know.”

“It’s happening.” Elaine replies with grim resignation.

“I don’t understand because Elvis says you’re the one divorcing and I always thought if one-“ Ann stops herself to scoff, “-I actually never thought either of you would ever divorce. You’re sincere?”

“It’s happening.” Elaine repeats, shielding her saltine chewing with a manicured hand. The action also flashes her still worn wedding band.

“So it’s not a threat?” Ann marvels, “When Roger insisted it was true, I thought it must be some drastic measure, something to get Elvis’ attention. His cooperation, you know, something to just-“

“-I’ve tried many drastic measures to gain that.” Elaine responds, “ all of them failed. I’d never ‘threaten’ something as horrible as this.“

“But…you’d do something…this horrible.” Ann murmurs, scared to play devil's advocate but utterly confused.

“You don’t know what I’ve been dealing with and, what you saw in the early days of residency, even the stuff on the film sets, it’s like aspirins compared to what he’s on now.”

“So it’s the drugs?” she whispers, heartsick, “You can’t handle being…around them? Around him?” she asks, then adds after careful consideration, “I have noticed you seem, seem still very tactile with him. I see the-“ she waves her finger at Elaine’s collarbones, “-I see the marks. Are you scared of him?”

It is unthinkable of Elvis. It really is, and Ann knows her face must show disbelief even when presented with her friend's mottled skin, and she hates herself for doubting a woman’s account, but if Elaine were to say she’s scared, Ann isn’t sure she’d be able to buy that. Not of Elvis. Even under the influence.

“Gosh no.” Elaine scoffs, a beat too late. “I just can’t do it anymore. All of it. Just the typical little things that build up in a marriage, I suppose.”

She tries to grin and Thumper thinks it’s the weakest acting she’s ever seen. Elaine more convincingly played a virgin in their home movies when deepthroating cucumbers for Elvis’ enjoyment.

“How’s Roger? Elaine asks, through with defending herself and Ann feels lost, adrift and unable to get near like she once did.

“Roger is fine.” Ann replies, “He sends his best. How is Ella?”

“Tell him I’m sorry they brought your name up, last week.” Elaine sighs, no apology offered to Thumper. They both know she’d be offended at an apology for being associated with them. “Ella is decidedly pregnant, that’s what she is.”

“Is she?” Thumper coos, followed by an alarmed quavering of hope and concern on her face. “Elaine, that’s-“ it is wonderful despite the circumstances but Elaine’s brittle posture suggests a to-do about it might sink her. “Congratulations, Grandma Tink.” Thumper settles for, daring to reach across the table top, seizing Elaine’s hand and squeezing its saltine dusted elegance.

“Thank you.” she whispers hoarsely, “She calls me everyday. Reminds me of you and me back when … her man he -he sounds sweet. Of course he’ll be gone awhile and so I’m all she has got to talk to about throwing up each morning and watching things swell.” None of this is how they expected or intended, Elvis and Elaine should both be hovering about and annoying their first grandchild before they’re even out in the world. Instead Ella’s perched down in Texas, no doubt terribly homesick, and Elaine’s talking about grandbabies like it’s another addition to the carport. “Tell Roger we’re sorry they brought your name up. Please tell him.”

“We don’t care.” Thumper insists and Elaine hopes that���s an accurate representation of Roger’s feelings. “He only asked-“ Ann stares out the front windows and down the drive towards the gates, summer colors brilliantly lush outside the house, she’s seen this view so many times it hurts, “-he asked that I make sure that…any…videos, and such, were disposed of.” she winces as she gets it out, once her manager, always her manager that man. “I wasn’t sure which of you to ask about them.”

Elaine stares at her intensely as if trying to read her soul. “I’ve most of them upstairs. Ruined by pregame juice mainly but the labels are sentimental so I’ve kept them.” Ann wonders if they’re ruined at all, and if they are she wonders if it’s by orange juice or by something far more lewd. Elvis never had great aim, “I’m sure Elvis has the ones we sent him under lock and key. Either way, you know neither of us would endanger you. You know that, Thumper.”

“Yes, yes I do.” Ann breathes, resting her chin in her hand, mournful at having insinuated otherwise.

“So you can tell Roger they’re not a worry.” Elaine prods with the shadow of an old smirk, “And you never know, in future it might not be so hard to track Naughty and I down at once.”

“Oh?” Ann squints at her in confusion.

“Mhmm.” Elaine just hums and shrugs her shoulders, the purple little mark on her clavicle shadowing with the movement. “Are you saying the night, Thumper?”

Ann leaves that evening more bewildered than when she arrived. “You were right, Roger,” she tells her husband as she settles beside him late that night, “she didn’t tell me a thing. Not really.”

___________________________

|| 9th, JUNE 1977 ||

“They’re gonna stop pressin’ ‘bout Thumper,” the murmur of his voice registering before the hand on her arm does as they both find themselves heading to the bathroom. It’s a flimsy sort of an excuse and one she’s beginning to think the papers and the news cameras see through.

“That’s good.” Her voice is a little too airy but today’s been a back and forth of yelling and excuses and all Elaine’s thinking about is how one of Daisy’s bandmates called her up from a payphone telling her that they almost couldn’t wake her for the show. The show she shouldn’t be doing but the show that Elaine let her do because she’s been playing being an adult for so long that who was she to argue against it?

“Told her we’d make sure it was- nothing came out. Roger was worried about it. For her image and for his, maybe.”

After all, it’s one thing to just be married to Ann-Margret, another thing entirely to be married to Thumper who’d rolled in the hay literally and figuratively with the Presleys at their lowest point. He’s never minded her continued friendship with them but that was before whispers of infidelity turned into whispers of sexual romps that were taped and stored or pictures that were taken and used as masturbatory material. He's never minded until Joe E, bless his soul, implied he might've seen copper locks in a video from Circle K that Elvis had shown a few of the members of the Mafia. Not that the court or anyone could find such a video.

The lock to the bathroom clicks behind Elvis and he turns around, raising an eyebrow. “Now hold on a minute, she- Thumper thought we’d- I’d never-”

“She didn’t. Roger was concerned. She knows us well enough, Elvis.” Still reassuring him as if they’re not going through what is turning out to be the messiest divorce the world has ever seen and likely will ever see. “I told her as much and she felt bad about asking.”

About the tapes and the photos, not so much about their divorce, Elaine reasons. As much as she wants to fault one of her oldest friends -it’s understandable. That was the purpose of the divorce. To come out of left field and appear to all concerned as if the faithful wife has finally grown unable to force herself to put up with Elvis Presley any more. The Colonel wouldn’t question that and had wanted it for years, if anyone were to ask him. Ann- their lil Thumper wouldn’t have been able to keep her plan a secret, her loyalty to Elvis and Elaine would have put her in a spot that Elaine didn’t dare want to shove her into. No, it was better for her to question the same as everyone else. Maybe if this went well they could all have a laugh about it in Hawaii. Or at the very least, Ann could forgive her.

“Don’t know why she didn’t jus’ ask me, ‘m the one who-'' Elvis's voice trails off when it hits him. Why would she ask the person who likely doesn’t hold most of them. Who’s fixin’ to lose everything in a divorce he desperately doesn’t want. “Least she knows now."

Elaine should agree with him, she should agree with him that at least Ann knows now, but she only knows part of the story. She only knows that the man she fell in love with on a movie set and his wife she maybe sometimes loves as more than a friend won’t damage her the way they’re damaging each other. How even Elaine had to joke that maybe it would be easy to run into them together in the future. Even during these hellish days in court they can’t escape each other’s orbits.

Pretending to not love and care for Elvis is an impossible task when what she’s doing is because her love and her care for a man who is sometimes brutish and stupid and selfish is so overwhelming it threatens to choke her.

At her silence, Elvis allows himself to crowd into her space, hands grasping at her hips ever so gently. "How's Rosalee?"

They're both too tired to fight in this bathroom, their energy having been spent outside of it for everything else. Asking about his favorite daughter, the one who's lived and breathed for her daddy for years feels safe.

"Not- she's not very good, Elvis. It's been- she hasn't really been the same." Since what happened. If things were different maybe she'd be taking the time to relax at home and maybe Daisy wouldn't have run off from guilt and - no. Elaine can't dwell on that even as her eyes start to water.

"It's hard on them." His tone isn't accusing, instead managing to just state a fact. This whole divorce has been hard on all of them. Even if Elaine's the one instigating everything he sees how unhealthy she looks. Feels how her body seems to be breaking down in ways that aren't as flashy as his body but the signs are there.

God knows he's not always been the most pious of men in action, that somehow all his good intentions and gospel songs haven’t managed to pull him back as he skidded down the road to hell, yet he’s got such a hankering to hide in the cleft of the rock once again. Acknowledge he’s a man, a failing man, a wayward husband, a prodigal son.

He finds himself reaching for Laney’s hand, palm up in a way she recognizes without a word. She clasps it without hesitation, in a time worn manner they’ve used before marriages, births, trips, shows, bedsides of sick and dying friends and here in this tiled little haven of the courthouse where they’re allowed to be as vulnerable and broken as their Heavenly Father knows them to be.

They bow their heads and Elvis finds himself begging his Almighty not for a return of fortunes but merely a cessation of tragedies. Elvis’ hand twitches, a pinky disentangling from Tink’s clasp and tickling her belly, like a presentment, like a benediction of nothing more than a heartbroken hunch on his part.

_____________________________

|| 29th, JULY 1977 ||

Elvis regrets answering the door to his penthouse the moment it swings open to reveal Johnny Cash with that sort of frantic and half crazed look in his eyes that Elvis thought he'd given up at the beginning of the decade. Wasn't that a hoot, the two of them swore up and down they had gotten clean for their women, the loves of their lives- the ones that God blessed them with to live out their present and future everlasting lives with- only to fall back into those old habits. What a cosmic joke.

"You're a fool, Presley." Short and to the point in a way that only Johnny can manage. Elvis exhales, wondering what exactly he's done to God to earn one of his oldest friends calling him a goddamn fool at the closest thing he's got to a home nowadays. His lil Schnucki comes to visit him, and Jesse's called once or twice but ever since that- ever since he realized how serious his Laney was about leaving him- Graceland ain't his home anymore.

"Ain't gonna say anythin'? No fight left in you?" The door to the penthouse is kicked in and if Elvis was any other person, or Johnny was any other person Elvis might've jumped. As it is, all he manages is a shrug as he pinches his nose. His head's achin' and his eyes hurt and all he wants to do is sleep. Take something to make every whisper floating in his head die down. An older brother telling him how he's ruined his life isn't remotely something he's got the patience for. Not after today's courtroom.

"Whatcha want me to say, John? Ya know everythin', so whatcha want me t'say, hm? Laney's leavin' me, takin' what she wants and leavin' me poorer than I met her."

Not monetarily, no, Elvis figures he could handle that better than the reality of his Laney, his Tink, the bjggest part of his soul other than his mama leaving him. Elaine's leaving him a man with barely any soul left in him to fight and go on. And he swears- lord he swears he felt something different about her recently. Something swelling that shouldn't.

"What I want'ya to say is that I'm gonna go back to my hotel and me and June are gonna tell each'otha that this whole thing's jus' you all been stubborn as a pair o'mules. Cause if it ain't, I gotta be real concerned June's gonna up and do the same thing on me." Johnny's always been someone who doesn't let Elvis get away with half the things everyone else does. Maybe it's because of how they started things together or how Johnny knows that half the reason he's got June is because of Elvis. Or maybe it was some misplaced need to be a brother to Elvis- to fill in a spot he figures his twin would've.

"June ain't gonna-" Elvis starts before Johnny uses the two inches he's got on Elvis to his advantage, staring the other man down as he cuts him off.

"Lane wouldn't've. Shouldn't've. Yet she is. This ain't- this ain't 'bout whatever damn excuse she's got. Can't be. There's somethin' you ain't tellin' everyone."

More and more Elvis has to laugh at his life and how everyone seems to think he's got some power over his Laney. That this whole divorce and the way he's embarrassing the both of them day after day is just another show. A snow job as the colonel would put it. This would be so much easier if that was the case. It isn't the case though, it isn't the case and Elvis feels his laughter escape him like the boom of a cannon.

"If there's anythin'- The whole damn country thinks I'm an idiot who can't keep his wife and here- I don't need you to be thinkin' 'm an idiot who don't know some grand plan his wife's cooked up. Ain't no plan. Ain't nothin' I ain't already groveled about and cried about in those hallowed halls. Laney jus' don't want me any more."

A silence settles between the two men at that revelation with Elvis breathing sounding so labored that even through the haze of his own drugs Johnny levels a look at his friend. It’s only after he’s sure that the other man won’t pass out and die on him that he actually speaks.

"You- You ain't me. She ain't Vivian. She- Elvis there ain't no way she's- that ain't it. You're both- you two can't keep your hands off each other even divorcin'. She- she still wants ya.”

“She wants my cock, John. Wants my money. Wants my house. My mama’s house. Know I said it was hers the moment we got hitched but- it wasn’t ever supposed to be hers. It’s- It’s ours.” Elvis isn’t one to break down, not in front of certain people and Johnny might be one of his friends that are near and dear to him but he doesn’t want to lose it in front of him. Doesn’t want to cry and blubber like he has been in the courtroom, pleading and begging for Elaine to just see sense. “We don’t- She don’t love me any more. T-That’s all there is to it. No grand con-spear-ah-see. Jus’ my wife wantin’ to be my ex-wife. Don’t know if I blame her. I ain’t-”

“You been a better husband than I was. Better husband than a lotta men. If- if 'Lane wanted to leave ya? She'd have done it back in the 60s. When you were carryin' on wit' what's her name- Swedish girl- fire hair. But she went 'n made friends wit' her. That woman's supposed to be yours till Kingdom Come 'n beyond. This doesn't make a single lick of sense and ya know it!"

One would think that nothing could echo in this penthouse and yet somehow Johnny's booming yell, filled with bass that Elvis is sure have made men greater than him bend and cower, echoes and reverberates in his ears. A stark reminder that Elaine and him seem to affect everyone around them for better or worse. Elvis's heart pumps a little harder as he tries to wrap his aching head around everything for what feels like the millionth time.

"I-I know it don't. This- you know these things don't take this long, John. I've-I been draggin' this out. Stickin' my damn heels in the mud. Anythin' to get her to come back, to see what- anythin' to not lose her. And she's jus'- ain't none of it workin'. Daisy up'n'ran off, Rosalee jus' wants me to be near her mama or her mama near me. Jesse's lookin'-"

"That what it is? Her doing it for the kids?” Johnny’s question has him tilting his head, not entirely unlike the millions of dogs Elvis’s children have had over the years. He ought to be offended Johnny cut him off so easily and without a care in the world and yet Johnny’s one of the few people he’d let do that. “She’s doin’ this for your kids.”

For once, Elvis has to look at Johnny and guess at what he means whether it’s because the man is too stunned to put it into words or because he doesn’t want to even entertain the idea, Elvis doesn’t know. He can hear his heartbeat going a bit too and a bit too hard in his ears as he answers.

“Ya mean- have i been failin’ them too? Have a been as bad of a father to ‘em as ‘ve been a bad husband?” The laugh that leaves Elvis sounds more like a sob than anything else. Johnny purses his lips even as he listens. "Ya mean how I found out I'm havin' a grandbaby through Laney? Or how Daisy's worse than you’n’I together on whatever she's takin'? Or how my boys acted like superheroes for their sister? How my lil Schnucki had- how I had to find that out from the Harrisons and my boys? ‘N I wasn’t there to blow those fools’ heads clean off their necks?”

Johnny realizes right then he’s made a mistake coming here. Or maybe just made a mistake pressing this point like it’s honestly any of his damn business. “You haven’t-”

Elvis cuts him off with a wave of his hand as he steps away, trying to feel less like a caged animal. “That’s right, I haven’t. I haven’t, John. Haven’t been there, haven’t given ‘em what they need. I had one job. Take care of all of ‘em and love ‘em. Failed so- I don’t blame her, John. I- I love her. Ya know I do. You know this sorta love but I can’t, I can’t make her love me again. S-she ain’t gonna love me again. Not the way she has.” His breath comes in short pants as his hand shakes and his leg jitters like he’s a man twenty years and nearly ten children younger. “I tried fixin’ this. The kids- the kids tried fixin’ this. But they can’t- can’t get through to her, these days! They’re all beggin’ and cryin’ and torn up and the Tink I know wouldn’t’ve lasted a week after causin’ such hurt to our babies. Well this new edition of her’s done made it close to a year.”

Johnny opens his mouth to speak only for Elvis to hold up a finger and force himself to take a deep breath, like Laney told him to those times after she thumped his heart back to life for him. Laney’d get what she wants if he died but he’s got a grandbaby he’s gotta see. Wants to try and see. “A year. Been nearly a year and it ain’t workin’. Nothin’- been tryin’ to remind her’ve what we had. What I give t’her. It-” Elvis starts to trail off, the fight that Johnny had put inside him slowly deflating till all he’s left with is the shell of a man who’s bone tired. Bone tired and losing everything no matter what fight he puts up. His shoulders slump.

Watching someone who’s as larger than life as Elvis Presley seemingly fold in on himself feels wrong in Johnny’s mind, but it gives him the answer he needs. It gives him the answer he’s looking for when it comes to just what’s going on with this whole divorce and what’s going on with Elaine and Elvis. His legs cross over to where Elvis is in only a few steps and without missing a beat, his arm wraps around Elvis’s shoulder. Elvis might not be his brother in blood but they’ve gone through enough that- that he wouldn’t leave him out in the cold without a hint of comfort.

“You gotta make peace wit’ it, then. Gotta- The Lord ain’t gonna want to see the two of ya fightin’ till ya keel over and die. Gotta give- If what she wants is to not be your wife any more, ya gotta give it to her. Just to make peace.” His voice isn’t much louder than a low rumble and yet Elvis can hear him clear as day.

“She won’t be my Laney any more. Won’t be my Tink.” A response as if he's a child being denied his favorite toy. Johnny doesn't stop himself from huffing out a laugh.

"But she'll still be Elaine, your children's mama. It ain't like you won't ever see her, EP." But that’s not the problem, that’s never been the problem and from the way Johnny’s looking at him, he knows that. “But ya gotta- it’s not doin’ either of ya a bit o’good to be draggin’ it on and on. Not after everythin’. Been livin’ ‘part for so long-” Johnny trails off, hand moving to rub at his eyes as he shakes his head. “Nothin’ you’ve done’s fixed it. Might not be meant to be fixed in those ways.”

“I-I- I don’t have anythin’ to fall on, John. I leave her it’s jus’ me and-” The medicine I got coursin’ through me, is what he should say. “I don’t know how to not be her husband.”

A silence settles over the two of them, punctuated only by Elvis’s heavy breaths and Johnny’s sharp and quick ones until Johnny settles himself against the wall, crossing his arms and raising his leg to press against it.

“Never said ya had to stop actin’ like you were.”

__________________________________

|| 6th, AUGUST 1977 ||

It’s a supreme irony that after a year of wishing for a cessation of that old stubbornness, that bitter pride of his, when such submission comes in the form of a mute and sullen husband opposite in the courtroom, Elaine feels her heart hammer in her chest, bewildered and terrified as he concedes one settlement after another in quick session.

Jesse gasps beside her at the change, even looks ready to beg her to reconsider her greediness as 90% gets handed over without a hint of the raging qualms her opposition has been voicing for five months.

Only Colonel Parker appears scared as shit, angrily grabbing at Elvis’ limp arm and trying to interrupt his directions with the lawyers. Each new verdict gets waved through by a lazy flick of a bejeweled hand and Elaine thinks the repetition of the gavel granting her all she wants could make for a decent backbeat in the studio.

After an agreement to give up 90% of his catalog, Elaine and Jesse both share a look, heartbroken and relieved that he’s really, truly, finally given up.

It’s obvious to all that it’s a bodily wearing out, Elvis looks awful and no amount of jewelry or eyeliner or Snow Job paraphernalia can hide the fact Elaine’s husband is a sick man. Even the papers who’ve found him easy pickings for ridicule and blame suddenly find some heart for his obvious suffering, even if the compassion is wedged between headlines about his expanding waistline and her latest money grab.

“What’s with you?” she demands and this time it’s her hand around his wrist, the unsteady clop of his boots following her heels after the click of the bathroom latch. When she drops his wrist his gold studded hand lands heavily by his thigh, he makes no move to crowd her, to grip her hair and kiss her like old times. “What was all that about?” she finds herself angry instead of relieved, mimics his lazy hand waves and scoffs in his face. She knew and planned on this day coming, but it doesn’t make it less unsettling as she takes in the victory of her spirit over his. He’s her man after all, her daddy and her provider, tough and proud and one of a kind and she’s beat him at the game of wills. She can feel her eyes pooling and angrily runs a hand under her nose as he stares at her with a blank, droopy expression.

“M’tryin’ to make peace.” Elvis shrugs, it was Johnny’s advice. Whatever it took, even if it meant giving in, he’s the man of their house and he’s here to make peace. Maybe if they end on a kind note he’ll be thought of, invited into the inner circle even even, by the time Ella pops out their grandbaby. “Never cared about the fuckin’ catalogue Tink, was only ever about buyin’ time to convince you to stay.”

The colonel’s panic at this latest settlement, one that finished the final prying open of his carefully constructed facade, one that’s exposed him to years of investigations, jail time maybe -though few outside of Elaine, Mr. Corleone and the FBI know that yet- is like sipping a mojito after a long day baking in the sun for Elaine.

Two decades of her saying he wasn’t right and Vernon telling her to go mind the carpet bill, change a diaper, redo a curl.

It should be refreshing, it should be a tonic to the way she feels shaky most mornings and ravenous in the evenings. Instead she finds herself trembling and laying an icy hand to Elvis’ burning forehead, registering the unnatural heat even in this chilled bathroom. It’s not just the stupid velvet coat, one blue eye is far more dilated than the other now she’s pulled his glasses down. He flinches from it, whether from the brightness of the bare bulbs or her touch, she isn’t sure.

“What’ve they got you on?” she sounds like a frog, throat all constricted and voice thin. She cares, she still cares so much and it could’ve been just yesterday she folded her handsome young groom into that bathtub in Germany and held him through the shakes. She wishes she could ask him ‘why do you always waste my love?’ But somehow, even after all her cruelty, that feels a little mean. “Baby, talk to me, what’s -“

Elvis grabs her hand, gently this time and he folds it with her other in both of his, a tan, sparkly little cage, she wonders how long it’ll take him before he pulls his wedding band off. Will he discard it before they make it out of the courthouse today? “Don’t you fret yourself, lil mama, those days are over.” he rumbles as he squeezes her hands and she wonders if he means days of fretting or drugs, they coincide often enough, “You jus’ take care of y’self, ok?” he sucks in a trembling breath and his glasses pinch between her fingers in his squeeze, “Without me there to nag ya bout it I-I -you take care of y’self.”

“Oh Elvis-'' she whimpers, moving closer, wanting to beg for some forgiveness, all clever plans and well timed revelations beginning to fray as she watches him rally his old magnanimity despite his grief.

_____________________________

|| 28th, SEPTEMBER 1977 || >>

He’s not alone in this concern, Elaine doesn’t know if she has Jesse or Daisy to blame for the way Marlon shows up in Memphis like that Yankee son of a bitch belongs that land bound. There’s never been a reason to see Brando except on one coast or another and it’s jarring for Elaine, seeing him take up space that’s so uniquely Elvis’ property, even if it’s under her name.

To see him in her home. Her true home.

She’s no good at hiding her nerves or the exhausted paranoia of wondering how Elvis will react when he hears of this visit. Marlon reads her like a book and leans against her kitchen counter, acting like Mary isn’t throwing them a million side eyes over the biscuit batter, and asks after her well being.

“Pretty terrible, thanks. And you?” she shrugs, wringing out a dish towel over and over. She doesn’t know when she became so fidgety, nowadays it seems she’s always betraying her nerves with restless hands and she never had that trouble before. Always a baby to hold if she needed the excuse, she guesses.

Her last baby is nine years old. And so she wrings out her dish towels and stares back at an old lover with the weary openness of a woman who doesn’t really care anymore. Elvis has been her one goal, and saving him is killing her as effectively as it is him. Those last days she wasn’t sure he was going to keep making it into the courtroom, shifting in his chair not from her nails furrows but from the repeated shots in his rump. The ones that have killed him a few times over.

Jesse made a visit to him in Vegas. Elaine doesn’t know what he said but her boy has barely spoken since. She asked her son how his father was, quite aware she doesn’t know the particulars from his fevered attentions in the handicapped bathroom of the Santa Monica courthouse. Her man would crawl out of his grave for the chance to make love one last time, it’s not a good gauge. Jesse said he keeps the curtains closed constantly. That he’s not letting anyone up. Charlie barely let Jesse up. His eyes are bad, so bad the curtains stay closed, otherwise Jesse couldn’t tell, couldn’t get a good look at him. He didn’t stay for the concert. Cissy says his voice has held up this time, at least.

“Pretty terrible.” She tells Marlon, because he’s always been more friend than lover, and that’s why he’s in Memphis when it’s a fool's errand anyway.

For all Marlon will speak his mind about this that and the other on things he cares about- yet God does he *care* about Elaine and so he bites his tongue at the first thought that pops into his head. *You've been pretty terrible for years and now you decided to care and do something about it*.

Instead: "You look terrible."

Which is a gross oversimplification of his feelings, but Elaine doesn't watch as his eyes slide over her pale and wan cheeks that look thinner than he's ever seen them. She doesn't watch how his eyes drift downward to breasts that are pressing against the dress she's wearing.

They remind him of when she was pregnant with Marie. They remind him of her breasts when she cried out beneath him against her tiki bar. If he closes his eyes he can picture them bouncing in front of his face, begging for him to bury his face in them. The boy- her oldest boy was right. Marlon doesn't even need to look at her stomach and yet some sick twisted masochistic tendency compels him to as if that'll change things.

It's small. Smaller than he figures any of her bumps have been and yet it's there. Mocking and growing at its own pace.

Proof that Elaine Phipps wants to remain Elaine Presley till one of them dies and maybe even beyond. Marlon can't help the way he exhales through his nose, unable to look away even as Elaine talks,

"Marlon, are you even listening?"

No. But he needs to.

"Mind wandered off, you know how I get, Elaine." He straightens up and tries to stay alert, “So, all this really fixed things for ya, eh?” he quips sardonically and she smiles, rolls her eyes, fully aware he’s not mocking her, he’s mocking the hopelessness of it ever working.

“Yeah. It’s all coming up roses.” she snarks.

“I uh-“ he stipples his fingers on the counter and weighs his next move, “-I heard that Colonel Parker’s recently landed in some seriously hot water. Something about the audits during the divorce and how certain things don’t match up. Got it from the papers, you know how long they stretch a few vague facts. I had to read two whole pages to get ‘fraud’ and ‘debts’ out of them. Anyways, I thought you’d find that nice -hot water, all that.”

“So hot it’ll boil his coat of lies right off with any luck.” Elaine seethes and her sudden passion takes Marlon by surprise. Stirs an old appreciation for just how much verve is always bubbling beneath her doll-like exterior. His fingers itch to let out the excess in a gush around his fingers. “Illegal alien.” She expounds, warming to her argument in the way of someone long overdue a listen, “Would you believe it? All those endless homebound tours -runing Elvis into the ground on the same circuit simply because that greedy fool couldn’t tag along. Couldn’t step outside the country. Always wondered why he never crashed our time in Germany, knew he would if could. Fake, heartless, toad.”

“Fuck him.” Marlon agrees vehemently and Elaine looks up with the same appreciative eyes of a decade past when she got no arguments from him, unlike all the menfolk surrounding her most days. Marlon abides by a simple rule: if it pisses Elaine Presley off, he needs no further research to say it ain’t shit.

“Yes, well, I’ll leave that to the Justice Department, I’ve done my bit.” Elaine sighs, her little victory crow short lived and even with his bias for the unattached Miss Phipps, Marlon can see how hollow her achievements are without Elvis to pat her pretty head for them. “It’s been weeks and I- I’m afraid he’s angry Marlon.” they’re not talking of the Colonel now, Marlon can tell by her love-sick face, “I knew he would be, with the divorce and probably with framing Parker but -he was so kind that day. So kind I thought he might’ve forgiven or just, I don’t know but now, now he won’t even answer my calls. Marie hasn’t gotten through either and -it’s not like him, Marlon, it’s not.”

“You got something pressing to tell him?” Brando asks and doesn’t even bother to hide the way his eyes flick back over her ripening form, pondering if her boy hadn’t been silly after all, going on about her not noticing. If he were a woman, a pretty woman like Elaine still is, Marlon would be weighing those growing tits each day with pride and mesmerization -but then again, Elaine’s had more on her mind than appreciating her own assets like a horny old star who never learned to aim for his own league.

“No I only wanted to-” she bites her lip as if unsure or else what she wants is unspeakably optimistic for a woman who just threw it all away. “I missed his voice.”

_______________________________

<<< || 16th, AUGUST 1977 ||

The knock at the door startled them both. Elvis pulled his back from it and faced it like he was gonna defend his wife from the mob he suspected was outside. Old habits die hard.

“Y’all?” Jesse yelled through the thick wood, “There’s half the city crowdin’ outside, there’s not gonna be a path to squeeze through soon.”

“Yeah alright son, thank you.” Elvis cleared his throat as he dropped her hands, straightening his posture fully. “You ready?” he asked dully, eager to get the worst moment of his life over.

“I gue- I- yes.” she stumbled over her meaning and smoothed out her black jacket.

"Daddy?" Jesse's voice was heard over the wood once more and both Elaine and Elvis took matching deep breaths, sweat droplets falling on Elvis’s eyes with a wince.

It's not pity that had Elaine putting the glasses back on Elvis’s eyes, her fingertips brushing against his temples in a simple gesture she's done a million times before. No, it's her last hurrah as his wife, her last action as his wife. They may have signed the papers within the past hour and legally she may be Elaine Phipps once more but until they walk out of this bathroom and this courthouse she was Elaine Presley, wife of Elvis Presley. A low hum reverbated against her chest before she pulled away, a soft smile across her lips.

"There there, Mopey, all better," she whispered in the sort of tone she only uses for the children when bandaging a hurt. "Let's- let's go face the music."

“Got me more nervous than any curtain I’ve been behind,” he joked even as it falls flat and his breath comes quicker and quicker. This was the beginning of their new life as separate entities. As an ex-husband and an ex-wife.

The door wasn’t that heavy when he shut it earlier and yet it felt as if someone had remade it out of concrete as Elvis tried to push it open once the lock clicked open. He could already see the flashing bulbs from the cameras and the press of the mass of people outside waiting for them. They were no stranger to crowds but this one was one none of them wanted to face. A look was exchanged between the three of them as their shoes clicked against the floor of the courthouse, a silent acknowledgement to try and get to their waiting cars as soon as possible.

"Jess! Mama!" Elvis and Elaine looked up through the mob of people as they pushed and pulled at each other trying to catch a glimpse of the former couple with their oldest son. They found themselves half blinded by flashes of cameras and the sun's own light, trying to find the source of the bellowed words. "We're over heyer!"

Jack then. Jack who was growing more and more into Elvis’s twin if not in bulk but in charm and whose shout sounds something like Sargent Presley’s in the army. Elaine looked at Elvis, biting her lip as she did.

"Soundin’ more like me everyday." Elvis commented as if he was commenting on the weather. It had never been hard to talk to Elaine. Yet in this moment, Elvis found himself at a loss for words. And from the way Elaine was looking at him, the feeling was mutual. Matching pink tongues darted out to wet dry lips and Elvis opened his mouth, his arm outstretched as if he was going to grab at Elaine's only for his oldest son to pop up between them, taking Elaine's arm without a second thought.

"I've got you mama. I gotcha, let's go."

The look he leveled at Elvis made every single moment in this courtroom for the past five months seem like child's play. To have his oldest son look at him like he did with any suitor that tried to come Elaine’s way, hurt. But that was his life now wasn't it? That's Elvis Presley’s life without Elaine Phipps. That's Elaine Phipps's life without Elvis Presley, protected only by her sons and her daughters from a man she once called husband. The man she once loved with every fiber of her being or so Elvis thought. Make peace with it, Johnny said. Make peace with her, Johnny said. Elvis didn't think that it would feel like this.

“I know you do, Jesse. Let me say goodbye to your father.” Elaine said as softly as she could in order to avoid the prying ears of every journalist between here and her car. “Jack and your siblings aren’t going anywhere. Not in this crowd. Even if Jack’d run them over to protect me.”

A smile unbidden crossed Elvis’s lips at the joke between their eldest and Elaine. She wasn’t wrong, but that was his boys and their love for their mother in a nutshell, wasn’t it? Capable of murder to protect her the same as him. She- she would be alright even if- even if what he suspected to be true was.

“Jack drove us here, all of us.” She explained as her eyes flitted across his form one last time to check for imperfections and for signs he might be needing anything. “I’ll make sure Ella calls you about-”

“It’s fine, Elaine. Made my bed, gotta lie in it now.” His eyes scanned across the crowd, even as he winced from the light of the sun and the flashes even through his sunglasses, finally settling on his car with Colonel Parker in the passenger seat, waiting for Elvis with a look of pure displeasure and mild panic on his face. “Gotta get him and I outta here ‘fore I give him a heart attack.”

Elaine’s face hardened at the words, and Elvis, in a fit of nostalgic responsibility for her happiness, moved to place a soft kiss against her cheek, squeezing at her hands as he did.

“S’been the joy of my life knowin’ you, Miss Phipps.”

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

If you’d like to be tagged in this particular series please drop a note below. 🌹

@eliseinmemphis

@ab4eva

@foreverdolly

@powerofelvis

@crash-and-cure

@elvisabutler

@heartbrake-hotel

@stylespresleyhearted

@thatbanditqueen

@crazymadpassionatelove

@myradiaz

@ash-omalley

@arianatheangelgirl

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@lillypink

@artlover8992

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@notstefaniepresley

@ellie-24

@renaissingle

@waiting4brucewayne2adoptme

@presleyenterprise

@marriedtopresley

@ashtag2887

@dkayfixates

@vampireindistress

@ashtag6887

@i-r-i-n-a-a

@obsessedvibee

@peskybedtime

@goth-cowgirl-03

@stephthestallion

@fav-fanficssss

@loving-elvis

@honeyorangess

@soloangel

@xenaspace3-blog

@60svintage

[adamsmasher]

Okay it's after 1am and I've had a lot of wine so obviously it's time for a late night wall-of-text post, but this time it's less likely to piss off your weird uncle or whatever because once again, I gotta talk about the best $4.99 a month I've ever spent.

Please, if you haven't yet, I'm begging you to look into all of the incredible content available on the Dropout.tv streaming service (formerly known as College Humor) . Not only did Whose Line Is It Anyway's Wayne Brady say that the Dropout crew are the only ones doing improv comedy on the same level as Whose Line, but they were also one of the only studios/streaming services allowed to work during the writers' strike because their contracts went above and beyond industry standards. (And, from my own observations, Dropout LOVES hiring queer, trans/nonbinary, and BIPOC performers + crew. Obviously I don't know much about the industry, but they seem like one of the most inclusive companies in Hollywood.)

"Alex, thanks for the recommendation! What shows do they have that you think I'll like?" Oh, you're asking me to gush about my favorite tv shows? Don't mind if I do!!!

Are you D&D curious, but took one look at actual play shows like Critical Role and thought "6 hours an episode? and there's like 750 episodes or whatever? oh baby not my adhd ass..." Don't worry, me too (sorry CR I love you I promise). But Dropout has a show called "Dimension 20" where comedians play Dungeons and Dragons with emotional, immersive storytelling, gut-busting laughs, and spectacular set design that makes you forget it's a fully improvised series controlled by the roll of the dice. They even did a miniseries perfect for D&D beginners called "Dungeons and Drag Queens" where absolute novices and Drag Race royalty Jujubee, Monet X Change, Alaska Thunderfuck, and Bob the Drag Queen embark on an adventure full of mystery, intrigue, and stupidity. I mean, Alaska plays a muscle-bound, axe-wielding, caveman-grunting Orc named Princess, what more could you want? Plus, the primary game master Brennan Lee Mulligan is so easy on the eyes. Oh, you're not into dorky ginger dudes? How about Aabria Iyengar, a 6 foot tall goddess who's equally as nerdy as Brennan but loves basketball. that's right, if nothing else, there's eye candy for every person in every season.

"Oh, why aren't there any good game shows on TV?" you wonder, wishing that the Game Show Network could come up with something that isn't a lame remake of a free-to-play phone game. Well how about Game Changer, "the only game show where the game changes every show (except for [...] Game of Games, Taskmaster, and a few others that have come to light AFTER [Game Changer first aired]. That's right, [the] players have no idea what game it is they're about to play. The only way to learn is by playing, the only way to win is by learning, and the only way to begin is by beginning." And yes, I did sit there and watch the beginning of an episode to make sure I was accurately quoting Game Changer host (and Dropout CEO) Sam Reich's description of his flaghship game show that has THREE separate spin-offs. (for context, he only mentions the other shows that copied his in the one episode I pulled up to get an accurate quote. could you imagine how uncomfortable it would be if he said that every episode? hah!)

Are you more of a traditional Whose Line fan? Look no further than Game Changer spin-off Make Some Noise, where contestants act out "improvisational prompts that [they have] never seen before, isn't that right contestants?" ("We won't know if we've seen them before or not until we see them!" Brennan insists every time he's on...)

You like musicals but wish they were less... ya know, scripted? Check out "Play It By Ear", a fully improvised musical! (you may be familiar with its primary cast members Jess McKenna and Zach Reino from the podcast that inspired it all, "Off Book: the Improvised Musical Podcast with Zach and Jess")

Or maybe you're more into trivia, cuz you're a total nerd like me (and every single performer that's ever appeared on dropout.tv). How about "Umm, Actually" where contestants are given an incorrect statement and have to buzz in to correct it - but you have to say "Umm, Actually" first!

Straight up, you can't go wrong on Dropout. Please, check it out. They're nearly doubling the amount of original shows they have in 2024, and no other streaming service is doing it like them. If I haven't convinced you yet, get the 7 day trial and give em a chance. There's no referral code I can give you that gives me some sort of kickback or whatever, I genuinely wrote what looks like a thousand word essay about Dropout at 1am just because I love them so much.

[liberalk1tsch]

💗 slow kiss / gentle kiss / inevitable / soft or 💛reunion kiss. Dealer’s choice.

bet you thought i forgot, but i didn’t! i just struggle not to make an entire story out of a tiny prompt

prompt from this ask game: 💗 slow kiss / gentle kiss / inevitable / soft

i suppose reunion in a way too, but primarily 💗

context: harvest festival, don’t ask me why it’s taken this long to get them to kiss (ok fine, it’s bc katniss is dumb and peeta’s stubbornly forcing her to make the first move), they’re sharing a private moment in the newly rebuilt bakery backyard bc katniss was getting ✨overwhelmed✨ in the crowd

note: this version is very abridged from what i wanted to do. might mess around and publish a full length oneshot if enough people are interested🫡

Peeta stands and offers me a hand, bowing down slightly in mock formality. “May I have this dance?”

I laugh lightly, pretending to consider his proposal. “Only if you promise to forgive me if I step on your toes,” I say.

“Deal.” He smiles widely as I take his hand and he tugs me up into his arms.

My breath catches as his hand slides down the curve of my waist, the other holding my own hand delicately aloft as he pulls me in close.

It’s not a difficult dance, just a simple box step, but I can’t for the life of me seem to go more than a few spins without messing it up somehow. My steps are mistimed, used to compensating for a shorter partner, and I’ve always been the one to lead, so everything is backwards now. It’s funny — he’s the one missing a limb and still somehow exudes infinitely more grace and confidence while dancing than I ever could. Whatever finesse he lacks in the forest seems to have all been channeled into this, whereas mine all but disappears without Prim as a partner.

“Sorry!” I cringe as Peeta winces from yet another mistimed step on my end.

He just brushes it off and offers me a small smile. “It’s fine, really.”

“No, it’s not,” I insist. I drop our hands, instead slinging both of my arms around his neck, pulling myself ever closer. His hand that had been in mine mirrors his other, finding its home on my waist in a way that sends a shiver down my spine. “There,” I say softly. We go back to our dance, gently swaying to the music rather than attempting actual dance steps, and for the first time, Peeta’s good foot is finally spared.

“Well,” he says, letting out a huffed laugh, “that’s one way to take away room for error — taking away any space at all.”

Normally it’s the kind of comment that would have me pushing him away, laughing off the sudden closeness, writing it off as unserious and unintentional. And I don’t know why, but instead I respond, “Didn’t think you’d mind.”

Peeta’s eyebrows flick upward in surprise. “I don’t,” he assures me, any hint of humor quickly draining from his voice. “I wasn’t sure if you did.”

We’re pressed against each other, chest to chest, so close that I can feel his thundering heartbeat. Or more likely it’s mine. Maybe it’s both.

“And what if I don’t?” I ask, staring up at him.

“You tell me,” he says. His eyes are sparkling pools of starlight in the moonbathed garden.

I open my mouth to say something, but immediately realize I have nothing left to say. He’s called my bluff. He knows as well as I do what I want, he’s just waiting to see what I do — if I flee and play it off like I always do, or if I actually let myself act on the feelings that have been eating away at me for months. Years, if I’m being completely honest with myself.

In the town square, only yards away, I can hear the slow song nearing its end, no doubt soon to be replaced by a fast-paced tune. I don’t have much time, so before I can think too much about it, I cup Peeta’s face in my hands and pull him in for a long, slow kiss.

I’d kissed Peeta probably thousands of times before, but never like this. Never unprompted, and so rarely initiated by me. But that’s the point, isn’t it? Here we are, a short distance from the crowd, yet none of this is for them — it’s for us, only us.

His lips are soft and gentle against mine as his hand snakes up my spine to knot in my hair at the nape of my neck, and I instinctively melt into his touch. I’d missed this. Oh, how I’d missed this. Craved it. I feel that familiar warmth only he can elicit in me beaming out from my chest and through my entire body as we kiss. I was a fool, I think, a damned fool for trying to convince myself I was content with his friendship and nothing more.

The hunger I felt on the beach returns too. It’s wild and ravenous for more, but I refrain, instead pulling away slightly and resting my brow against his, gazing at him softly. There would be another time to address that feeling, but this moment is different. It’s my irrevocable requital of the feelings he’d once proclaimed to an entire nation, the ones he’d fought so hard to recover, the ones I’d been so terrified to reciprocate. I wasn’t going to ruin things by pushing us somewhere we’re not yet comfortable, not while things are so new, when we’ve only just started to grow back together.

This would’ve happened anyways. In a way, it had always been Peeta. And I think it always will be.

[callsign-rogueone]

letters from samara - g.t.

Garrick Tavis x reader (Angel!) part of my Valentine’s Day celly! 💕 words: 1.0k 🏷: FOURTH WING AND IRON FLAME SPOILERS, part of my Garrick and Angel series, so read that first for context! no other warnings, just kinda soft and sad.

Someone drops a thick envelope onto the table in front of you. “From Samara. They said it was important.”

Samara. Brennan had told you that’s where Garrick and Xaden are. Your hands shake as you open the seal, but you relax at the familiar slant of Garrick’s handwriting. 

My angel,

I will start with what I know you’re most worried about: I am alive, I am safe, and so is X. He’s brooding in the corner of the room right now -- he’s not taking it well being apart from Vi, but command has allowed them visits every two weeks for Tairn and Sgaeyl’s sakes. 

We both miss you more than words can describe. I wish I could have said goodbye before we left, or that we could have taken you with us, but X wouldn’t hear arguments from anyone. I have never seen him that serious about anything before. 

I’m so sorry, angel. For all of it, everything. You didn’t deserve to be put through any of that, and I know how deeply it hurt you. It was terrifying to see you that way, so drained and cold. I can’t imagine what it felt like. 

Promise me you’ll take care of yourself, my love. You are the most kindhearted person I’ve ever known, and I love that about you, but you have to think of your own needs as well. You deserve peace and rest, especially now. Sleep in as long as you want, make time for your meditation. I’m sure the gardens would appreciate your attention as well; I swear you could make roses grow in dry sand as long as you smiled at them every day. 

I couldn’t bear to burn anything of yours, knowing that your heart still beats. I kept the things I thought to be most important to you and took them here with me. I will return them to you as soon as I can, but they are a comfort to me now — my room here feels like it did at Basgiath, with little touches of you scattered around. I keep watching the door, thinking that any moment you’ll come knocking to walk to class with me, or if I reach across the bed in the morning, you’ll be beside me again. I don’t know when I’ll see you next, but I know in my heart that I will. There is nothing and no-one that could keep me from you. 

Yours always,

G

On the sheet below, another.

Until I can lay by your side and tell you about my days, I’ll keep writing to you about them instead.

Being here feels like being a fresh cadet all over again, but different -- bottom of the food chain, getting the shifts nobody wants, but at least we don’t have to constantly prove our strength like we did in our first year at Basgiath, and we already have our dragons. 

One of Chradh’s relatives is here, which is cool. I think they’re cousins? They look damn near identical. I walked up to the wrong one on the flight line the other day -- thankfully the guy has a better sense of humor than Chradh, but I’m never making that mistake again.

Every rider here seemed to know exactly who we were when we arrived. Some of them have been more subtle with their distaste for us than others, but nobody’s been dumb enough to try anything -- probably because we look like we can fight, and because Sgaeyl is fucking terrifying, even more so now that she’s separated from Tairn. 

I just got off a 12-hour patrol shift, and I’m exhausted, but it’s hard to sleep without you here. I don’t think we’ve ever been apart this long in our lives. Being without either of you has never even felt like a possibility before; it’s always been us three together through the good and the bad. Someday it’ll be like that again, I know it will.

Brennan is the best mender I have ever known. If you choose, he can help you strengthen your ability, but please don’t push yourself too far. I need you to be in one piece when I get back. 

There are three more sheets underneath, one in Xaden’s rough script and two more from Garrick, the last dated four days ago -- likely the day he’d sent it. 

You realize what an incredible risk it was to write to you at all. It wouldn’t take a genius to put together that X is Xaden, that you’re hiding in Aretia, that you’d faked your death, or rather that your friends had faked it for you. How many hands did these pages pass through to reach you? How many others out there are on your side? 

You bring a hand up to cover your yawn, realizing how tired you are. The sun has gone down, a small mage light the only thing illuminating the corner of the study that you occupy. It’s likely nearing midnight.

“The letters and the books will still be there in the morning,” Tab says gently. “Sleep. You’ve had a long day.”

You look down at the torn piece of fabric you’ve been staring at for the last four hours. It has not yet sewn itself back together, no matter how hard you concentrated or “cleared your mind”, how gently you touched it. You’d even asked it nicely, but it did not dignify you with a response.

You set the letters aside for a moment, stacking up the books that you’d found in the house’s library about mending and placing them in a neat pile in the corner of the table you’ve been sitting at every evening for the last week. You fold the black cotton into quarters, setting it atop the pile -- you’ll try again tomorrow.

You can’t help but smile as you tuck the letters back into the envelope, brushing your fingers over the wax seal.

Garrick is right, this is the longest you’ve ever been apart, but as you gaze out the window into the starry sky, holding the letters he’d written you, the distance between you doesn’t seem that far.

[infamous-if]

On theme with the thirst tweet asks how would the ROs react when reading thirst tweets about the mc instead of themselves👀👀👀👀👀👀

I love these sort of "pop culture" scenario asks. I think they're my fav lmao

HMMM I feel like we always need to specify if they're dating or not because the reactions can vary so much omg I'll do if they're dating since people are more interested that!!

Orion: I did say Orion is mildly possessive so I think he'd just be pissed at the thought of anyone but him thinking of MC in that way. "...This is inappropriate. Do they have any personal info on their account?"

Director: "err...why?"

Orion: "I'm going to report them." (he says this completely seriously)

And then he'd save some so he can ask MC later: "Is this what you like? I'll keep that in mind."

Victoria: Victoria is very open and not afraid of speaking about things like this, but when it's someone she likes she can be surprisingly shy. It really depends. I can find her staring at the tweets like "this is what people are saying about MC?" I think she'd want to one-up them and send MC texts of her own. She'd be just a *bit* insecure knowing people see MC the way she sees them, but she'd understand it too. "MC is attractive, I'm not surprised" kind of deal.

G: Would laugh, would agree, and then say some thirsty things of their own. I think they'd just find it all funny and just be like "wait let me take out my phone i want to like this tweet lol"

Sebastian: (nervous/awkward laughter, blushing profusely) "People say this about MC? Don't they know we're together?"

Director: "they don't care about that."

Sebastian would just be scandalized over it, and then be very aware of the content of the tweets and won't be able to stop thinking about MC in that context. Seb isn't a stranger to talking like that though he's pretty much a pro when he's in the mood so he'd test it out and see how MC reacts lmao

August: Probably laugh a little. And then just ask MC directly how MC feels about it. I think they'd actually be smug knowing people think of MC like that and August is the one who MC likes. Though August would wonder what exactly MC likes in terms of...that. IDK August being thirsty is such a funny visual im sorry like they're just so indifferent it would make laugh

Seven: "How did you find my alt account lol"

Seven gets quite embarrassed sometimes, so they'd try to play it off with jokes. But Seven, much like Orion, would ask MC if that's what they like to hear. They would be a bit jealous, but more in a humorous way. I promise, Seven has probably thought much thirstier things about MC than anyone on the internet can think of lmao I can see Seven teasing MC about it but the teasing would just be subtle ways to find how MC feels about all of it.

I just realized this cast is just filled with a bunch of people pleasers (MC pleasers?)...rockstars, amirite

[fanby-fckry]

How to Support Your Asexual Friend (Who May or May Not Know He’s Ace)

Day 5 of Ace Alastor Week: Friendship Friday

Please ignore that I didn’t post on tumblr, yesterday, I promise I didn’t forget/give up, I’m just indecisive and late. I’ve got one up on AO3, but can’t post it here until I figure out what I’m doing.

Word Count: 2,942

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel (Cartoon)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Additional Warnings: Implied/Referenced Canon-Typical Violence

Relationships: Alastor & Charlie Magne | Morningstar & Vaggie, Alastor & Charlie Magne | Morningstar, Alastor & Vaggie (Hazbin Hotel), Charlie Magne | Morningstar/Vaggie

Characters: Charlie Magne | Morningstar, Vaggie (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Mentioned Rosie (Hazbin Hotel)

Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, (mostly), Episode: s01e07 Hello Rosie! (Hazbin Hotel), then timeskip to, Post-Season/Series 01, Fluff and Humor, Fluff, Humor, Attempt at Humor, Light Angst, Friendship, Developing Friendships, Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Aromantic Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor Has a Heart (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor Being an Idiot (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor Being Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Good Friend Charlie Magne | Morningstar, Supportive Charlie Magne, Supportive Charlie Magne | Morningstar, Charlie Magne | Morningstar is Bad at Feelings, yeah I said it. she’s not good at them either she just has more of them, Fallen Angel Vaggie (Hazbin Hotel), Good Significant Other Vaggie (Hazbin Hotel), Soft Vaggie (Hazbin Hotel), Protective Vaggie (Hazbin Hotel), Asexuality, Ace Community Inside Jokes, Unreliable Narrator, Misunderstandings, Baking, Stress Baking, Talking, Conversations, Crying, Implied/Referenced Canon-Typical Violence

Series: Part 5 of Fanby’s Ace Alastor Week 2024 ( <- Prev || Next -> ) || Part 2 of Piece of Cake! ( <- Prev || )

Summary:

“Remember how you said we could work on supporting Alastor and his ace identity after we survived Extermination Day?” Charlie asked.

Vaggie nodded. “Mhmm.”

“Well, we survived!” Charlie gave an awkward, celebratory thumbs up. “So, now I wanna show my support! Be the good, allo-bisexual ally I know I can be!”

“By baking another cake,” Vaggie deadpanned.

“Yup!”

*

Charlie wants to show some support for Alastor and his asexuality, and decides that the best way to do so is by baking him a cake several cakes! Vaggie does her best to support Charlie in supporting Alastor.

There are only two problems:

Alastor doesn’t like cake.

Alastor doesn’t realize he’s ace.

Better on AO3

Charlie flopped down on her and Vaggie’s shared bed. “You should’ve seen them, Vaggie!” she said. “They were dancing, and singing, and really, really – honestly kind of creepily interested in the idea of getting to eat the invading Exorcists. Especially their wings.”

Charlie grimaced and Vaggie made a mental note not to expose her newly regrown wings while in Cannibal town.

“But I mean, that’s good, right?” Charlie said, sounding like she was trying to convince herself as well as her girlfriend. “Because they’re on our side!”

Vaggie nodded, intently. “Bloodthirsty troops are the most effective kind, sweetie,” she assured her.

Charlie sighed. “Thanks,” she said, smiling softly. “Rosie’s really nice, though.”

“She is?”

“Mhmm,” Charlie hummed. “I didn’t know what to think of her at first because she made a joke about Alastor and I dating and how I’m too young for him, which: First, no. Not dating. I have an amazing girlfriend and I don’t think about Alastor like that, anyway. And second, even if we were dating, I’m pretty sure I’m older than him? Chronologically, at least.”

Vaggie tried her best to follow along with Charlie’s mile a minute rant, but she felt like she was missing some very important context.

“But then she told us she was just kidding, which was a huge relief, and she called Alastor an ace in the hole-”

“Wait,” Vaggie interrupted. “Alastor’s asexual?”

“Huh?” Charlie tilted her head.

“His best friend, who’s known him for decades, called him ace.”

“Ohh.” Charlie shook her head. “No, no, she called him ‘an ace in the hole.’ You know, like a secret weapon.”

“What did she say, exactly?” Vaggie asked.

Charlie thought for a moment. “She made a comment about how I’m ‘too young’ for him, as if we were dating, and then she said, ‘I’m just kidding. I know you’re an ace in the hole.’”

“So, in the context of explaining why it’s obvious that you two aren’t dating,” Vaggie said, slowly. “She called Alastor ace.”

“Yup!” Charlie said, then paused.

Vaggie could see the exact moment the penny dropped.

“Oh,” Charlie said. “Oh shit. Alastor’s ace.”

“Probably aro, too,” Vaggie pointed out. “I bet Rosie said ‘ace’ instead of ‘aroace’ because it fit the pun better.”

Charlie put a hand under her chin. “You know, that actually makes a lot of things make sense,” she said. “I didn’t wanna assume anything, but Al’s kinda…”

Vaggie finished Charlie’s sentence. “Flamboyant in a way that makes gaydar go haywire?”

“Mhmm.”

“Yeah, Angel’s brought that up a few times.” Vaggie sighed. “And by ‘brought up’ I mean complained about. He thinks Alastor is either straight or an incredibly repressed gay man and can’t figure out which.”

“The answer is neither, apparently,” Vaggie added. “Not that it’s any of his business. Or ours for that matter.”

Charlie gasped. “Should we do another lesson on boundaries?” she asked.

Charlie’s words ran together as question after question came tumbling out of her mouth. “What about amatonormativity and asexual/aromantic erasure in the LGBTQIA+ community? Is there a way I can support Alastor without outing him? What if-”

Vaggie kissed her, and Charlie’s questions melted into a pleased hum against her girlfriend’s lips.

“I think we can figure that out later,” Vaggie said once the kiss broke. “Let’s just focus on protecting the hotel, and if we’re alive afterwards, then we can work on supporting Alastor, ok?”

Charlie nodded. “Ok.” She bit her lip. “I guess it’s just that…”

Vaggie waited patiently while Charlie wrung her hands together.

Charlie took a breath. “It’s easier to think about making new workshops and being a good ally to other parts of the community than it is to think about this!” She gestured vaguely to, well, everything.

“I wish I could go back in time before that meeting with Adam.” Charlie sniffled, and Vaggie grabbed a box of tissues from their bedside table. “Before I fucked everything up.”

Vaggie placed a hand on Charlie’s shoulder and handed her a tissue.

“You did not fuck up,” Vaggie said. “Adam is an asshole. He’s always been an asshole. And Heaven is…”

Vaggie hesitated. She couldn’t think of the right words to describe her feelings about Heaven, even now that Charlie knew what she was.

“We’re going to get through this,” she said instead, and kissed Charlie’s tear-stained cheeks. “Together.”

“Together,” Charlie repeated.

In Charlie’s defense, the first cake was incidental.

They’d just finished rebuilding the hotel – which meant a brand new kitchen! – when Alastor made his triumphant return. And what better way to celebrate the hotel’s completion and her friend’s return than with a cake?

Charlie never actually saw Alastor eat the cake, but he did accept it. And Charlie didn’t find it in the trash, later, so she was going to consider that a success!

The second cake… Well, that was intentional.

“Do we have any purple food coloring?” Charlie asked, rummaging around through the – somehow, already disorganized – kitchen cabinets.

“I’m not sure,” Vaggie said. “But I could run to the store and buy you some if you want, hon.”

“Thanks!” Charlie kept looking. “What about gray? Do they sell gray food coloring or should I just use a smaller portion of black?”

“Uh, Charlie?”

Charlie turned around. “Hm?”

Vaggie was sitting at the island, surrounded by various bakeware and ingredients Charlie had set out. “What are you making that uses all of this” – Vaggie gestured to the somewhat-organized chaos in front of her – “And purple and gray food coloring?”

“I’m baking a cake,” Charlie said cheerfully. “For Alastor.”

“Another one?” Vaggie asked.

“No,” Charlie said, before correcting herself. “Well, ok, yes, but… Let me explain!”

Charlie took a break from her hunt for purple and gray food coloring to join Vaggie at the island.

“I’m listening.”

“Remember how you said we could work on supporting Alastor and his ace identity after we survived Extermination Day?” Charlie asked.

Vaggie nodded. “Mhmm.”

“Well, we survived!” Charlie gave an awkward, celebratory thumbs up. “So, now I wanna show my support! Be the good, allo-bisexual ally I know I can be!”

“By baking another cake,” Vaggie deadpanned.

“Yup!”

“Why?”

Charlie took a deep breath. “Ok, I started by voogling ‘how to support my asexual friend’ and I found a website called HAVEN – Hell’s Asexual Visibility and Education Network, which is actually Hell’s version of a website from the Living World called AVEN that asexual Sinners created for Hell’s ace community – and I kind of wound up going down a rabbit hole about ace culture.”

“Apparently cake is a pretty big thing in the ace community. It’s a…” Charlie hesitated. “Mee-mee?” she guessed. “May-may? I’ve never actually heard anyone say that word out loud…”

“Meme,” Vaggie supplied. “Long E sound.”

“Thank you!” Charlie leaned across the island to give her a quick kiss.

“But yeah, it’s a meme,” Charlie said, pronouncing it correctly that time. “Because a lot of asexual people would rather have cake than have sex. So the saying, ‘I’d rather have cake,’ and cake in general became a whole thing.”

“And the food coloring?”

Charlie grinned so hard her cheeks started to hurt. “I’m gonna bake four layers in the colors of the asexual pride flag!”

Vaggie looked at her fondly. “I love you,” she said.

Charlie’s smile somehow got even brighter. “I love you too!”

Charlie squeaked. “This is gonna be amazing!” she said, bouncing in her seat. “I’m going to get a good grade in allyship! Something that is both normal to want and possible to achieve!”

Vaggie shook her head and sighed, a soft smile gracing her adorable face. “Alright,” she said. “Let’s bake a cake.”

Why the hell was Charlie baking Alastor so many cakes?

The first one, that made sense. Alastor had just returned after being mortally wounded in the battle to defend the hotel, and dare he say it, a celebration was in order.

Of course, he would’ve preferred a strong drink or some freshly killed venison, but he graciously accepted the gift he was given. He didn’t eat it of course, but it would’ve been rude to reject Charlie’s misguided attempt at a welcome home gift.

But then came a second. And a third. And a fourth, fifth, sixth cake. What the fuck was going on?

Was there a joke he wasn’t in on? Had Charlie developed some sort of dessert-related madness? Was this her latest hairbrained scheme to send Damned Souls skyward?

It would all come to an end if he would just turn the damned things down. He knew that, but…

Charlie stood in front of Alastor, holding the sixth – the sixth – cake, smiling like the sun he hadn’t seen since 1933. He took the cake, thanked her, and left.

Something had to be done about this. He needed to go see Rosie.

Vaggie walked warily into the hotel’s kitchen. It looked like some kind of culinary warzone. Mixing bowls and baking sheets were piled precariously on top of egg cartons and sacks of flour.

“Hey, hon? Charlie? Sweetie?”

Charlie popped her head up from behind one of the towers of bakeware. There was purple cake batter on her cheek. “Yes?”

“Don’t you think this is getting to be a little…”

Somewhere, something crashed to the ground. Vaggie hoped it wasn’t something breakable. Niffty had a habit of collecting shards of broken glass or ceramic and turning them into makeshift weaponry.

“Much?” Vaggie finished.

Charlie tilted her head to the side. “What do you mean?”

Vaggie pursed her lips. “It’s just that…”

A bag of sugar fell from its perch. The only thing that stopped it from hitting Charlie in the face was Vaggie’s quick reflexes.

Vaggie opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted yet again. Not by another object falling from the crumbling towers, but by a different kind of chaos all together.

Alastor returned to the hotel at a completely reasonable rate.

Which is to say, as fast as demonically possible. That was a very reasonable rate considering he was facing the possibility of a seventh cake he could neither eat nor refuse.

When he arrived at the hotel, the first thing he heard was something made of glass being shattered on the kitchen floor. He could only hope that it was Husker drinking while cooking or Niffty breaking glassware to have a mess to clean and sharp objects to play with.

Much to Alastor’s chagrin, it was neither.

The kitchen was a disaster. How Charlie had managed to get it in such a state was beyond him. Alastor had cooked dinner for the other hotel residents just a few nights ago, and while the organizational system was somewhat of a mess – as is often the case when you have seven cooks in the kitchen – it wasn’t anywhere near the catastrophic levels of the kitchen’s current state.

Vaggie was balancing on her toes, wings outstretched, with one arm in the air, holding a bag of sugar over Charlie’s head.

“Hello there, ladies!” Alastor made his presence known before Vaggie could do something ridiculously sappy like pour sugar on Charlie’s head and call her ‘sweet.’

“Am I interrupting something?” he asked, knowing damned well that he was.

“No!” Charlie said at the same time that Vaggie groaned, “Yes!”

“Ah, good to see we’re all on the same page!”

Charlie smiled nervously while Vaggie grumbled something under her breath in Spanish. Alastor didn’t speak Spanish, but he was fairly certain that whatever she was saying was both directed at him and incredibly rude. He magnanimously decided to ignore it.

“Charlie,” Alastor said, allowing his voice to drop slightly. “If I might have a word.”

“Uh, yeah, sure, of course!” Charlie made her way through the absolute nightmare that was the hotel’s kitchen, occasionally cursing when something crashed to the ground in her wake.

Vaggie glared daggers at Alastor from over Charlie’s shoulder. And yet, there was something beneath it. Some sense of desperateness. Interesting… He should follow up on that.

“What did you wanna talk about, Al?” Charlie asked once she was finally standing face to face with Alastor.

“I’d like to discuss the cakes.”

Charlie’s face lit up, and from across the room, that look of desperation and wrath on Vaggie’s face intensified. Very interesting indeed.

Almost interesting to make him pause his attempts to stop this nonsense long enough to figure out how he could use it to his advantage. But not quite.

“While I appreciate the gesture, I must admit, I don’t have much of a sweet tooth.” Alastor adjusted his monocle, trying to ignore the way Charlie’s cheery demeanor had started to droop.

He could only hope that Rosie was right about this.

“In fact, I’d rather have garlic bread,” Alastor said, repeating the exact words Rosie had used.

Instantly, Charlie’s expression changed. To what was debatable. Alastor thought he saw about ten different emotions run across her face, most of which he had never had the displeasure of feeling, himself.

When she finally did speak, the words came rushing out all at once. “Oh my goodness, I didn’t mean to assume!”

Charlie reached out as if to touch him, then pulled back, balling her hands into fists and holding them rigid against her sides. Smart girl.

“I’m so, so sorry, Alastor!” she said, barely pausing for breath. “Of course, I know aces aren’t a monolith, I just thought that…”

Charlie continued speaking, but Alastor wasn’t paying very close attention. Whatever she was saying was of little importance and made even less sense.

However, there was one word that kept catching his ear, persistently clamoring across his consciousness like a single note out of tune in an otherwise unremarkable song. And like an off-key note, it didn’t seem to fit within the context provided for it.

Which begged the question…

Why did everyone keep calling him ‘ace?’

Oh, Charlie was starting to look teary eyed. He’d better tune back in.

“…and I just wanna be a good friend.” Charlie’s voice wavered. Her knuckles were somehow even whiter than usual as she fought to keep her hands at her sides, and tears were already starting to spill down her cheeks.

Alastor made an executive decision to cut the waterworks off before they could truly begin. Of course, this would mean he’d be liable for Charlie’s famous ‘happy tears,’ but well… anything was better than this.

Alastor reached out and hugged Charlie, who promptly collapsed onto his shoulder and began to cry what he hoped were the aforementioned ‘happy tears.’

“You are a good friend, my dear,” he said, which triggered another – happy? – sob.

Alastor looked to Vaggie for help. He was out of his depth, here. Somehow Rosie’s advice had both made things better and worse.

Vaggie – whether for the sake of her sweetheart or to put Alastor out of his misery – met them in the doorway.

Alastor was just about to pass Charlie off to Vaggie when she lifted her head off of his shoulder.

Charlie looked up at Alastor with tears in her eyes and a smile on her face. “Thank you, Alastor,” she said. “That means a lot.”

Alastor’s own smile softened. “I do consider you a friend, Charlie,” he said, his voice almost entirely unfiltered.

Charlie made a truly pathetic – and somewhat endearing – whimpering sound, and between that and her expression, Alastor suspected that the ‘happy tears’ which had finally begun to stem were threatening to return in full force.

“That’s quite enough of that!” Alastor spun Charlie out of his arms and into Vaggie’s.

“I think I’ve had enough cake to last a lifetime, and enough sentimentality to last two!” Alastor made a show of dusting himself off. Well, it was mostly for show. His shoulder was wet, and a bit of magic goes a long way when combined with such a gesture.

“If you do decide to transfer your obsessive baking fixation into garlic bread, please limit yourself to once a month or less,” Alastor said casually. And then, with just a hint of darkness, “Lest I lose my appetite for that as well.”

Charlie sniffled and wiped her tears away with her palms. Vaggie held her protectively, wings still visible. Her feathers were fluffed the way Husker’s sometimes got when he was feeling rebellious, and she looked like she was poised to kill should Charlie give the word.

Instead, Charlie gave quite the opposite! She giggled, a much more appealing sound than all the sobbing – happy or otherwise. “I can do that,” she said.

Both Alastor and Vaggie let out a sigh of relief.

Oh, so that’s what the look was about. Vaggie was as disturbed by Charlie’s baking mania as Alastor was.

Alastor probably could’ve used that to his advantage – and potentially gotten another Deal out of it – but he was honestly just grateful that the whole thing was finished.

Alastor and Vaggie shared a brief and odd moment of comradery, silently celebrating the end of a hell within Hell.

“Well, it was nice chatting with you both,” Alastor said, more than ready to leave both the conversation and the kitchen. “I’m happy we could put this whole cake confusion behind us!”

“Agreed,” Vaggie said. Her tone and expression spoke volumes. Clearly she’d witnessed horrors beyond Alastor’s comprehension. Which is saying a lot considering the Eldritch nature of his abilities.

Charlie laughed and hummed an, “Mhmm,” in agreement.

Alastor was going to consider that a success!

Alastor hummed along to a song he’d strung together from the airwaves as he made his exit – read, ‘escape’ – from the kitchen.

That had gone smoother than expected, all things considered.

“Ha!” he laughed to himself. Piece of cake.

[prettyboykatsuki]

father jing yuan and his beloved child,,, fuck or die... ari you're cooking

fem!reader, incest, estranged relationships, sex pollen

i feel like. well. i like estranged fathers in my incest fic i guess. but i like the idea of jing yuan and his estranged daughter a lot being real. in the fuck or die context.

i imagine it in the concept of you once being his beloved. when you were smaller, younger. life is different on luofu you know? but you loved your father more than anyone in the world. when you were a little girl, there was no one more important. and he was always a good father to you - but you ended up having a fight when you were going your own path in life. you were taking on dangerous research, doing dangerous things.

you don't remember it now, because it was so long ago - but you haven't seen him in years. though jing yuan, the sort of man he is, has kept tabs on you in all that time. he thought about forcing you home. he thought about being disciplinary. but he convinced himself you'd return at your own time someday. the rift in the relationship is never mended, not completely

when you return to the luofu, it's been a long time. your adulthood has leveled you into a fine woman. you're here because your close friend is getting married. you have no intent on seeing your father. but of course that's impossible. it's yanqing who drags you home, drops you unceremoniously at his office.

and there's a calm air about him. a wave of grief washed over with a wave of love and nostalgia. it will never be the same, your relationship - and seeing him now only reaffirms. still, you decide to neglect the bad blood between you. you decided to drink with him, speak with him, open up the avenues because you're also growing older.

you never know when the mara will take him. and you talk to him civil, but the little loved girl inside you trembles whenever he speaks to you so gently. it's troubling.

i always think of it as poison. the aeons and their disturbed sense of humor, maybe. a bottle of poisoned wine, something made in a lab - causing the loss of inhibitions and provocation of lust. an aphrodisiac puts it lightly. but it sparks it within you both

the only way the pain subsides is being touched, and there's no one for you to call. only jing yuan, the only thing left of your childhood.

there's something apologetic about it. some deep sense of innate disgust overwhelmed by chemicals and frustration. but there's a specific sadness in his face you've never seen - something strange and suffocated.

your skin is burning hot in all the places he touches, sobbing with relief and yet burdened with whats happening. but there's something too, admittedly tender, about the gesture. something almost profound with the soft forehead kiss, the promise of pleasure. it's an apology, among many things, and something about that is too crushing for you to bear.

so you do what you know how, revert to the smallest parts of you. a girl in the arms of your one and only parent, cradled gently in his embrace. the warmth of it is suffocating, but it's sweet. a bitter memory but one you hold as your rocked, split open on his cock like it's natural. he takes care of you, and you remember. what is was like when he loved you.

you ask if he still does - buried so deep within you, you can feel it up to your throat. it's aching and intrusive and it feels good, but it makes you cry. every time he touches you want to cry.

"it's not a matter of if. nothing could measure up to your importance, silly girl."

[writingtoforgetreality]

Tin Can (Din Djarin x Reader)

Summary: A battle didn't go as planned when someone ran you over with full force. Realizing his mistake, a certain Mandalorian made it his mission to bring you to safety.

Warnings: none, i think (it's been a while since i last tagged my fics), language and humor?

The deafening battle around you restricted your hearing. While you felt your heartbeat thumping in your ears, you couldn't discern anything else. A huge disadvantage during a fight. Your periphery allowed you to notice bodies flying all over the place. It was only a matter of time until they reached you. They? Who were they anyway? At this point, you were completely clueless. Who could you trust and, most importantly, who should you attack?

Natural instinct yelled at you to turn around and so you did. Unfortunately, your reflexes weren't qualified enough to dodge the next blow. And shit, that hurt. Whoever had the brilliant idea to choose you as their next victim sure packed one hell of a punch. For a second, breathing was nearly impossible. Lungs felt as if someone was squeezing them. Your head shook briefly to rid yourself of the sudden dizziness.

One hand lifted itself to your face to shield your eyes from the blasting suns painting the sky. Once the dark spots blurring your vision faded, you could focus again. The figure in front of you received sharp edges and clear lines. You made out who exactly was in front of you. It might not have been your smartest move, yet you couldn't help but scoff.

"Is that all you got, tin can?" you groaned through gritted teeth, brushing off the sand as you got back on your feet.

"I'm a Mandalorian." echoed his deep voice. While his helmet limited your sight of his face, the position of his visor, the slight tilt, betrayed him. Status, you answered in your head, connecting the dots. He wanted you to view him as some higher-up.

You eyed him from head to toe, eyebrows raising in the process. "Well...obviously."

"You aren't scared." though it was a statement rather than a question, you could sense the confusion in between the lines.

"Are you about to kill me?"

"...No?"

"Why should I be scared then?" you left him speechless. A smirk spread over your lips, satisfied to have this effect on him. "Besides..." you paused shortly, redirecting your line of sight. "Somebody traveling with a green little guy doesn't look all too intimidating to me."

"He could easily kill you."

"Hm." you pretended to think really hard. "Guess I'm lucky then, huh?"

"Are you aware of the battle around you or-?" a smile was detectable in his words.

"Oh, very much so. Thanks by the way." you motioned to your side, signaling that he did, in fact, hurt you while running you over.

"You can't just stand in a battlefield."

"Bold of you to assume I was just standing there without doing shit." you mumbled.

A loud explosion to your right gained your attention. Exchanging a quick glance, a silent, unspoken promise was established. Nodding your head, more for yourself than for anyone else, you positioned yourself with your blasters at the ready. It was only then when you scarily concluded that, next to a Mandalorian, you were as good as dead. Hell, you didn't even have a single piece of armor while he was decked with beskar. Whole body protected with the confidence of staying unharmed. Long story short: you were screwed.

Nobody was running towards you so you took the chance to speak up.

"Um? Tin can?"

"What?" he appeared more than pissed at your silly nickname but you had no time to elaborate on that right now. If you survived, he wouldn’t hear the end of it, though. That much you’d make sure of.

"You don't happen to have any more of that armor, do you?"

His shoulders visibly tensed and, as if he hadn't spared a second thought to it before, he faced you with shock. There weren't many options. You could fight and risk your life. Though, risking in that context meant a full-blown suicide mission. You could use the Mandalorian as a shield. Or...you could run. As much as you despised the latter, it seemed like the most logical choice. A modulated voice from your left halted your inner turmoil.

"Follow me." it wasn't a question. Not a suggestion, either. It was a demand. And though you did find humor in this situation, you were the first one to admit that you were scared. Terrified, even.

He sprinted off, making sure to cast one last glance over his shoulder, silently signaling to you to follow his footsteps. You didn't need to be told twice. Trailing close behind the dents his heavy boots left in the sand, you eventually reached a spaceship. His, you figured. The model wasn't the newest or most progressive one you had seen but it was better than nothing. Thick metal doors unsealed in front of you and allowed you a first glimpse inside. Quickly, you walked up the ramp into what you hoped to be a safe place. At least for the time being. Only when the doors shifted and locked themselves could you relax and breathe freely again.

You were about to start a mundane conversation to dissolve the tension but before you had the chance to utter the first word, your knees buckled and you fell to the floor ungracefully. A sharp hiss left your tight lips. It was enough for the Mandalorian to focus solely on your hunched figure. He didn't quite know what to do or how to handle the situation. Awkwardly he got to a kneeling position and extended his hands, without having the intention to actually touch you.

"I'm fine." you breathed out, shutting your eyes.

"Mhm." his acknowledgment sounded funny through the barricade of his helmet. Maybe you were turning insane. Or maybe, and that was more plausible, you were simply close to falling unconscious. Apparently, the pain was worse than you had originally thought.

"Hey." it was his voice again, cutting through the white noise buzzing around you. Your eyes snapped open, shaken out of your reverie. "There you are." he mumbled and were it not for your surroundings to be eerily quiet, you'd have missed it.

Swimming the fine line between passing out and staying awake, you barely perceived his skilled glove-covered hands working on your injury. No internal bleedings and no fractioned ribs. Though they were badly bruised and sprained. Time was what you needed now. There was no way you were able to waltz out of his ship without any problems. Not for a few weeks. The Mandalorian, after carefully carrying you to his usual sleeping place, released a long, exhausted sigh. Making sure that you were out cold, he stripped his helmet over his head. He placed it on the small table next to him. His hands ruffled through his hair, going through every possibility. Sure, he could bring you somewhere safe, somewhere you could rest before heading out into the vast galaxy again. At the same time, there was guilt sitting in the pit of his stomach. Were it not for him attacking you, which was uncalled for he now realized, you wouldn’t have been injured in the first place. To make things even, he planned on keeping you around for a while longer. Just until you were fully healed again.

Whining sounds ripped you from your dreamless sleep. The first sensation you were aware of was the throbbing in your side. Slowly, bits and pieces of the day before returned to you. Blinking away the tiredness, you took in the room you were occupying. Still the ship the Mandalorian offered for your safety. Rolling your head to your side, too afraid to worsen the pain if you moved too much, you released a surprised gasp. The little green guy from yesterday, you noted. He couldn’t actually kill you, right? That statement was merely a joke…right?

“Oh, good. You’re awake.” the now familiar modulated voice redirected your attention. Wearing that much armor all day long must be tiring.

“Thank you.” you choked out, realizing that your throat was uncomfortably dry. The man hovering above you silently dismissed you. “No. I mean it. Thank you.”

“For what?” a pained chuckle could be heard. “Hurting you?"

“Well.” slow movements brought you to a sitting position. But not without a few moans of displeasure. “There was a battle going on. It was hard to figure out who was on which side. I’d have attacked you too if I were to see you first.”

“Yeah?” you could practically see his raised eyebrows and the features of disbelief under the helmet.

“No.” you admitted right away. “I’d have turned around to run away. You really think I’d fight against all of…this?” arms flailed around you, motioning to the man who stopped whatever he was doing to focus on the conversation at hand.

“I don’t know. I’m still trying to figure out how smart you actually are.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” you didn’t even try to hide how offended you were.

“You were in the middle of a battlefield.” he pointed out, leaning his body against a nearby wall, arms crossing over his chest. “Without any form of protection.”

“I had m-“ your weak attempt got cut off by his much stronger voice.

“Don’t say you had your blasters with you. These things?” long strides made their way over to where he positioned all your stuff the previous night. He picked one of your weapons up, turning it around in his hands before putting it back to its previous place. “The fact that they’re even called blasters-“

“Excuse me, I’m not a Mandalorian. I don’t have the credits to buy fancy weapons or armor.”

“That has nothing to do with being a Mandalorian.” he cleared up, thinking you cared for whatever reason he was about to present to you.

“Who cares?” strangely, you felt the need to defend yourself in front of him. Like you had to come up with excuses why you didn’t own everything that was part of his day to day life. “Whatever…Thanks again for letting me stay. I’ll be on my way.”

“Oh no. You can’t.” his words stopped you in your tracks. Raised eyebrows showed that you were awaiting an explanation. “Your ribs are sprained. You haven’t seen the bruises yet. They’ll get worse in the next few days. You should stay until you’re healed.”

“No.” there was no way you would stay here with a stranger. It wasn’t like the circumstances of your meeting were overly pleasant. “I’ll be fine. I’ve dealt with worse.”

Not sure how to reply, the Mandalorian simply watched as you tried to stand up with your own strength. He expected you to be in more pain than yesterday. That was the way of those injuries. They didn’t just vanish after some hours. No matter how you tended to them. Feeling his eyes, well…his visor, on you, your head snapped up. If looks could kill, he’d have turned to ashes right here.

“Come on. Say it.” you urged while rolling your eyes.

“Just stay here until you’re no longer in pain.”

“How am I supposed to trust you, huh?” your head tilted to one side in contemplation. “You were the one who hurt me, after all.”

“Five minutes ago, you said I couldn’t have known who the enemy was.”

“Five minutes ago, I didn’t know that I didn’t like you.” it was childish bickering, you were aware. But the frustration cursing through your body got the best of you and you couldn’t swallow down your emotions.

“You don’t have to like me.” the Mandalorian started. “The second you feel better, I’ll bring you back there. Or wherever you want to go.”

“Hm.” considering his offer, you ultimately agreed on it. Still, you would stay cautious. “Deal. Just one more question.”

“Go for it.”

“Tame your green child. I don’t wanna have it wake me up.”

“I can do that.” an unfamiliar noise reached your ears. He was laughing. “Anything else?”

“I’m (Y/N).” it dawned on you that you hadn’t introduced yourself properly.

“Alright, (Y/N).” he tested how your name rolled off his tongue. He’d have lied if he said he didn’t enjoy the sound of it. “Yell if you need anything. I’ll be in the cockpit.”

“Wait!” you yelled after him before his figure could vanish behind a corner. Turning around yet again, he came to a halt, his body language giving nothing away. “You didn’t tell me your name.”

“Um.” there was an inner argument going on, you could tell. “Just Mando is fine.”

“Mando?” now it was your turn to try his name. “You know what? I prefer tin can.”

“Whatever.” his eyes rolled in the back of his skull and you couldn’t see it but you could picture it.

A small smile made its way onto your face. Maybe it won’t be too bad to stay here for a while.

~cathy <3

[hello-nichya-here]

[Context: It's a modern AU, where Zuko enlisted in the army and was called up, but before he goes Azula reveals that she's pregnant, so he leaves her a letter.]

I know you don't like this and you'll probably make quite a scene before I leave, but I had no other choice.

As for our parents... well, "crazy" is an understatement. When they find out I got you pregnant, it'll be like starting a fire in the middle of a dry forest. I think deep down our parents know that as much as they wanted to break us up, it was too late. Now all we can do is laugh at the irony — and try to be better parents than they were.

I couldn't sleep last night, so instead I made a list of potential baby names (!!!). These are just ideas, so feel free to circle the ones you like and cross out the ones you hate.

What do you think our child will be like? I like to imagine that he will have your eyes and my chin. Your smile and my hair. Your creativity and my sense of humor. As long as he doesn't inherit daddy's laugh, I'll be happy. Oh, who am I kidding? I'll be happy no matter what. They could be exactly like you or nothing like any of us and it wouldn't matter. This child will be fed up with how much we will love her.

Oh, wait - last name! What are we going to do with her last name?! So, our... What are they? I never stopped to wonder... Forget I suggested that...

OK! So! NAMES I LIKE!!!!!!!!! (Includes girl names, boy names, gender neutral names, because hey, a good name is a good name. And at some point, she might want to change her name anyway, which is cool too):

Azari – Almost a pun on "Azula", but let's pretend it's original. If she pulls you, I know the fire will be guaranteed.

Rina - Our grandmother's name was Rina. I never met her, much less you (she died when our mother was pregnant with me), but I heard a lot about her. And this would mean a lot to Mom.

Renzo – A boy who taught me how to throw the first punch in a fight. A true playground hero.

Sozin – If we are going to have a complicated heritage, we might as well embrace it from the very beginning. And who knows, maybe he will reinvent the idea of “greatness” one day.

Kai – I admit: I like this name because it sounds light, like wind. It would be nice if he/she had that calm vibe in the middle of the chaos we call family.

Ren – Because "lotus" sounds poetic, and I wanted him/her to have something that referred to new beginnings, since our lives are full of them.

But there is one name in particular that is my favorite. And I also think you'll like it.

Izumi – The name is a tribute to that fountain where we kissed for the first time when we were children. I remember the cold water on our feet, and how strange and sweet it felt at that moment—but somehow it felt more than wrong; It felt right, like the whole world had stopped for a second. If it's a girl, I want our daughter to carry that memory with her, even if she never has to fully understand what it meant: that sometimes, from the most unexpected and complex situations, something beautiful and unforgettable can emerge.

Anyway, that's what I have for now! When our son actually gets here, we'll probably we will have considered all existing names, which I accept without any problems.

I promise to call you every night. I love you.

~ Zuko

[Letter in Azula's school locker]

HAPPY ONE MONTH ANNIVERSARY!!!! I know it's cheesy to celebrate a month of relationship, but in this world? I'd say it's quite an achievement! I love you!!!!!!!!!!

Zuko

I owe you a trip to the waterfall, there you can shout as much as you want! 😈

***

My God, they're so fucking cheesy, I love them

[crusherthedoctor]

What's your WIP?

Prepare for cringe, and make 'em twinge.

What if: Paper Mario... but with Eggman. :D :D :D

I promise it's not as dumb as it sounds... okay maybe it is. But hear me out, I didn't bash non-matching LEGO bricks together mindlessly, there's some comprehensive logic behind it. :<

A while back, during the weekly groaning about Eggman being undermined and treated like shit, I pointed out that when you think about it, he would actually be a very serious problem if he were inserted into other works unrelated to Sonic. I said this mostly out of humor, but it's a what-if that I've thought about more seriously from time to time, including very recently, where I wondered out loud if Eggman would be more respected in-media and out if he were from literally any other franchise. Because as much as I hate to say it, it does feel that way sometimes...

Meanwhile, as you've no doubt gained from my recent posting, I've been more Paper Mario-pilled than ever before, due to how much the TTYD remake gives me passion during a time where I've been sorely needing it, as well as just remembering how much I love TTYD and the original N64 game in general. This happiness inspires me to do something with it out of celebration, so I think to myself "Hey, all my works so far have been strictly Sonic, but I'm currently having a down period with the series due to my ferocious apathy towards most of the current stuff, so how about I expand my horizon and experiment with something that doesn't have that confounded hedgehog in it for the time being? Maybe having something else would also keep me rejuvenated with Stellar, since I could bounce between different projects! But what can I come up with for Paper Chris Pratt?"

Then I think back to the first point, and… yeah. Does what it says on the tin, doesn't it. In an effort to make it sound less Now That's What I Call Mid-00's Fanfiction.Net Vol. 1, think of it like the anti-Storybook: instead of Sonic being catapulted into an unfamiliar world, and having to help out with what's going on… Eggman gets catapulted into an unfamiliar world, takes advantage of the fact that Sonic isn't there to stop him like the opportunistic bastard he is, and the (Paper) Mario universe is forced to deal with a threat that they have no context for.

Yes, I know it's very fanfic-y, but at this point, between this and Sonudis, I think my entire selling point(?) might be taking the most fanfic ideas you can think of (short of killing off canon characters or dumping them in a high school AU, because not even I would do that), and playing them as authentically and respectfully to the source material and official characterizations as possible. What kind of trouble would Eggman be able to cause in a world with no Sonic or Chaos Emeralds around? What scheme would he come up with? What would this very different cast of characters make of him, and vice versa? Is this just an excuse to write for Vivian to cope with the fact that she'll probably once again not appear in later games? (The answer is yes.)

If I decide to actually create this Frankenstein abomination of an idea, it probably won't be uploaded on this site since I'm not sure how many Mario fans I have in the audience so to speak. Then again... @beevean seems to have carved a place for herself in the Castlevania fic community on here, so maybe I should?

(Also, this would NOT lead into a full-on Mario and Sonic crossover, or some convoluted cinematic universe nonsense. It would just be a unique character study, nothing more. Plus, just the idea of a traditional Paper Mario adventure where the villain is inexplicably Eggman is my kind of shitpost energy.)

[deliciouskeys]

Co-parenting Butchlander is a bad idea for canon even if done in the tamest way possible and I feel like this needs to be said because this shit is getting out of hand to disturbing levels.

Homelander is the rapist.

He doesn't have custody of Ryan. He doesn't and shouldn't have rights to him. After getting Becca (Ryan's actual parent) killed, and against her wishes, he has stolen or in other words kidnapped Ryan.

Ryan is not his to take and shouldn't be viewed as such. Just think rationally for a split second on this.

Do you think a rapist should have rights to custody of a child they force on someone just because that person chose to keep it or god forbid, couldn't manage to get an abortion? Do you think it would be okay for that rapist to then kill the mother or get her killed and steal the child simply because he wants to be a dad?

That's not cute. It doesn't matter what the rapist's backstory is, that's horrifying and wrong and so gross on so many levels.

And look, it's fine if you want to romanticize this idea for fics but that is the one and only place it should be framed this irresponsibly. Because it is a bad idea with horrible implications that shouldn't be rose tinted into something adorable just because there are a few moments Homelander isn't pushing Ryan off a roof.

And you cannot complain about canon treating Becca badly when you advocate for this in canon.

This would be so much worse by make her nothing more than an incubator for the kid of the guy who raped her and then steals her husband. And that is disgusting.

Can we not forget that Ryan and Becca are both victims here, for once?

Romanticize it all you want in fics. It does not belong in canon.

Context link: My dumb crack idea for a Diabolical episode that Anon is referring to

“Co-parenting Butchlander is a bad idea for canon”

Maybe it doesn’t really matter for this discussion, but : I wouldn’t consider Diabolical “canon”. They had an episode about a woman talking to her poop, with a Deep cameo because it involved a sewer. It’s not canon.

“He doesn’t have custody of Ryan”

Well… okay, this is interesting, Ryan is in his custody as of end of season 3, whether HL has legal custody or not. In fact, NYS law is particularly lax and kind of messed up in the sense that you need a rape conviction to be deprived of your parental rights to a child that is genetically yours (and wasn’t made via a sperm bank). So not that it changes things ethically, but legally speaking HL may have legal claim here until someone convicts him of rape or CPS finds his parenting criminally negligent/inappropriate.

“Do you think it would be okay for that rapist to then kill the mother or get her killed and steal the child simply because he wants to be a dad?”

Do I think it’s “okay” ethically, morally, legally? Hmmmmmm, idk, what do you think I think, Anon? I’ll clear it up and say: no, I don’t . But am I watching and enjoying a show that already portrays this fucked up scenario? Yes, I am.

“You cannot complain about canon treating Becca badly when you advocate for this in canon”

Were you up in arms about this Amazon video?

Because it’s along the same ‘teehee this is so fucked up’ humor lines that you are clearly revolted by. If you were, then okay, at least you are consistent. And I’m going to chalk it up to different tolerance/interest levels about fucked up scenarios.

Come off anon if you still think I’m being glib and “romanticizing” dead incubators. I promise I’m not that scary to talk to off-anon. I even promise to hear you out if I’ve misunderstood the problem you have with my hypothetical dumb spin-off plot that wouldn’t be part of canon. You’re allowed to disagree.

[oathofkaslana]

lee oathofkaslana, i was wondering if you have any advice for getting into hi3, especially in regards to digging into the lore. i’ve been following along with your hi3 posts for literal months and i get more intrigued each time you discuss it so i finally decided to just go for it. i know theres the game/webtoon/animated shorts/cooking with valks but i’m not totally sure about how to go about approaching all of it and the more obscure elements (like the other games with the hi3 characters) because i don’t want to miss out on anything. is there a certain order of approach that you suggest? also, are there any resources that may help with taking it all in, like explaining the basics and the timeline or something like that? there’s no pressure to answer right away, i’m sure you might want time to compile your thoughts, i just trust your judgement on how to get into hi3 over trying to figure it out myself based on how knowledgeable you appear to be about everything.

cracks knuckles. anon im being so serious this made my day both bc of your kind words and bc its the perfect opportunity for me to infodump about hi3 resources (<- especially unfortunate part of my current interest on hi3 is that im a lil too deep into things about the game that dont really matter?? thats beside the point)

lee oathofkaslana's hi3 starter guide :) ps: important. please please read my warning in the comics section of other content.

reading lists! ok this is the most important thing so its going first. hi3's comics are a lot more important to the plot than like. genshin's. and its kinda annoying bc in some cases you'll be guided from going between chapters of the game to a comic and vice versa. i highly recommend checking out both of these reading lists: hoyostans reading guide (start from part 1 phase 1) archives wiki hi3 reading list the seconds a lot easier to follow imo! especially with the earlier ones. i personally prefer primarily using the second one and then consulting the first to see if there's any extra content that's missing (since some ggz/retconned hi3 comics are linked there and provide some context! the first one also has some very helpful notes from the OP!) i DO think that reading the comics in the order listed on the archives wiki and then starting chapter one is best. it might feel like a dip in story telling though but i promise it will get a lot btter once theyre a lot more stable w their game development and writing :)

other content: comics: ok first i have to put a warning. escape from nagazora is from ggz iirc and like. early ggz and early hi3 humor kinda sucks ass. there's awful sexualization of underaged girls and its weird about women and this is where a lot of the fetishization comes in. they're also not normal about consent here. also another warning about azure waters. it heavily references CSA and has an almost rape scene and i completely hated the way it was all visually portrayed. if needed I will gladly summarize these comics for you without any of those details. this aside, the comics are included in the reading guides! there are also non-canonical ones though! (4komas featured on the manga site and 4komas from the jp twitter! theres a google drive linked in the other post w fan translations. they're comedic and not at all canonical but they may spoil things since its run coincides with the game's progress so i dont really recommend reading them until you're farther along. atm i am just starting part 1.5 and ive read most of it, but i am intentionally avoiding newer ones just by looking at what design is in the thumbnail. they're very quick to read though dw!) animated shorts -> they are included in the game :) if you would prefer watching them in chinese, i'm afraid you'll have to look at it on youtube though :' for some reason on the western servers all the CG's in the first part are in japanese even if you switch your language to chinese. chronicles -> they're included in both the reading guides! theres some that aren't very lore relevant (dreams of gemima and kallen chronicles) but they're a fine source of weapons and crystals (hi3 equiv of primos) part 2 -> i haven't started it yet but from what i've seen, it's recommended that you finish part 1 before this. open-world -> again, follow the reading order for these :) the only exception is APHO because that takes place in the future (after part 1.5). i haven't finished it and i personally don’t plan to until after i do 1.5 in case there's any important spoilers! there are major hints that kinda spoil the end of part 1 though. <- same with the alien space comic. it takes place. sometime after APHO i think. other universe events -> primarily captainverse. obv these take place in a different universe! these characters are not the same as the main characters. iirc the only one that's really lore-relevant is honkai salvation log (it comes later in the game and later in the hoyostans reading guide!!) donghua: cooking with valks: not canonical content. season 1 is pretty safe but it is best watched after chapter 12 to get full context for some references! honestly you could probably get by with watching the rest of the series after imo but if you'd prefer to play it safe, the hoyostans guide includes it :) golden courtyard: do not watch this one until you finish chapter 31. journey crisis: do not watch this until you finish part 1.5 ggz/hg2: honestly. you don't need to know ggz for hi3. you would benefit from knowing the retrospective timeline's history for the main trio but from there on, ggz and hi3 follow completely different stories with different characters. honestly you could go by without knowing the main trio's history in retro i think its already explained enough in the main story and other media.

links. youtube: homulabs -> has cohesive lore videos that help a lot (esp later on)! also has some hsr stuff if you're interested :) hide's honkai archives -> playthroughs of all of part 1 completely in chinese (including cut scenes). also fixes up some of the translations since i believe the eng translations are translated from the jp dub! i mostly use this to both rewatch chapters when i need background noise and look at cutscenes with OP's translations. i find it interesting.. official hi3 youtube visual novels: again, look at the reading guides. im pretty sure think some of those links on both guides are wonky though so ill provide them here. ae visual novel (eng) shattered swords/7 swords visual novel (eng) durandal visual novel (eng) i also have a larger post with various links here build/combat: ok this is my weakspot. marisa honkai -> kind of unfortunate backbone of the hi3 community. allegedly kicked someone from his discord server for saying kiana is a lesbian. but his infographics are useful! he also has a youtube but i can't vet how his videos are o7 <- lore player and very obvious about it elysian realm shallow sequence -> in case you're ever struggling w this part. dont worry about it early game though you'll get to it in time. honestly its optional though so.

quick tips/loose info:

the wikis will be your best friend.

do the character trials!! they teach you how to use any of the characters and you can open them whenever you want! if the battlesuit is new, you will also get rewards if you do the trial in time :)

honkai has an absurd amount of currencies for some fucking reason. this is more of a warning than a tip.

ok imo hi3 combat is super super fun but my god the powercreep sucks asssssssss. i hate the process of building characters because you have to pull for characters signature gear and that equipment banner's pity doesnt carry over it fucking sucks.

BUT don't worry too much honestly if you are just playing for the story like i am it doesn't matter too much since you don't need to use your own valkyries for much (story wise). do at least build some though even to a minor degree (you will need them for chronicles)

speaking of gacha though! there's no 50/50 to worry about in honkai!

don't go into the chat for room 1 its fucking scary and full of weirdos (derogatory) and assholes. first and last time i went there i saw homophobes.

remember this is all for fun :) sorry if this seems long or wayyyy too serious i meant it when i say im awfully fixated on this fuckass game! i hope you enjoy it if you continue to play it :DD <3

[yoonieper]

Make it Rein | KSJ

Lookin at u got me thinkin christmas~

❅ Pairing: Seokjin x Reader

❅ Genre: pwp pretty much (fr this time!), smut, fluff, a little humor sprinkled in

❅ Rated: H for Ho Ho Ho

❅ Warnings: soft~, oral (f receiving), protected sex    

❅ Word Count: 1.9k

❅ Prompt: Waking up early for ‘presents ;)’

❅ Summary: Your anniversary surprise didn’t go as planned, instead he gave you your christmas present early ;)

❅ Thank you: Thank you so much @jamaisjoons once again for the banner~

❅ Now Playing: A Nonsense Christmas by Sabrina Carpenter  

❅ Author’s Note: This is actually part 2 of the Christmas fic I did last year for Seokjin (link for story down below if you want context)! Spicing up our wholesome couple with, well 🤭… Enjoy friends, another bite sized smut to brighten up your day <3~

No reposting, modifying. Translating is not allowed unless given explicit permission. Thank you so much : D

Jingle Bell Rock

It was only because Seokjin had forgotten to close the curtains last night did he find his eyes fluttering open at an hour he could immediately tell was too early. 

He sighed and flipped around honestly hoping to go back to sleep when his hand rested upon something warm. Confused, he opened his eyes to only find you.

In the dim light he saw your back as you cuddled up with your pillow you always did. Things were different though, he could immediately tell. 

The covers were barely draped onto your form, a red lingerie set cladded your body, something he could see was themed for the holidays. You were wearing a Santa hat, with a Santa outfit themed bra, and the bottom of the set was this little skirt with a belt wrapped around your hips, with the strings of your panties poking out from underneath, a sight he could only describe as the sexiest thing he’s ever seen.

He tried to remember what happened last night because he clearly didn’t remember you being dressed like this, nor did he even remember going to bed and sleeping at your place.

He stared at you for a little while trying to think back to what happened last night when it suddenly came to him like a slap to the face. 

You had sent him a text earlier in the day, promising a surprise when you got home from the radio station. Work kept you longer than you had hoped, and so he still found himself coming over anyway, drinking a bit of the wine he brought out to celebrate your one year anniversary. 

Technically it was on Christmas, but he had prepared a little pre celebration like you had, making a quick late night snack paired with a bottle of red wine. 

Well either he drank more than he planned or something was wrong with the wine because he got sleepy soon after he finished his first glass. He could hardly remember the rest, but he ended up stumbling to bed, completely forgetting he was still at your place and that you had a surprise planned for him when you made it back. 

Seokjin quietly groaned to himself, seeing what he likely missed because of the wine. What a surprise this would have been if he’d actually managed to stay up and see it…

You looked amazing even from this angle. 

It suddenly dawned on him once more that while everyone outside was celebrating Christmas, today was in fact your one year anniversary. 

The fact it was Christmas also meant that the both of you would need to be heading to the station to get ready for the Christmas special you and your co-host had planned— Seokjin this year once again starring in it after his performance last year was so well received. 

You both unfortunately didn’t have that time to celebrate like he wished, but while things weren’t hectic, he might be able to make up for yesterday and kick off the holidays with a great time. 

He scooted a little closer and gently kissed your shoulder and ran his hand up your side. He was as soft as possibly, feeling a tiny bit bad for waking you, but hoped this would make up for it. 

You were a relatively light sleeper so it didn’t take much for you to suddenly become aware of the warm hands on your body in your room that was always so cold and the feather-light kisses on your skin.

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself immediately knowing who it was behind you. 

“Good morning to you too~” You chuckled. 

“It’s not yet… shit, I can’t believe I missed this…” He sighed as he pulled your shoulder toward him, so you were laying on your back before climbing over you.

He took a minute to take in what exactly you were wearing. Everything about the outfit fit you perfectly and made his mouth water at how good you looked. 

“It’s too bad you fell asleep, I had a whole routine planned.” You laughed, just thinking about it. It wasn’t anything too specular, just enough to get your man in the mood and surprise him for your anniversary.

You were a little shocked to come home to find him asleep considering it was only 10:30 when you finally made it back from the station. You had changed at work, put on a jacket, and drove home thinking you were about to give him the surprise of a lifetime only to come home to him passed out on your bed.

You were even more confused since you texted him right before you left work, but seeing the almost empty bottle of wine along with the fancy platter of cheeses and little meats that remained vastly untouched clued you in on all you needed to. Instead of waking him up, you ate the platter he prepared, finished up the bottle, and went straight to bed with him. 

For some reason, you weren’t exactly surprised by the wake up. 

You noticed the sadden look on his face at the mention of what he missed out on.

“I’m never drinking wine again… I only had one glass, I don’t know how it put me out like that.” He pouted.

“Mmmm, baby I came back and only this much was left in the bottle.” You held up a tiny distance between your fingers. “Had what was left and it didn’t even make it halfway up the glass.” 

You watched again as his face changed from confusion to his ears and cheeks growing more red by the second and you couldn’t help but giggle. He’s so cute~

“I’m so sorry…” He sighed.

“It’s alright… but I did think I heard you say you were about to make it up somehow.” Your gaze lowered to stare down his button up, and back up to his eyes. You could tell he got the picture.

He shyly smiled down at you before moving down your body, his eyes taking in every detail of your outfit before settling between your thighs.

“Ooo, yep I think this will be more than enough repayment~” You laughed and he did as well. 

“Well, happy anniversary to us. I think we’ve had a pretty amazing year, don’t you think?” He asked, smiling up at you.

“Couldn’t ask for anything be– ooohhh.” You sighed feeling his finger run over your clothed slit. 

He seemed to be down with talking and focused instead on the pleasing you. He continued to run his finger through your slit and would occasionally move focus on your clit, he enjoyed seeing you grow wetter by the second. 

“Fuck– please baby…” You groaned softly, reaching down to run your fingers through his dark hair. It was a little longer than he usually let it get, and you couldn’t be happier feeling it like this now. 

Seokjin was always so eager to please, quickly tugging your soaked thong down your legs, leaving you in just your tiny santa skirt. 

He stared between your legs, dazed because, holy shit was his girlfriend gorgeous. 

“Ho ho ho to me~” He chuckled lightly and it took you a minute to process the fact that he made that joke before you burst out laughing, because why the fuck was that the first thing that came into that beautiful brain of his.

“Baby, I swear you’re the most unserious person I know.” You giggled and your heart nearly melted seeing his cute little smile and what he seemingly took as a compliment. It was, you loved him. 

He took the praise and fueled it in his efforts to please, and nearly knocking you breathless, you felt his tongue go to work and he lapped up your juices. He was always so good to you and you couldn’t help but moan for him as his tongue glided between your folds.

You were sensitive and maybe it was the surprise wake up or you were still hyped up from what you thought you were going to come home and experience, but your boyfriend was good and it didn’t take much for you to start feeling the telltale signs you were getting close. Seokjin noticed this and immediately came up and kissed you hurriedly.

It was passionate, all the love you have built together over the last year. You tried your best to pull down his pants but ultimately he had to pull away and hop off the bed for a second to get them down his legs finally. He also hurriedly grabbed a condom out from the nightstand before hopping on the bed to join you.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and you both moaned as he slowly pushed himself inside you.  He stayed still for a second and you couldn’t help kissing him, feeling how good he felt inside you.

“Fuck.” He sighed as he steadily moved his hips. Every thrust made your toes curl and you couldn’t be happier to spend a year with this man.

You were so close from earlier it really didn’t take much for the feeling to return all too quickly.

“C-close.” You hurried out.

“I know.” He could certainly feel it, the way you were gripping him like you never wanted to let him go. You didn’t, he was yours. 

“Are you–”

“Fuck, yes.” You didn’t make things any easier for him. You were so fucking wet, he was able to slide in you so easily and your walls hugged him so well it was only a matter of time before he was going to explode.

Determined to make sure you cum before he does, he hurried his pace and dived down to kiss you right on that spot on your neck that he knew got to you.

He knew you so well, to think it’s really been a year.

And like he knew, it wasn’t long before you cried for him and he did as well when his orgasm hit him so suddenly.

You both sat there for a second trying to catch your breaths when the sounds of “Jingle Bell Rock” started blaring from your phone, a sign that made you groan because that was your alarm to start getting ready for the Christmas special later.

“Well...” He laughed lightly.

“I don’t want to get up.” You whined because who wants to go outside in the freezing cold when you could spend the day snuggled in your boyfriend's arms, celebrating your anniversary.

“Me too but just think…” He leaned in close. “I can’t wait to give you your real present later.” His tone was sultry and immediately had your mind spiraling at the possibilities. 

“I can’t wait for that then~” You felt like kicking your feet and giggling like a school girl but you refrained. “Plus, I wanna see you perform again.” You smiled thinking back to his amazing performance last year.

You saw his ears get a little red at the mention of it. After last year, his performance for the radio station finally brought your shy star out of his shell and he’s been posting a few covers on youtube and even occasionally performing at little venues. 

“I’m excited to see you there again.” He smiled.

You thought back to what happened last time.

“Mmm, do you have plans on going all disney prince again on me after your performance?” You chuckled, but couldn’t stop the giddy feeling from spreading all over your body.

“I’ll do more than that…” His voice was low and dangerous.

“What then?”

“You’ll get your present later, I promise.” 

[lifmera]

hiii! i was wondering if you could do me a matchup with a male!hazbin character! i’ve never asked for one of these before but im so intrigued.

so for more context- i’m 5’2! i’m on the chubbier side but i love it so. im quite confident honestly very very extroverted. i love talking to people, getting to know them and such.

people say i have quite a dry sense of humour which could go both ways depending on what crowd im with honestly. i tend to ramble a lot. i also talk really fast so my words like merge together often , i just get excited!

i play guitar! mainly acoustic because i love abit of folk and classic rock, an old soul one would might say. i dress like a cowboy. im kidding but my whole personality is just based on the 70s i just love love love it.

i’m a virgo!- if that’s any help. i’m an intp. and for what it’s worth i did a buzzfeed quiz on what disney character i would be and i got mulan!

i’m quite stubborn. not in a bad way it’s just idk. i also have like severe adhd! fun i know.

and that’s about it i think but it would be a great honour to get a matchup from you, keep up your consistent and great work! looking forward to hearing back from you soon, mwah.

-S

HI HUN! IM SO SORRY IM LATE. But i imme knew who would fit you.

~~~

Ive decided to pair you with….. ALASTOR!!!

Can you blame me? No. No you can NOT.

You remind me of before pilot mimzy- where she was supposed to be in a relationship with Alastor!!

He definitely does not mind your weight, and is so ecstatic that you are confident in yourself! He loves that in people.

Also a total extrovert. He needs someone to talk to that doesn’t shy away from him, or gets scared of him for being the “radio demon” !!

I think he would love your sense of humor. I promise it’s an actual laugh!!!!

He definitely sometimes compares how fast you talk- or how much you talk to Charlie in his head. He thinks it’s cute!!

Although he died wayyyy earlier than the 70’s, he would think the clothing is interesting!! He’d want to learn more about it!! Although he probably thought you belonged in the wrath ring at first.

He’d start listening to classic rock too. I feel like he WOULD love it!!

Although he isn’t the biggest dan of stubborn people- deep down I think he enjoys it. He likes someone who can stick up for themselves and not have to rely on him as-well.

~~~~

AWWWEUGAHAHEBD I READ THE LAST PART YOU ARE A SWEETHEART. IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SOO LONG LOVELY <3