#idk that's just my way of telling people apart and learning names

[joelscurls]

I wanna show you off

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 4.1k

summary: The women who live in your building aren't subtle in their hatred for you — or their affection for your boyfriend, Joel. You decide to set them straight.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, porn with plot, no outbreak, established relationship, implied age gap, horrible neighbors, general cattiness, all the ladies want Joel, alcohol consumption, fluff, explicit smut, possessive!reader, exhibitionism, dirty talk, oral (m receiving), facefucking, unprotected piv, creampie, one (1) spank, use of pet names (baby, angel, darlin', etc.), I think that's all? lmk if I missed anything!

a/n: idk what happened. I saw one too many tiktok edits set to the song agora hills by doja cat and blacked out. anyway, enjoy!

If it weren’t for your rent-controlled apartment with a perfect view of the downtown skyline, you would’ve moved out of your building by now.

Your neighbors don’t like you. You’re certain of it. You can tell by the way the ladies stick their noses up at you in the elevator and whisper to each other the second they think you’re out of earshot.

It had started, you suspect, because of your age. You’re a lot younger than all of the other residents here, your apartment left to you by your grandmother after she passed away.

The building is prime real estate, situated in the heart of one of the city’s most desirable neighborhoods. Most of the people who live here have done so for ten, twenty, even thirty years. And it seems that time has festered a sort of social hierarchy: one which places you at the very bottom.

You shouldn’t care. And you hadn’t, for a while. But their eyes have started to feel like daggers, pointed directly at you at all times, and you feel as if you can’t even enter the building without judgment.

You’re not a bad neighbor. You’re not. You’d learned through living in a dormitory in college how thin shared walls can be, and, as a result, the proper volume at which to keep your music; how you should always be cautious to not let your door slam closed on the way in; that you should never vacuum after eight pm or before eight am.

You never leave trash in the hallway, and you park your car only in your allotted spot, despite the fact that it’s the farthest away from the building.

Even so, the lack of weathering in your face makes them look at you like you’re less, like you’re a greedy little thing who has taken something she isn’t worthy of.

It’s the same way they look at you when they see you with your boyfriend, Joel, for the first time.

They leer when you walk into the foyer, hand-in-hand with an older man. He’s handsome, rugged, something out of Nicholas Sparks novel. And you’re you.

Joel thinks you’re being paranoid at first, says they couldn’t possibly hate such a sweet, friendly girl. The girl he loves so damn much. But it doesn’t take long for him to notice it too: the glares, the scoffs, the misplaced judgment — never set in his direction, only ever yours.

One Sunday afternoon, as he sits on your couch watching the Cowboys game with a sweating bottle of beer in his hand, you step out to grab your mail. You’re close to tears when you return, flinging the door open, envelopes slipping from your trembling fingers. 

He leaps up as soon as he catches sight of your face. Your expression is stuck somewhere between sadness and rage, bottom lip tucked between your teeth so firmly he worries you’ll draw blood.

“I hate them,” you sob as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you against his broad chest. You’re wetting his shirt, the one he just bought the other day. But he won’t let you lift your head. If anything, he holds you tighter.

“Wanna tell me what happened, darlin?” he asks, leading you toward the couch. You sit down together, your body still wrapped in his, and you groan.

“It’s stupid.” Your voice is muffled by cotton. He loosens his grip on you only enough to let you turn your face. “I was getting my mail, and they were down in the lobby,” you sniff. “The woman who lives right next door – the one with the outdated perm, and the one across the hall with the yippy little dog.”

“Mhm,” Joel soothes, running his thumb gently along the tense line of your jaw. “Did they say somethin’ to you?”

You huff. “No, not to me. They didn’t see me there.”

Their hushed voices still ring in your head like a fire alarm in need of new batteries: relentless, infuriating.

Don’t know what in the world a handsome gentleman like that is doing with a little girl like her. You’re tellin’ me. What a shame. Such a young thing – she can’t possibly know how to handle a man like that. He needs a woman his own age!

“They said I’m not good for you,” you weep. “That I’m too young. That I — I c-can’t be what you need.”

“Darlin,” Joel drawls. He fishes the tv remote off of the coffee table and flicks the screen off. Drops it somewhere next to him on the cushion. The apartment is noticeably quiet now, apart from your shaky breaths and the dull drone of an idling truck engine from the street below.

“You know I love you, right?” 

You sniff again. Nod. 

“I don’t give a shit if people think you’re too young for me,” he huffs. “You’re a grown woman. You give me everything I could possibly need and then some.”

“Yeah?” you squeak. You know deep down that Joel wouldn’t stay with you if he had any reservations about any aspect of your relationship. But after months of no reprieve from stinging glares and brash insults, you feel as if you’ve been broken down, reduced to an anxious, overwrought version of yourself. 

Joel repositions himself, sprawling back on the couch and pulling you with him so that you’re laying against him. “Yeah,” he repeats, stroking your hair. He tucks a loose strand behind your ear, away from your glassy eyes. “Those ladies can get their asses in line.” 

You laugh, then — a real, genuine laugh — the kind that Joel can somehow always pull out of you, even in the most inopportune of times.

You’re so grateful for him, for his innate ability to calm you down when it feels like the world is crumbling below your feet. Grateful that he’s yours.

You lift your head. Prop yourself up by the elbow on Joel’s thigh. Wipe away the lingering wet on your cheeks with a deep, settling breath. 

“Does it stroke your ego, having a fan club of women who wanna fuck you?”

He smirks. Pulls you closer to him with a hand cradling your face. 

“Maybe a little,” he whispers, his lips ghosting yours. “Does it stroke your ego, bein’ the only one who gets to fuck me?” 

And in truth, it does. You’re the only one who knows where he likes to be kissed, how he likes his cock stroked, how to make him cum embarrassingly quick with just your mouth.

You’ve learned him intimately, every inch of him.  Ruined him for any other woman.

So in a fucked up kind of way — it does.

“Yeah,” you admit. You suck his bottom lip into your mouth, silently reveling in the way he immediately moans, the way he bends to you.

“These all mine?” You bring a finger to his lips, sputter on a shaky exhale when he unexpectedly parts them and sucks the digit into his mouth.

“Mhm,” he hums around you, takes your free hand in his and guides it down his body, across the expanse of his torso, the plush of his belly, pausing when you reach his crotch. 

Your pulse quickens, then, a dull throb forming at the base of your neck. You extricate your finger from his mouth with a gentle pop.

“This too,” he whispers, canting his hips up toward the flat of your palm.

He’s half-hard, his clothed bulge pleading for attention. But he pulls your hand away quickly, not letting himself get carried away at the feeling of your fingers grazing him through denim. 

Instead, he re-situates it against his chest so that you can feel his heartbeat where it hammers under skin, against flesh and bone. “This is all yours too,” he says, voice so low it reverberates in your skull. 

“All of it — all of me. Don’t gotta worry your pretty little head with anythin’ anyone else has to say about the matter. Got it?”

His words are spoken with so much conviction that you have no choice but to believe them, to let them stick in your brain like anchors in sand: deep and immovable.

Yours, yours, yours. 

And nobody else’s.

“Yeah,” you smile into the column of his neck, inhaling his scent: mostly him, but with notes of you. 

“Got it.”

It’s two weeks later when she makes a move on him: the woman with the perm. Joel is taken aback by her boldness, with you just a few feet away, digging your key into the lock of your mailbox. 

“You must work with your hands,” she purrs, grabbing one of his wrists and examining his calloused fingers with such little integrity, his mouth actually slips open at the unabashedness of it all. 

“Uh-”

“I’m Sheila,” she hums, raking her fingers through tight, blonde curls. “And you are?”

“Joel,” he grunts noncommittally. Wrenches his arm back. He doesn’t miss the way her eyebrows twitch in offense. 

But she’s insatiable, this woman. She bounces back like a rubber band, not-so-subtly pushing her breasts together, the zip of her sweatshirt slipping down an inch and her mouth curving into a salacious grin.

You just about stop dead in your tracks when you round the corner to the lobby, junk mail in hand, and see her, her body turned towards Joel’s, chest pushed out and hip popped. She has a bedazzled tote bag full of groceries slung over her shoulder, a head of leafy greens poking out the top.

“Hi neighbor!” she smiles mockingly at you, all lipstick-stained teeth, when you sidle up to Joel. “I was just telling your friend here what nice, strong arms he has.” She’s not looking at you, eyes locked firmly on Joel’s biceps, nearly drooling at the sight of him. 

Heat spools behind your ears, red-hot.

“Not her friend,” Joel corrects before you can. “‘M her boyfriend.”

“Oh,” she says. “Boyfriend.” Her lips wrap loosely around the word, like it’s some fanciful thing. “You’re too old to be someone’s boyfriend.” 

Joel takes a step away from her, closer to you, and splays a steadying hand across your back. “Man-friend, then.” 

You laugh, not because it’s funny, but because this entire conversation is fucking awkward. 

Sheila pays you no attention.

“Well,” she sighs, overtly staring at the exposed skin of Joel’s chest, where the top two buttons of his flannel are undone, “Joel, if you’re ever lookin’ for a good meal, I’m just next door.” She flits her eyes up to his and smirks. “Know a big man like you has gotta eat.”

Your vision blurs scarlet. 

Joel is equally as infuriated. The disrespect of this woman, to so openly flirt with him in front of you. His fists ball tightly at his sides. 

“Thanks, but no thanks,” he gruffs. “Anyway, nice to meet ya ma’am-“

“Sheila,” she reminds him. 

“Sheila,” he repeats, only to appease her. He turns to you, squeezing your waist affectionately. “We should probably get goin’, right sweetheart?”

You’re still fuming, barely able to register Joel’s voice next to you through the thick haze of pure fury clouding your mind, but you manage to nod, spit out a hurried yeah.

And with that, Joel is turning on his heels, pulling you with him toward the elevators. You don’t dare look back at her, but you can feel her eyes boring a hole in the back of your head. 

Her footfall fades into the mailroom and you breathe a minuscule sigh of relief. At least she’s out of your sight.

“Please just move in with me,” Joel begs when you’re finally behind closed metal doors, the inspection plaque situated above the buttons suddenly extremely interesting as you try to focus on not thinking about setting this woman’s apartment on fire.

You’ve talked about living together a few times. It’s just — you’ve never considered it so seriously until right now. 

“I can’t let them win,” you mutter, agitated. 

You hate how they’ve made you feel, like you’re some helpless animal tucked in the corner, hiding from them. Just waiting for the next ambush. 

With the passing of each floor, your anger simmers, bubbles into a silent rage in your stomach, one which threatens to boil over at the next underestimation of Joel’s devotion to you. You need to make it known, once and for all, that he’s yours. 

Words from your grandmother play on a loop in your head, ones she repeated to you often when you were a child: if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all. 

And then you have a thought — a devious thought — maybe you don’t have to say anything to get your point across. Not to them, anyway.

Your mouth is on Joel the second you’re back inside the four walls of your own apartment, slotting against his pulse point and sucking a desperate bruise there.

He’s not expecting it — why would he be? You’ve just been seething the entire elevator ride up to your floor, the entire walk down the long, winding hallway to your unit. He’d practically been able to see the steam billowing from your ears. 

So the switch-up is more than a bit dizzying, to say the least.

“Whoa, darlin’,” he pants, his large hands draping over your shoulders. “What are you-”

“Joel.” Your voice is stern; it demands his attention. “Do you trust me?” 

Your hand trails down his body languidly, in a straight line to the waistband of his jeans. And fuck, of course he trusts you — more than anyone. But this is wrong, fucked up, for you to make him feel good when you’ve been made to feel so small these past few minutes. 

Still, his cock doesn’t get the memo, twitching in his jeans as you place another open-mouthed kiss on the underside of his jaw, your fingers beginning to fiddle with his belt buckle. 

You give him no choice with the way you’re touching him, the way you’re looking at him when you pull back, all pleading eyes and parted mouth, but to resign all protest. He’ll give you the world, and if right now you want to use his body to blow off some steam, who is he to complain about it?

“Yeah baby, of course,” he breathes. “What do you need?”

You smirk at him audaciously, tongue smoothing over your teeth. “Need you to be loud,” you purr. Your voice is so innocent in juxtaposition to the words you spew. It sends a chill down the column of his spine. “Let them know who makes you feel good.” 

He nearly cums in his pants untouched, grasps at the fabric of your shirt with clumsy hands and nods. “Fuck, okay.”

His belt falls to the floor with a clang.

He lets you take control, then. Lets you mark him with your tongue and your teeth, lets you back him to the door with deft fingers working his shirt buttons open before sinking to your knees in front of him, freeing his hardening cock from the confines of his jeans and boxers.

It’s already weeping for you when you pull it out, precum beading at the tip. He’s so big, growing heavier in your hand with each passing second, and you lose yourself for a moment, hypnotized by him.

“Always so eager to please me, aren’t you, pretty girl?” Joel’s voice pulls you back to earth, soft and adoring.

“Louder,” you remind him. Plant a kiss right over top of his leaking slit.

“Fuck,” he hisses through his teeth. One of his hands flies to the crown of your head, anchoring himself with fingers in your hair. “Dirty fucking girl.” 

His voice fills the entranceway, confident and filthy. 

“Mmm,” you hum approvingly.

“Yeah? You want me to tell ‘em? Tell ‘em you’re making my cock drool for you? That nobody — shit-” You enclose your lips around his tip, suckling on it as your fingers wrap around the base of his length and you begin to stroke him lazily. “-that nobody has ever made me feel this good?” 

Footsteps echo down the hallway and the sound makes you reflexively pause, your hand stiling on Joel’s cock. It’s followed by the jingling of metal, the click of a key in a lock, the opening and closing of a door — all close enough that you can pinpoint the source, can tell where exactly it’s coming from. 

Sheila is home. 

Perfect.

It’s probably worrying how excited it makes you, the prospect of her hearing, of her sitting alone in her apartment, at her empty dining table, and listening to Joel fall apart at your hands. Maybe they’ve driven you to and over the edge of sanity with their words, her most of all. Regardless, you can’t help the way it makes your cunt flutter around nothing. 

You lick a slow stripe up the underside of Joel’s cock, starting just above his balls and dragging the flat of your tongue up, up, up to his tip. His breath shudders, his grip on your hair tightening, and the subtle sting at the center of your scalp gives you another idea. 

“Do you wanna fuck my face, Joel?” 

“Do I wanna — fuck — you’re gonna kill me, angel.” 

“Go ahead,” you encourage, unhinging your jaw as wide as it can go, letting your tongue droop over your bottom lip. 

Saliva pools in your waiting mouth and Joel groans at the sight of you, so malleable for him, begging to be used. 

“You sure?” 

It’s not that he doesn’t think you can handle it. He knows you can. You’ve taken him down your throat more times than he can count. Always so fucking eager to please him, you are — just one of the many reasons he feels so goddamn lucky, so infuriated that anyone would think otherwise. 

But still, he can’t help but worry that he’ll hurt you. 

You nod, eyes locked on him, confirming beyond a shadow of a doubt that you want this. He nods back, beginning to feed his cock into your mouth, easing it in slowly and halting when his head hits the back of your throat, causing you to gag.

You don’t pull away, don’t show any indication of displeasure. In fact, you dig your fingers into the meat of his thighs, bearing down on him as you push forward. Mascara tears stain your cheeks as you choke on him, laser-focused on relaxing your throat so that you can accommodate more of his length. 

Joel pulls back, retreating entirely before pushing in again. He slowly increases his pace, your eyes hooded, so doelike and innocent, as his cockhead bruises your larynx. 

The sounds he’s pulling from your mouth are absurdly lewd: muffled gags and frantic inhales of breath. And then there’s him, moaning wildly, not sure if he’d be able to shut up even if he needed to be quiet. Your mouth is good, too fucking good and he’s going to — fuck, he’s going to cum if you don’t stop. 

He pulls out abruptly, a string of drool and precum tethering the tip of his cock to your swollen bottom lip. You’re panting, coughing, still bracing yourself against his legs when you fucking smile up at him. 

“Christ,” he says. “Fuckin’ angel, you are. Mouth feels like goddamn heaven.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. But I need to cum in that perfect little cunt,” he breathes, pulling a strangled moan from the back of your rawed throat. 

He helps you up, spins you around to face the door. You brace both hands on the wood, humming as he pulls your pants down to your knees. His breath is on the back of your neck, trailing up to the shell of your ear with one whisper just for you, because he can’t help it. 

“So fuckin’ beautiful, you know that?” 

You shiver, responding with a tilt of your head, inviting him in with a needy little mewl. He cradles your face in one of his large hands, the other rubbing over the curve of your ass as he kisses you passionately, tasting himself on your tongue.

The hand on your ass trails lower as he deepens the kiss, two fingers pressing against your clothed seam. You’ve all but soaked through the fabric, wet cotton molding to his knuckles as he caresses them along your pussy before pulling your panties down in one swift motion.

You whine into the kiss, desperate and dripping for him. “Please,” you breathe against his lips. “I’ll make you feel so good, I promise.”

“Know you will,” he coos, mouth parting from yours as he straightens out and lines himself up with your entrance. You arch your back, rocking onto the balls of your feet as he teases you with the tip.

His cock is so thick when it finally notches into you. It’s always so devastatingly thick, no matter how wet you are for him. The stretch stings, a jolt of warm pain coursing through your walls as he stills halfway in. 

“You okay?” he asks, one hand resting at the small of your back, the other on your hip, fingers gripping to you only tight enough to hold you in place.

“Yes, fuck — yes,” you whine. “Need you to fuck me, Joel.”

“I’m goin’ to baby, don’t worry,” 'he promises, pushing in another splitting inch. “Pussy’s so goddamn tight, ‘ts suckin’ me right in.”

It feels like hours pass with Joel’s cock motionless inside your aching cunt, his warm breath fanning across your back as he focuses on not cumming. You’re whimpering, begging under the weight of his body, to please just fucking move.

When he finally obliges you, pulling all the way out and then bottoming out in one deep thrust, it nearly punches the air out of your chest. You scrabble for purchase on the door, fingernails scraping against chipped paint. “F-uucckk,” you moan, eyes rolling back in your head as he sets a dizzying pace.

The sound of his balls slapping against the back of your thighs is enough to attract attention on its own, the loud smacksmacksmack going straight to your cunt. Joel growls behind you, driving into you even harder, the tip of his cock brushing against your g-spot. 

“Oh, shit,” you cry. Your pussy inadvertently squeezes him and he curses at your back, low and deep. 

“Not going to last if you keep doin’ that,” he warns. “Cunt is too fuckin’ good. Best I’ve ever — uuuhh — had.”

He’s not just saying it for show. It’s true. You know it is, too. He’s told you before, both under the influence of your pussy and not. Waited too many goddamn years to feel like this, he’d said once.

“It’s — fuck, it’s fine Joel,” you mutter. “I’m close too, just keep going, right there.”

A door across the hall creaks open. A pair of footsteps patter across tile. 

Do you hear that?  Yeah; what is that noise?

Joel laughs darkly behind you, snaps his hips up, forcing a guttural moan out of you. 

“Think they caught us, darlin’,” he says. “Caught you takin’ my cock like you’re fuckin’ made to.”

Oh my word!

Joel is unrelenting, pounding into you despite the voices right outside your apartment, and you fear for a moment that you’ve created a monster. One of his hands leaves its place on your waist, cracks down on the center of your asscheek with a slap, the flesh recoiling under his palm and you gasp. 

The feeling travels between your legs, straight to your neglected clit. It pulsates under the hood with every pass of Joel’s cock over your g-spot, and you feel yourself hurtling toward the edge dangerously fast. 

If these people don’t leave, they’re going to hear you cum. Do you want them to hear you cum? Yeah, you think, clit jumping again at the thought, I think I fucking do.

“Joel, fuck-”

“You gonna cum?” he goads. “Yeah, can feel you squeezin’ me — you’re gonna cum, aren’t ya?”

This is vulgar!  We should file a noise complaint. C’mon.

His hand snakes around your front then, finds your throbbing bud, and with a few passes of his calloused fingertips, you’re gone, vision whiting out and all noise around you muted. 

Joel keeps you upright between him and the door, his grip on you tightening as your muscles slacken. He follows closely behind, cumming inside you with a carnal noise from the back of his throat, rope after rope of his spend filling your cunt. 

He pulls out with a grunt, immediately collapsing on the floor. Without his support, you topple over too, falling onto his lap with a satiated giggle. 

A banging comes from the other side of the wall then, shaking your kitchen cabinets a few feet away, the clanging of glassware jolting you.

Keep it down next time! I don’t need to hear that!

And then you’re laughing like teenagers, Joel pulling you in for a sloppy kiss, all tongues and teeth. 

“Think they’re really gonna make a noise complaint?” Joel asks when you finally come up for air. 

“I dunno,” you smile. “Does your offer still stand — for me to move in with you?” 

“Always,” he vows, forehead resting against yours.

end notes: ty for reading! pls consider commenting or reblogging if you enjoyed <3

[desireangel]

Dark Cherry [4] | Aemond Targaryen

Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Summary: after months of a marriage that hardly harbours the passion that you'd dreamed about, you stumble across the reason for your husband's indifference and decide enough is enough. Aemond will learn just exactly what he's been missing out on.

Word Count: 5.5k

Warnings: MDNI 18+!! canon divergence!!! I fucked the timeline and nigly bits bc this was an impulse fic ok soooo it was mostly unplanned, almost smut, angst, let the grovelling happen babyyy, unedited, mention of alys x aemond but not in a good way :((, infidelity, talk of sex, guilt, mentions of Aegon x reader, hmmm I ramble, little vulnerable Aemond, bad language, let me know if I've missed anything!

Author's note: y'all I was never done with that man like there's no easy out for him :llll. Anyways I wrote most of this instead of studying which I needed to do. Perhaps I'll have my hand at another idea I'm cooking before part 5 but I'm alsoooo unsure about how keen we are to keep this one going - like is it getting too much??? either way, I enjoy writing this. and idk how to shut up, clearly, because I love that internal mind talk shit. Drop your thoughts in my inbox or PM me because I love to yap!!! xoxo, kisses!!! <3

Masterlist

-

He was a fool. A spoiled, arrogant and entitled fool. You often thought about whether Aemond actually recognised the effect of his actions on anyone else. It was always ‘I did it for us’ or ‘I did it because I had to do it’.

So after your confrontation the day before, it had surprised you that Aemond had truly believed he was forgiven. Maybe it shouldn’t have. You had, after all, sat beside him and laughed with him. Shared a moment as if things were better. But it was nothing more than a lighthearted acknowledgement that whatever game was being played was entirely ridiculous yet you could feel how something had changed. There was a newfound intensity between the two of you and Aemond had clearly understood that he had made a mistake

But that wouldn't be enough for forgiveness. Things would never really be the same. You will never forget. The nameless woman had made a home in your unconscious mind and everything would remind you of the woman your husband had chosen to take to bed over you. She was beautiful, she was experienced and free of burden. Based on that alone a part of you could see why she could have been a better choice–a part of you that ached and pained ceaselessly. 

And you weren’t sure you could carry on as if Aemond hadn’t thrown your entire world into the pits of ruin. Because that is exactly what he may as well have done. All you had was your marriage to him–a fact that was as painful as it was true. If it all fell apart because of him only you would suffer from it. 

Your name, your family’s name. A Lady born to a house of remarkably lowly nobility with little more than your marriage to the prince. A charity case marriage to tell the realm’s people that the Crown was not so prejudiced as to be above uniting with the likes of your house. That the Lannisters and Baratheons were important but they were not everything. A fabrication only made necessary to cover up the fact that it was a lie–the Targaryens (and even the Hightowers as you had come to realise) really did believe they were of better blood. 

A failure to fulfil your duty to the Targaryen crown as Prince Aemond’s wife would destroy your family name. And you would have no prospect of happiness after it. What else did you have aside from this?

Aemond would never understand that. Because not only was he a man but he was a prince. A privilege, a safety and a security he had inherited through birth. 

Aside from the pressures of society, he had hurt you. Badly. 

Despite your own confliction about it, you did have love for Aemond–how could you not? Love came from many things and while yours may have come from your dependance on his word, on the duty he performed to be your protector as he was to the Crown and its subjects, on his polite affections as limited as they were, it still found its way into your heart. Perhaps it was foolish to allow it entry into your existence when you had already known that there was no love to come from Aemond. 

It didn’t change anything. Betrayed your trust, taken you for granted and destroyed the sanctity of a husband’s loyalty as if he were as dishonourable as any other Lord. 

You would never say it out loud but it had broken your heart. And heartache is a consuming, suffocating and painful thing to feel. A constant lump in your throat, something always weighing your chest down, a disastrous, aching discomfort in your belly. Tears had stained your pillow at night and dried by the morning, the fabric of the linen acquiring the same unphased facade that you would wear as you plastered on a mask of ignorance so that you could continue to live through your day. 

All because you had wanted him. Aemond, who was doomed to disappoint and destroy merely because that is all that princes do. 

For him to have mistaken your truce–the end to the back and forth game that had been wreaking havoc in its wake-as forgiveness was infuriating. He had no idea. 

Well, maybe he did. Now that he had seen you with another just as you had seen him. And you recognised your own experience in the moment he had realised what was happening. 

Aemond’s call to breakfast made you want to laugh. But you had turned him down for afternoon tea just the day before only to be found swallowing his brother’s seed. You winced at the shamefulness of your thought, muttering a quick prayer for the sake of your piety whether it was genuine or not. 

He was seated lazily in the chair he favoured, an array of food spread across the table. There was a book in his hand. The same one he had taken from you the last time you had shared your morning meal together. Aemond had a smirk playing on his lips. 

You cleared your throat, curtsying before sitting down at the other end of the table to him and with as much distance between you as you could muster. “Good morrow, my Prince,”

“Formalities, I see,” He looked at you through his lashes. It was odd seeing him so relaxed, the tension that was always in his shoulders had been lost and there was a playful glint to his eye. You wanted to smack it out. “I believed we were past titles and distance for the sake of propriety, my sweet. As well as rigid greetings.”

All you responded with was a stare. 

Dropping the book to his side, Aemond sighed and leaned forward, pouring tea into a cup. He stood, taking a couple steps forward to hand it to you. “We have fixed-”

“We have fixed nothing.”

“I am trying to turn a new leaf,” he commanded. You took the cup and saucer from his hand, the warm waft of vanilla and rose giving you a slight reprieve from the threat that rolled off his tongue. “If you do not recall, dear wife, I as well have every reason to resent you. The image of you sucking on my useless brother’s cock is not one I can easily bare. Yet I have chosen to let it be. I could have easily decided otherwise.”

“That would make you a hypocrite.” You glanced at him over the rim of your teacup. 

“It does not matter much if I am a hypocrite, does it?” Aemond sat, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. He wasn’t bothered with the food in front of him, focused solely on you. “I hardly see how that would change anything.”

You squirmed under the intensity of his stare, picking up a cherry from the bowl of fruits and rolling the stem between your fingers. “It matters to me. Certainly, it matters for your reputation among the smallfolk. Nobody cares for a selfish prince, my dear.”

Aemond hummed, smirking at the venom you spat at him. You noticed the coin that he rolled between his fingers, nimble and thoughtless as if it were like breathing. Not so much a nervous habit but a thoughtful one. 

He couldn’t lie and say that he didn’t enjoy your confidence. It was refreshing. But there was a dip in his gut at the thought that there was no hope for the two of you. Aemond, ever logical, knew he had no one else to blame but himself with his lack of foresight and failure to see beyond the now and here. 

Because Aemond had not even considered how things would go on should you not forgive him. He had assumed that you would if not merely on the basis that there was little lost from a relationship that hardly existed in the first place. You had love for him and he was so convinced that such a thing would be impossible that he didn’t consider that it would cause you heartache beyond slighted offence and jealousy. 

A violet eye lingered on the cherry that remained between your fingers. Aemond was good at putting on an act. He thought for a moment that he would rather take lashes to his back than have you know that he had no idea how to love someone properly. A part of him was persuaded that he was incapable of being a good lover. The lashes seemed like a blissful gift compared to the self-loathing that simmered in his belly at the probability that he had ruined any chance your marriage had of recovery.  

It crossed his mind that it was his ignorance towards you right from the beginning that had damned your relationship. 

Either way, it did not help that you had turned to his brother for intimacy. Aemond felt his blood scorch whenever that invaded his mind. He wanted to crumble the walls of this fortress when he wondered if Aegon had enjoyed your womanhood. Jealousy did motivate him well, he realised, and Aemond had the murderous urge to feed Aegon to Vhagar. 

Nonetheless, he feigned amusement. “It seems as if you care for one.”

You ate the cherry. It was sweet and rich. All you replied with was an upturn of your chin as you gracefully held a small embroidered towel to your lips.

“So I am not forgiven?” Aemond had to break the silence before it cut him open. “Are we not even?”

Narrowing your eyes at him, you held back a surprised laugh. “You never apologised. Not that it would make any difference.”

“That does not answer my question.”

“Of course you are not forgiven,” you sighed. The tea cup hit the table with a clang. Your disdain for his actions and his ignorance gave you an unfettered confidence around him which you weren’t accustomed to. It made it very difficult to control yourself. “And no, we are not even, my Prince. And since you have brought it to my attention, I am of half a mind to find Aegon and offer him a meal between my thighs. You see, I have often wondered how it would feel and I expect that our King would be happy to indulge my… curiosities.”

Aemond sneered, a silent one that was more visible in his intake of a breath, the curl of his lips and the hardening of his eye. Bullseye. 

It took him less than a couple seconds to be on his knees in front of where you sat, a strong hand tightly gripping each side of your thighs over the thick fabrics of your dress. He had shoved the table aside, unphased as tea spilled and fruits and cheeses toppled to the floor. Something in the look of bewilderment on your face had Aemond ready to both grin at your clueless innocence and frown at your shock.

Aemond didn’t let himself dwell on the fact that you had given up on expecting such pleasures from him. He was your husband; nothing about what he was clearly intending on doing to you should surprise you. Cursing himself to perdition would not be enough for how he has failed you. 

“I feel obliged to remind you that we had agreed,” he grazed his nose across your knees, looking up at you through his eyelashes, jaw clenched tight as he all but growled his words. “That there will be no more of this foolishness. Not from you and not from me.”

It was an onslaught of different things that had rendered you still and silent. The way Aemond looked at you like you were the only satiating force for his eternal hunger, the wordless mixture of desire and anger in how his fingers dug into the flesh of your thighs, the desperation in his voice, strained by the fear that you would. Or was it the overwhelming feeling that Aemond was finally taking some accountability and that maybe he recognised not what his actions were but the meaning that they carried?

For a moment Aemond just looked at you, conflicted and fragmented and unguarded. The sight of him like this reminded you of a vulnerable child. But it didn’t last long before the menacing, cautionary glint was back in his eye, his posture becoming rigid as shuffled the fabrics of your skirts. 

A new kind of anxiety overcame you. Not like the insignificant nervousness you had felt that night when you had wandered into his chambers or used his leg to make yourself peak and not like the clueless apprehension with Aegon. It formed a ball in your chest and made it hard to breathe. 

There was no chance he would ever admit it but you could see Aemond’s vulnerability and desperation within the hardened facade he had perfected. He wanted nothing more than to seem strong and powerful at all times, worthy of acclaim and reverence. But here he was, willing to stay on his knees and worship you forever, all under the pretence of rageful infatuation. 

It was too hot. Even with the cool of the shadows cast by the dark net curtains that only let in enough daylight to see clearly and not enough to cause Aemond irritation from sensitivity in his eye, it was so warm you worried you would have to rip the sleeves off of your dress.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when Aemond let out a soft, dark groan, running his fingers across the expanse of your legs over your stockings, your skirts already bunched at your hips. Skin burning at his touch, you couldn’t help the way you whined and squeezed your thighs together, squirming under the intensity of his gaze. 

His voice was heavy with the burden of lust and regret. “I will be better. In all the ways that I have failed you and more. Your forgiveness, I realise, is not as easily granted as I presumed but I will show you that I am worthy of it.” 

There was a moment of weakness in your mind before you caught yourself. You didn’t quite believe him. It had clearly been too easy for him to give you empty promises and there was no reason why things would be different now. 

It was odd. Seeing Aemond weak like this. 

What would it mean if you let him continue? It was clearly different this time. You couldn’t put it into words exactly but there was a rawness, a blitz of different emotions that set things ablaze and made you want to both weep and mewl for him. 

You couldn’t spare a thought about why it was different. Aemond was right there, a weaponised Prince on his knees for you, a lowly Lady with nothing more to offer him than yourself. Since when did you hold all this power over him? 

That night in his bedchambers and last night when you had shared a laugh despite everything that had unfolded felt detached in a way. When you had allowed yourself release over his leg it was simply that. A way to ease the tension he had put in your body and a way to leave him wanting.

Aemond’s eye swam with a tenderness you had not seen from him. He continued to look up at you waiting to gauge your response. It was a slight nod of your head which had his hands tearing at the soft fabric of your stockings, his lips instantly meeting the skin of your knees before you had the chance to even gasp. All the while, he kept his eye on you as if his heart would cease to beat if he could not watch the way you reacted to him. 

It became increasingly harder to breathe. There were so many thoughts, so many sensations that you struggled to put it all together. Your flushed with anticipation, your cunt throbbed at the wet plushness of his lips on your hot skin and your hips squirmed at what was to come. 

Your mind, however, flashed with the image of Aemond, exactly as he was now, between another woman’s thighs. A woman who didn’t flinch at the unfamiliar touch, who didn’t jerk away at the foreign feeling of being pleasured. You wondered if he would be so angered at the prospect of another man’s mouth on her womanhood, if her skin felt softer or more rough on his lips and if he looked at her with the same heated need.

It made you feel sick. 

Aemond let himself enjoy the way your thighs tensed, pulling your smallclothes off of you as much as carefully as he could under the restriction of your skirts. There was an urge to rip the entire dress off but he knew it would be a step too far. He couldn’t help the low sounds that left him, sounds he couldn’t recognise. The expanse of your thighs and the sight of your flushed, hot cunt in front of him made his mouth water with a hunger that would have shocked him had he not been so distracted by your scent. 

Without complete vision, Aemond had learned to train his sense of touch, taste, smell and hearing to make up for the disadvantage he was stuck with. They were always slightly heightened compared to those who never needed the compensation of senses but in the cloud of desire and lust, he was sensitive. 

You whined at the way his tongue glided over your skin, biting down hard but not hard enough to be painful on the flesh of your upper thigh so close to where you needed to feel him. But Aemond was always remarkably patient and he merely made way to your other leg, repeating his ministrations and licking you from your knee to where he bit you at your thigh. 

The haze that had possessed you made you lose track of your thoughts so easily. Still, they fought their way to the forefront of your mind at every chance they could and you were reminded of her. 

Aemond’s mind was overwhelmed by you. There was no power in the realm that could make him think of anything else, not with the way you were trembling under his feathered touch and making such beautiful sounds for him, and not when he desired for anyone else apart from you. 

A heavy breath of shame and excitement tumbled out of you at how lewdly he dragged the tip of his nose across your thigh, pressing it into the flesh that sat above your slick, aching cunt and inhaling. You clenched around nothing, your clit twitching at the sound of Aemond’s unabashed groan. 

He grasped at your hips and your legs, his fingers burying into your flesh and tugging as if there would never be enough of you in his hands. It would have driven you into a similarly desperate state had things been different. 

The prince between your thighs was a sight to behold. Aemond’s skin was flushed pink, his eyepatch slightly out of place and his hair tousled from the way your legs clenched and unclenched against his head. He was almost drooling, mumbling about how good you smelled and how perfect and pretty your cunt was for him. His cock had never been so hard, constricted by the stiff leather of his training attires. 

Aemond enjoyed being a tease but there was only so much he could handle himself. While he wanted you to crave for him the way he was craving you so unbearably, Aemond needed to taste you. He needed to make you feel the blinding pleasure he should have been giving you at every chance he had since the night you were married. He needed to show you the ways of unbridled human desire and to show you all the ways your body could come undone and fall apart only to feel completely whole and fulfilled. 

There was no changing the past but Aemond would make up for how completely inattentive he had been. He would show you all the more fervently. When Aemond placed an open mouthed kiss just above your slit, letting a string of his spit glide off of his tongue onto your sensitive pussy, you shuddered.

All at once your mind was once again taken over by unsavoury thoughts. It had your eyes welling with tears, a familiar lump lodging in your throat, threatening to come out in a devastated sob. There was a ringing in your ears and you were back at Aemond’s door, peeking in only to see him giving that woman the same touch he was giving you right now. He had seemed so enthralled by her and the way she must have tasted. It was as if he’d been there before, indulging in her with so much passion it rivalled how eagerly touched you in this moment. 

Did her smell fill his veins with fire as yours was? Did her scent alone make his cock as painfully hard as yours did? Did her cunt drip for him the way yours did? Was the hunger in his eye shining for her too?

It was terrifying to consider. 

Aemond would spend hours here, he had decided. His duties for the day could be damned to the hells for all he cared. There was a rumbling in his chest for what he saw in front of him, inviting him to indulge and filling his mind with senseless ardour. Aemond let himself enjoy just the scent of you, his eye fluttering shut and his nose gently resting above your folds as he breathed you in, caressing your thighs softly with his hands. As if he were starved for years, Aemond salivated and with no patience left within him, he brought his lips downwards to meet the precious cunt he had been dreaming of. 

With a whimper that you couldn’t hold back, you jerked away from him. Aemond pulled away in surprise, his gaze full of confusion and lust and insecurity. “Wait, my love—“

You had slipped free of his grasp, a strangled cry escaping no matter how hard you tried to keep it in. There was one tear that slipped free, followed by countless more and you couldn’t look at him anymore, couldn’t bear to see that he was hurt before scrambling away from him. 

She was stuck in your mind. The memory of Aemond’s little trysts with her replaying behind your eyes no matter how hard you tried to shut it out. It was clear that there was nothing you could do to get ahold of yourself because everytime you looked at him, so enthralled in you and your sex, she was there. 

Laughing at you in the back of your mind, as if she had taken residence in a permanent place in your head, enjoying the state of despair and madness she and Aemond had led you to. 

But she couldn’t be in your head. Not really. Not in the way it felt she was. 

You barely glanced back at Aemond through your tears, struggling to even your breathing and calm the rapid beating of your heart. He hadn’t moved much; just simply stayed there frowning at the space that you had once occupied on the chair. 

There was nothing he could do to change things. Aemond knew that as well as you did. But there was a pain in your heart at the way he looked so defeated, so guilty that it almost seemed like he would melt into a puddle of remorse. A far stretch from the usual stoic warrior that you had known him as.

“My prince, I–” you swallowed, your voice catching when he looked up at you with a wide eye and furrowed eyebrows. For a moment you remembered that he had no right - but he was trying, was he not? “I cannot continue with this knowing that you had touched her like this. It angers me and it upsets me and it pains me to think of it but ‘tis beyond my control.”

He stayed silent, observing the way you hid yourself from him and struggled to meet his gaze. There was a sullen look to you, one you had not entered with and it stuck needles in his flesh to think that he had been the cause of it. Aemond’s entire body felt hot and he was itching to tear off his leathers. He wished the gods would strike him down as he was for hurting you so.

You had turned away, disappearing from his quarters swiftly. You would never forget the image of how you had left him there–it was both satisfying and devastating. 

Aemond, still on his knees for the ghost of you, his expression tortured and his shoulders tensed. It was a pathetic sight, should anyone stumble upon it, but you considered it beautiful. Beautiful in a lethal, catastrophic manner. Not unlike himself; a weaponised source of destruction who had a tendency to bring torment upon those he loved. 

The rest of your day had been spent alone in your chambers. You hadn’t cried so much over any of it until now. The tears and sobs that you had held inside of yourself for weeks had forced themselves out, along with the emotions you had pushed down until you could no longer. 

Aemond had a certain control while you were sitting in that seat, skirts bunched to your stomach and quivering for him to have his way. Regardless, the power was still yours and you knew that it was Aemond who was wrapped tightly around your finger at that moment. He would have listened to anything you had said–done anything you had told him to do. 

Perhaps you had become too stubborn in your anger to have let yourself feel anything else. A retributive anger; one that sprouted from the lack of love that existed in your marriage and reached a climax at Aemond’s brazen adultery. And it only grew stronger in whatever back and forth Aemond had encouraged by dangling his whore in front of your face. 

Whatever it was, you were feeling so much more now than you had before. 

Or perhaps it was because you could see that Aemond was remorseful. He would never yet admit it but you knew from the way he had behaved since you had visited him in his bed. It was no act of redemption and definitely no apology but it was impossible to ignore the change in him. You had never seen Aemond the way you had seen him this morning. 

Vulnerable, gentle, tormented. 

A knock on your door had you sniffling and wiping away any tear stains that may have lingered on your cheeks. You had stopped crying for some time but the need to wallow and lament had stayed. When you called out to ask, the guard at your door notified you of the Dowager Queen’s presence. 

Oh, seven hells. 

There was really no chance you could refuse her so you merely let her in and called a servant to bring some refreshments. Queen Alicent sat herself down but remained tense, carefully watching you as you took a place beside her. 

“Have you been crying?” Her concern was comforting. “I believe I know why.”

You straightened, not meeting the eye of the woman who reached a tender hand to your knee. Hiding behind a forced smile, you let out a breathy laugh. “I am certain the entirety of the Red Keep knows, Your Grace.”

“It has been known for some time,” Alicent was gentle, her cautionary gaze telling you that she was apprehensive about bringing her son’s misadventures up. You held your breath. “Since the first time he had summoned that Alys woman-”

“Alys? Is that her name?”

“You do not know?” There was a tense silence. Alicent couldn’t meet your gaze, pity swimming across her features. Aemond was her son and there were many things that she had let her sons get away with but her heart pained at the broken quiver in your voice. 

Alicent had noticed the change in Aemond since the night that you had found him with Alys. The second time. He had never paid much attention to you aside from what appearances required yet Alicent knew her son far more than he would be willing to accept. She had known that there was something in his heart for you, no matter how small and no matter how it dwindled until set alight. 

Aemond had done the wrong thing. She had no doubts about that. Alicent would have words with him once she figured out what to say to him. But he was her son and there were certain misdoings that she knew she had to defend them through. To protect his marriage, his image and his happiness. The Queen Dowager cleared her throat and reached for your hand, eyebrows furrowing at the way you stared down at your lap, the anguish you felt in your heart written clearly across your face. 

“I understand that you are hurting, my dear. Although my husband remained faithful to me until his death and I cannot quite imagine the pain in your heart–I see how you have love for my son, even if you nor him have known it, I do understand,” Alicent took a breath, closing her eyes. “This is the way of men. And princes–”

“Please, Your Grace, I mean this with utmost respect for you but I do not wish to hear your excuses,” you whispered. There was a prickly, breathless worry that had settled in your gut. What did you not know? Was this Alys someone who mattered? “But I would like to know what you are withholding from me about this woman. I believe I deserve that at the very least.”

Alicent stared at you for a moment, examining you. She could drive her son further into the ground with what she was about to say. “Aemond had a paramour–at least it was rumoured, he never spoke of such things with me. Alys Rivers, a wetnurse and servant woman from Harrenhal.”

“A paramour?”

“It was before you were married,” Alicent was quick to clarify. “I had assumed that Aemond wanted nothing more to do with her when she left–at his order, I believe. Some say she was a witch. Perhaps she enchanted him.” 

You couldn’t look at her. She was more than just a whore? Had he lied to you right from the beginning? Bile rose up in your throat. There was a thrum in your ears, the sound of your own heartbeat and you feared that you would be sick from the drop in your gut. 

“Did he love her? Could he still?”

Alicent sucked in a breath. “I do not know, my child.”

All you could do was nod pathetically. Alicent was a woman of great strength and dedication; you had once wished to be much like her one day. But as you sat beside her now, you wished she had been a liar and a cheat and a meddling gossip. That you could find a way to fault her words but you could tell it caused her great difficulty to speak of Aemond’s actions honestly. 

Ever poised and elegant, Alicent only leaned forward to you, her posture straight as a needle and her touch soft as linen. “I did not mean to upset you further. I only meant to speak with you about returning to Courtly activities, with the other Ladies and Helaena has been asking for you. And the Ladies speak–”

“They speak terribly of me,” you scoffed, allowing a humourless laugh. “I understand, Your Grace. I will return to spending my days in company other than my own.”

Alicent hated to pry but she felt that she must, now that she had dealt her cards against Aemond’s fate. “Perhaps you should speak with Aemond. He cares for you deeply. It would be a shame for your union to fall apart over such misunderstandings.”

If not for formality, you would have rolled your eyes. Again, you simply nodded, your mind reeling back to the woman that Alicent had given a name to. You would ask Aemond about her. It would be the less damning option rather than turning to Aegon once more but the idea of speaking to Aemond about a woman he may once have loved still made you want to crawl underneath the sheets of your bed and disappear. 

You thought of the woman who you had seen through the crack in the door and wished you had taken extra care in looking at her. There was little you could recall other than the darkness and length of her hair, the paleness of her skin and the perfection in her curves as she pleasured Aemond and as he did the same for her. 

As if she was familiar with all the things that made him weak. All the things that made Aemond weak. How she had touched him like she was an expert in his body. And you thought of Aemond, bare and comfortable with her. Aemond with his sapphire glimmering under the lamplight instead of an eye, a rawness and trust that you had never seen of him until that night. 

He trusted her.

Alys Rivers. 

.....................................................

Tagging: @padfooteyes @thedyingwriter @mamawiggers1980 @queenofshinigamis @ewanmitchellfanatic @nurtargaryen

[joons]

This may be a prickly subject, and I'm sorry if so. But I'm trying to learn more about Elvis, and every time I bring him up to people I know, they try to tell me he was this terrible person, and point me toward Priscilla's book, the movie made on it, and the discourse. Idk if you've talked about it on here (I tried searching your blog but couldn't find anything on it). If you're willing, I'd love to hear your take on it so I can see a more nuanced view.

The film Priscilla was greenlit roughly a month after Priscilla herself was informed that she was close to becoming financially insolvent in 2022. With a business partner, Brigitte Kruse, who allegedly helped broker the film deal, she established a limited liability company called Priscilla Presley Partners that was supposed to use her image and likeness to create several lines of merchandise to coincide with the film's release. That business partner is now suing Priscilla because she did not have the rights to her image or likeness, or any ability to use the Presley name, because she had already sold all of those rights and was no longer considered in good standing with Graceland or Elvis Presley Enterprises. The entire business deal, then, according to the lawsuit, was built on her misrepresentation of how much her image was worth.

The deal between the two of them fell apart after Riley Keough, Lisa Marie's daughter and Priscilla's granddaughter, settled with Priscilla to give her a lump sum of $1 million from Lisa Marie's estate and yearly amounts of $100,000. Priscilla sued very shortly after Lisa Marie's death because she thought Lisa Marie's signature on a will had been forged because Priscilla was not included in it. All of the assets were supposed to go directly to Lisa Marie's son, Benjamin Keough, who died in 2020, and her three daughters, two of whom are still teenagers. Now, part of those assets have been claimed by Priscilla and her other son, Navarone, who has no connection to the Presley family and has stated he is glad Lisa died.

Four months before Lisa's death, Lisa wrote to Sofia Coppola and made it clear she had strong concerns about the Priscilla film and was suspicious of the intentions behind it:

"As his daughter, I don’t read this and see any of my father in this character. I don’t read this and see my mother’s perspective of my father. ... I will be forced to be in a position where I will have to openly say how I feel about the film and go against you, my mother and this film publicly."

Lisa was enormously grateful for efforts put into 2022's Elvis to find her father's soul and to restore his dignity in a world that often turns him and his family into a joke:

"You can feel and witness Baz’s pure love, care, and respect for my father throughout this beautiful film, and it is finally something that myself and my children and their children can be proud of forever."

It is such a strong and powerful statement, to see how much Lisa valued family, not just her father but her own children and their legacy, and how willing she was to speak up no matter what was going on in her personal life to say what was right. On this and many other things, Lisa and Priscilla's values have rarely been in alignment. A friend and EPE business associate, Joel Weinshanker, said of her, "Lisa couldn't be bought, she couldn't be pushed. If she felt that something wasn't in Elvis' best interest, it was never about money. And she really is the only Presley that you could say that about."

Priscilla, though, has adjusted her stories about her time with Elvis almost every time she discusses it. For a quick example, she said in her book, which was released in 1985, that Elvis insisted she do her hair and makeup a certain way, that he had control over her look and would get upset if she didn't dress how he wanted. But in an interview with Ladies' Home Journal in 1973, she said that she made a deliberate choice to attend makeup school so that she could learn how to style herself, and that it was her idea to wear big, black hair and big, black eyeliner. She said she was embarrassed for going overboard. She said, "I wish that Elvis had said something, but he must have liked it because he never commented." This lines up with recollections from Patti Parry, a platonic friend of Elvis' and a hairstylist, who said Priscilla always wanted Patti to do her hair in a "big boombah," but that Priscilla would then get upset when Elvis didn't notice or didn't like it.

These changes are impossible not to notice if you follow her for any length of time. At the film premiere, she said it felt just like watching her life and said she was consulted on everything, since she was an executive producer. After the film came out, she said she couldn't understand why Coppola had changed so much about the story and misrepresented events. In the '70s, she said she and Elvis lived almost totally separate lives, that she came and went as she pleased, and that she loved this freedom. Later, she said she felt completely stifled and trapped and never left the house, even though she had friends she went out with all the time. In 2019, she tweeted a forceful denial about a National Enquirer story: "This is the Enquirer folks... please don't believe everything you read. ... Never planned on being buried next to Elvis. What will they come up with next?" But part of her settlement demands in her lawsuit against Riley in 2023 asked "to be buried next to Elvis." This year, she said in two separate interviews that Lisa was with her when Elvis died and that Priscilla had to break the news to her, despite the fact that Lisa was at Graceland when it happened. She has said she gave Elvis the idea to wear belts on his jumpsuits, to have a lightning bolt as his logo, to sing "An American Trilogy," though none of that is true. She retells the story about forcing Elvis to burn all of his spiritual books to prove he loved her as an almost funny anecdote about debrainwashing him, while Elvis later said it was the worst thing he ever agreed to, a desperate attempt to make her happy by giving up the things he valued the most. (For the record, this is my opinion about their relationship on both sides: thinking they could change themselves and each other to make it work. It never did.)

Every secondhand Elvis account has to be treated lightly and only valued for its consistency with known facts and other witnesses. I try to give enormous benefit of the doubt to anyone in the Elvis world because they often only have partial knowledge of what Elvis may have been thinking at any given time, and there are numerous examples of people who were taken advantage of by unscrupulous journalists who changed the story they wanted to tell. But Priscilla's stories sometimes are not even consistent with her own statements, which makes them very poor options indeed to base anything on. However careful we are about noting potential biases and inaccuracies in other memoirs, we have to be triply, quadruply careful with anything in which Priscilla involves herself because she has a vested interest in generating discourse today in order to make money. Unfortunately, Priscilla has a habit of stifling other accounts or making sensationalized statements each time there is a possibility that she will lose some of the cachet that comes with being an Elvis Source—after Elvis' death, when she believed she was going to inherit his airplane and disinvited everyone that Vernon said could fly in it to his funeral; when she sued the parents of one of Elvis' ex-girlfriends after he died because he had allowed them to live rent-free in a house he bought for them; when she claimed that Elvis wanted to reunite with her before his death, despite the fact that he was engaged to someone else and told many people he couldn't see a reunion ever happening with her; before Vernon's death, when she convinced him to make her an executor of the Presley estate until Lisa came of age; after Lisa came of age, when she convinced Lisa to let her stay on as partner; when Lisa accused Priscilla of misspending Lisa's money, during which time anonymous sources cropped up to say Lisa was in debt and drug-addled; when Priscilla was removed from her position as an EPE spokesperson but kept collecting $900,000 a year from the company; when Lisa died, and Priscilla sued once she learned she wasn't in the will; when Priscilla was no longer associated with EPE and decided to do another adaptation of a book that she has since recanted parts of and has contradicted before and after its release.

When Priscilla thinks there is a threat to her image and position, she does new interviews and projects to muddy the waters and stir public interest, whether it is true or false, positive or negative, laudatory or defamatory. She gets corrected by Elvis' surviving family members, girlfriends, friends, and fans, but these stories do not get the same reach no matter how much they are backed by contemporaneous documents and witnesses, or how many resources there are to educate the public on how Elvis' and Priscilla's attitudes about marriage and relationships changed—along with the rest of society—between 1960 and 1970.

I think almost any single-source project is not going to advance our understanding of Elvis in any way because no one individual can speak for him, and we are kind of obligated to include all the context we can in order to appreciate his character, his successes and failures, flaws and virtues—and to treat both himself and those around him as fully three-dimensional people who have their own blind spots. Priscilla is far too aware of her own image, and far too willing to change it to suit the audience, to be particularly valuable here.

She is next scheduled to appear at the Lexington (Kentucky) Comic & Toy Con.

[yellowjackingit]

Omegaverse yellowjackets personal headcanons and parings✨ nsfw

(don't like don't read, you know who you are ;)

Shauna -alpha she's my bi messy failgirl icon <3 she just has alpha energy to me (but idk I'm sure in some fics I'll have her beta) , and Jeff has omega energy to me idk why, vibes man. I feel like in an omegaverse society alpha women traditionally are expected to have big families and accomplish a lot, so when Jackie dies I'd imagine her mother's slights have to do with how Shauna is such a rare breed, an alpha female, only 5% of the population contains alpha females and yet she was somehow never as special as her lil jack jack

Jackie- omega Jackie just needs an alpha to hold her and tell her everything's gonna be ok, too bad they eat her lol. Also i wanna see Shauna pin her down what of it. She's totally a lesbian

Lottie- alpha The total it girl, she's got it all, she embodies the traditional femalpha standard, think barbie, but tbh most of that was learning at a young age she was different (gay) and got really good at hiding it. it was a no brainer when she became the first head alpha of the group as people usually do they fall under her leadership and guidance. Shes the kind of alpha that would have led rome or egypt. And yet. When she loses her omega she loses her way. Her power crumbles and so she hands the torch to the alpha she trusts most

Natalie- alpha as the runt of her litter of one and every class or group she's been apart of she was never the first picked alpha but when the group assigned her the leader everything changed for her. She was finally where she was born to be. Out in the woods she became the best version of her alpha. Also I just wanna see her go thru a rut and Lottie offer to help a bro out with it 👀 who said that

Laura lee- omega voted cutest omega of her year, always had a crush on Lottie and now that they're lost in the wilderness maybe she can show her some her holy moves? Idk I'm not Catholic anymore

Taissa - beta

Van - butch nonbinary beta

Taissa van beta4beta my beloved<3 taissa being resentful of her beta gender (transmasc taissa goes hard) and trying her hardest to become a beta representative "betas are 45% of the population and yet only have 4 seats on the Senate? What's that bull" but I can also see taissa being an alpha and van be an omega

Misty- omega also a runt, she looks up to Natalie a lot being a runt as well who actually earned the respect of the pack. So her and nat bond over it and eventually more 👀 imagine Misty's heat hitting round the spring, and in order to avoid pregnancies nat being the ever so gracious pack leader helps her through it with her massive dick

Travis- beta him and Shauna beta solidarity has good potential, I hope they talk about girls together, like imagine them coming out to each other? Grieving javi together, both being ppl who lost their own blood to these woods... Y'all pls understand my vision

Mari- beta when no immediate role is assigned to her she struggles and takes it out on jackie, it's ok babygirl thats not how u get the pretty omegas attention but u will learn

Coach ben- alpha his death is their first meal, and the death of the traditional alpha male patriarchy i guess lol

Crystal- omega to mirrors misty

Anyone feel free to add on! I wanted to headcanons the other girls too but I cant Google it rn, so if anyone wanna drop the background girls names I'll love u forever <3

[elryuse]

Hey can I ask for yandere xiaoting ?

Devil In Disguise

YANDERE XIAOTING X MALE READER

Xiaoting, a vision of flawless beauty sculpted by stylists and fueled by caffeine, pushed open the familiar door of her favorite cafe. The air, thick with the aroma of roasted coffee beans, was a welcome escape from the sterility of her practice studio. But today, the enticing scent was overshadowed by a different kind of allure.

Behind the counter stood a boy with hair the color of dark chocolate that seemed to absorb the warm light filtering through the window. His eyes, a deep brown that held a warmth that sent a shiver down her spine, were focused intently on the espresso machine. He was handsome, yes, undeniably so, but it was his smile – genuine, unburdened by the pressures of fame that she carried like a second skin – that truly captivated her.

"Can I get you something?" he asked, his voice a pleasant baritone that rumbled in a way that made her knees weak.

"Hmm," Xiaoting purred, leaning against the counter. Her stage persona, a mix of icy cool and smoldering sensuality, came naturally. It was a shield, a carefully crafted armor that protected her from the emotional onslaught of constant scrutiny. Here, though, in this tiny cafe with its worn wooden tables and mismatched mugs, it felt heavy. "Idk.. Surprise me."

He chuckled, a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine once more. "Coming right up," he said, his smile widening. As he worked, she stole glances, memorizing the way his brow furrowed in concentration as he steamed the milk, the way his fingers danced across the espresso machine with a practiced ease. Finally, he slid a steaming cup towards her, a playful glint in his eyes.

"Here you go," he said, his voice warm and inviting. "Hope it surprises you pleasantly."

"I'm sure it will," Xiaoting said, her voice a husky murmur. "By the way, I'm Xiaoting."

He smiled, his name tag reading "Y/n. Nice to meet you, Xiaoting. So, what brings a beautiful girl like you to my humble cafe?"

The question was simple, but it sent a jolt through her. Rarely did people see beyond the mask she wore for the cameras. An idea, delicious and dangerous, sparked in her mind.

"Just looking for a little escape," she said, her voice tinged with a calculated vulnerability. They talked for what felt like hours, but in reality, it was only a stolen half-hour between customers. She learned about his dreams of becoming a musician, his love for classic novels that she'd only ever seen adapted into movies, the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed at a particularly bad joke she told. It was intoxicating, this taste of normalcy, of genuine connection.

But as she went to leave, her heart plummeted.

"Hey," Y/n called. "I don't usually ask this, but…" He fumbled in his pocket, pulling out a napkin. "Would you like to keep in touch?"

A thrill shot through her. This was better than she could have hoped for. But then, a girl, blonde and bubbly, linked arms with Y/n, planting a kiss on his cheek.

"Hey babe, sorry I'm late!"

Xiaoting's smile froze, the warmth in her replaced by a chilling emptiness that spread through her like ice. "Girlfriend?" she croaked, her voice devoid of its usual playful lilt.

Y/n's face fell. "Oh, right. This is…" His eyes darted between them, confusion etched on his face. "This is Xiaoting, and…"

"No need to introduce me," Xiaoting cut in, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness that tasted like ash in her mouth. It was a performance, a carefully crafted mask once more, but this time, it was fueled by something far more potent than practiced charm. "It's lovely to meet you. Y/n tells me wonderful things about you."

The lie flowed effortlessly, a seed planted in the fertile ground of the girl's insecurities. Later, alone in her luxurious apartment, the mask shattered. Rage contorted her face, a terrifying transformation that would send shivers down the spine of anyone who witnessed it. A mere pop star, a nobody, dared to have someone she desired? The thought was an insult, a challenge to her carefully constructed world.

The following days were a blur of activity. Xiaoting, the master manipulator with a team of loyal and discreet individuals at her beck and call, orchestrated a flawless plan. A carefully placed photo, an anonymous tip to the tabloids that fueled the ever-hungry gossip machine, and a manufactured public meltdown on Y/n's girlfriend's part did the trick. Days later, Y/n, heartbroken and confused, found himself sitting across from Xiaoting in her opulent apartment, a stark contrast to the cozy cafe.

Y/n stared at Xiaoting, his eyes red-rimmed and puffy. Tears had carved glistening tracks through the caked-on makeup his ex had insisted on before their "emotional" break-up video.

"It's all a lie, isn't it?" he rasped, his voice raw with betrayal. "The cheating, the whole thing."

Xiaoting, perched on a plush velvet sofa, her designer dress impeccably styled, reached out and squeezed his hand. Her touch, usually electric, felt cold and calculating. "Oh, Y/n," she cooed, her voice dripping with manufactured sympathy. "Don't listen to the media vultures. They just want to create drama."

Her practiced smile didn't reach her eyes. Y/n, however, blinded by grief and the subtle shift in her demeanor, clung to her words like a lifeline.

"She seemed so genuine in the video," he mumbled, his voice thick with despair. "She even had… proof."

A flicker of triumph passed through Xiaoting's eyes, masked by a concerned frown. "Proof that can be easily fabricated, darling," she purred. "You know how these things work."

Y/n nodded numbly, his mind reeling. Xiaoting leaned in, her voice a seductive whisper. "You deserve better, Y/n. Someone who will cherish you, who understands you. Someone like me."

He looked up, his gaze searching hers. In that moment, a flicker of something dark, something possessive, glinted in her eyes. But Y/n, lost in his emotional turmoil, missed it.

"I don't know what to believe anymore," he whispered, defeated.

Xiaoting's smile bloomed, genuine this time. "Then believe in me," she said, her voice laced with a dangerous possessiveness. "Believe that I can make you happy."

And in that vulnerable state, Y/n did. Blinded by the illusion of comfort and the toxic sweetness of her words, he allowed himself to fall into her carefully constructed web.

Days turned into weeks, then months. Xiaoting, the idol with a seemingly perfect life, became his haven. But the haven was a gilded cage, its bars disguised as luxury and affection.

His phone calls with friends became "intrusions into their healing." His attempts to pursue music, his long-held dream, were dismissed as "unrealistic distractions." The outside world became a blur, filtered through Xiaoting's carefully curated narrative.

One evening, amidst a candlelit dinner, Xiaoting casually mentioned a camera crew arriving the next day to film a "day in the life" segment.

Y/n froze, a flicker of unease crossing his face. "A camera crew? Here?"

Xiaoting, all innocence, feigned surprise. "Oh honey, didn't I mention? It's a surprise! They want to showcase our beautiful love story."

His unease morphed into terror. The manufactured reality she'd created suffocated him. But before he could protest, she reached for his hand, her grip a vice.

"Don't worry, darling," she purred, her voice laced with a chilling sweetness. "It'll be perfect. After all, the whole world deserves to see how happy we are, right?"

Y/n's pleas were drowned out by the manufactured sweetness of her voice. Trapped in her gilded cage, his future stretched before him, not a haven of love, but a prison built on lies and a terrifying obsession.

The camera crew bustled around the apartment, their presence a suffocating weight on Y/n's chest. Every stolen glance at Xiaoting confirmed his growing suspicion. Her smile, practiced for countless interviews, seemed strained around the edges. Her eyes, usually sparkling with manufactured cheer, held a glint of something manic.

As they filmed their "candid" interactions, Y/n fumbled for words. Xiaoting, ever the professional, filled the silence with fabricated anecdotes about their whirlwind romance, peppered with possessiveness disguised as affection.

Later, after the crew departed, the air grew thick with a suffocating tension. Y/n, his hands clammy with unease, finally found his voice.

"Xiaoting," he started, his voice barely a whisper. "It felt… staged. Everything."

Xiaoting's smile faltered for a brief moment, then reappeared, wider and somehow colder. "Staged? How silly, darling. It was just a little awkwardness, that's all."

He wasn't convinced. The way she'd hovered over him, her touch lingering a beat too long, the way her gaze flickered to the phone whenever it buzzed – it all screamed control.

"Can I… can I call my friends sometime?" Y/n asked, his voice small.

A flicker of annoyance crossed Xiaoting's face, quickly masked. "Oh, honey, you know how the media is. They'd twist anything into a story. We wouldn't want them to paint a wrong picture of our perfect relationship, would we?"

Y/n swallowed the retort that rose in his throat. He felt a growing sense of isolation, a gnawing loneliness that her constant presence couldn't fill.

Days blurred into weeks. Phone calls became a distant memory, replaced by Xiaoting's curated schedule of "romantic outings" and "couple interviews." He was a prop in her meticulously crafted narrative, his own dreams and desires pushed further and further out of reach.

One night, while Xiaoting slept, Y/n stumbled upon her phone. A morbid curiosity gnawed at him. He knew it was wrong, but the need to understand his situation overpowered his conscience.

His breath hitched as he saw text messages exchanged with a private number. The messages were cold, calculating, filled with instructions about manipulating interviews and maintaining their "perfect" facade.

But what truly sent chills down his spine was the final message: "Target successfully isolated. Phase two: public declaration."

Y/n's blood ran cold. He wasn't Xiaoting's lover; he was a pawn in a twisted game orchestrated by a woman consumed by a possessive obsession. Fear, sharp and primal, clawed at his throat.

He knew then that he had to escape. But how? Xiaoting controlled everything – his access to the outside world, his finances, even his reputation.

He spent the next few days formulating a plan, a desperate gamble fuelled by a newfound strength. He started subtly leaving messages for his old bandmate on social media, hidden in plain sight within innocuous comments. He pretended to be enthusiastic about Xiaoting's upcoming album release, subtly planting seeds of doubt about their relationship in interviews.

The night before the album release party, Y/n finally made his move. He waited until Xiaoting fell asleep, then packed a small bag with essentials. He knew she'd wake up soon, so he had to be quick.

He tiptoed towards the door, his heart hammering in his chest. Just as he grasped the knob, a cold voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Going somewhere, darling?" Xiaoting stood there, her eyes blazing with a terrifying fury.

Y/n's mouth went dry. "Xiaoting, I… I just need some air."

"No," she said, her voice a steely whisper. "You're not going anywhere. You belong to me now."

Y/n knew then that reasoning was futile. He had to fight his way out. He lunged for the door, but Xiaoting was faster. She grabbed his arm, her grip surprisingly strong.

A struggle ensued, desperate and brutal. Y/n, fueled by a surge of adrenaline, managed to break free and sprint towards the window. He threw it open, the cool night air a welcome shock.

"Y/n don't!!" Xiaoting screamed, her voice laced with a chilling desperation.

He didn't look back. He scrambled onto the fire escape, adrenaline masking the fear threatening to consume him. He descended quickly, ignoring the burn in his legs, until he reached the ground and melted into the night.

He knew this was just the beginning. Xiaoting wouldn't give up easily. But for the first time in months, he felt a flicker of hope. He was free, and he would do He sprinted through the deserted streets, the rhythmic pounding of his feet the only sound in the night. Glancing back every few seconds, his heart hammered a frantic tattoo against his ribs. He didn't see Xiaoting, but the chilling memory of her desperate plea sent shivers down his spine.

Reaching his old friend's apartment, he pounded on the door with shaking hands. Relief flooded him when the familiar face of his bandmate, Mark, appeared. But before Y/n could explain, a car screeched to a halt outside, its headlights momentarily blinding him.

"Y/n!" Mark gasped, pulling him back inside just as the apartment door splintered. Xiaoting, her face contorted with rage, stormed in, a gaggle of security guards flanking her.

"There you are!" she hissed, her voice laced with venom.

Y/n's frantic pleas for help fell on deaf ears. The security guards, well-versed in the art of celebrity wrangling, subdued him with practiced ease. Mark, powerless against the tide, could only watch in horror.

Back in the gilded cage, Xiaoting's rage had morphed into a chilling calm. Gone was the facade of the loving girlfriend. Y/n sat across from her, his wrists bound with silk scarves, the very picture of a dethroned king.

"You shouldn't have tried to leave," Xiaoting said, her voice devoid of emotion. "Now, things will have to change."

A cold dread filled Y/n. He knew then that escape was no longer an option. Xiaoting wouldn't simply lock him away; she would control him. His career, his reputation, his very identity – all would become pawns in her twisted game.

The following days were a blur of media manipulation. Xiaoting, the heartbroken victim, spun a tale of a troubled boyfriend on the verge of a breakdown. Public sympathy flowed freely, further isolating Y/n.

He was allowed to keep his phone, but under constant surveillance. His band, ostracized and pressured by Xiaoting's powerful team, reluctantly distanced themselves. The world he once knew crumbled around him.

Weeks turned into months. Y/n became a ghost of his former self, a talented musician reduced to a silent shadow beside the ever-smiling Xiaoting. He was forced to participate in interviews, his every word carefully scripted.

One day, during a live performance, a flicker of defiance sparked in his eyes. As Xiaoting launched into a love song, he reached for the microphone, his voice hoarse but resolute.

"This isn't real," he rasped, the words catching in his throat. "She's keeping me prisoner."

The music screeched to a halt. Shock rippled through the audience. Security guards rushed the stage before Y/n could utter another word.

But the damage was done. The carefully crafted facade had a gaping hole. Whispers turned into accusations. Public opinion shifted, a seed of doubt planted.

Xiaoting, however, remained unfazed. Public scrutiny was a game she knew how to play. She painted Y/n as delusional, a victim of his own mental breakdown. Her carefully calculated tears and veiled threats of self-harm swayed the narrative back in her favor.

Y/n, isolated and silenced once more, sank deeper into despair. He knew he might never truly escape Xiaoting's grasp. She had woven a web of control so intricate, so pervasive, that it had become his reality.

The story ended not with a dramatic escape or a heroic rescue, but with a slow, suffocating descent. Y/n remained a prisoner, not behind bars, but within the gilded cage of a twisted obsession, his music and his dreams forever silenced by the chilling melody of Xiaoting's love song.

[autieofthevalley]

I need to rant about that because i don't know how to feel about it, honestly. So here's the context first :

So i'm on an ateez fandom discord like an actual one (i won't tell the one because it's not really important and i'm not feeling safe enough from them to tell the name BUT i digress) and like okay so there's minors on that discord, minors AND adults, so of course, the speaking about sex with ateez is an absolute no, and i absolutely understand that. I mean, as a literal nsfw blog, i also have rules, and i block any minor/ageless blog that interacts with my content.

There's a few people that sexualise ateez on that discord, which i'm against ONLY because there's minors present. Now, most of the people on that discord + staff are absolutely against "sexualising" ateez in general, not only on Discord.

People on one of the principal chats of the server said things like "gotta stop this we are in 2024" and "they're humans like us, just stop".

Apparently, someone had said of Ateez on the discord, "i want them to run me over" (i get it. It's on a discord with minors, but honestly???) and people are shocked and disgusted (like bffr)

It's because of people so strict like that even outside a discord that we (and i talk about me, my mutuals and the people that follow me), are finding our safe space on Tumblr because it's pretty much the only platform in general (apart from some +18 ateez discord servers) where we can say freely what we want to do. It's almost like they're infantilized at that point with those people, please, they're grown ass men who literally make their concert like a magic mike show, and also the same people who make sexual songs almost every comeback, at least one per album, and who put themselves almost naked sometimes on purpose!! The same people who post parts of their body that they know Atiny ADORE just because of fanservice!! And they definitely know of the smuts and fanfics atp... Bffr!!!

Another thing, those people were talking about the thing with the cameramen during the concert who zooms a few times on the guys crotch, and some of them were saying things like "that's embarrassing" and like "the cameraman should not do that". Someone even said, "Maybe they did the concert like that because of the fanservice, but if they force them to do that, it's a problem." Babes, listen to me, knowing ateez at that point, i'm pretty sure they would have asked seriously the staff and cameraman to stop zooming on them crotches.

People should stop being shocked and sensitive about what others say about Ateez. At least we are not writing very explicit things to them directly. I keep my thoughts safe from them because i'll never know how they'll react, and idk them personally. But like, almost slutshaming people about a group that is literally sex freaks atp (for fanservice mostly i think, but pretty sure they're really horny like most of humans) is not okay at all Just leave us alone, i'm never going to say to the actual group my slut thoughts about them anyway (i would be clinically and mentally more than insane for that and by the way, on that same discord i speak about, the warning note about sexualisation of the members said "Ateez are not objects, and are not to be sexualised" and also a thing who says as a resume that the guys would be shocked and hurt if they learned about being sexualised, bitch please 🙄)

[bonesandthebees]

HOW DO YOU WRITE SO WELL

like, the general way you write omfg i was hoping to get some tips since i want to get into the type of writing you do (idk the name lol)

your fics have just not left my mind at all and i wanna learn how you make them stick

aw thank you that's so sweet! I'm so glad you enjoy my stories :D

as for your question, I always say this and it's not really the 'fun' answer or the one that people want to hear but the truth of the matter is that I got good at writing by writing. a lot. I've been writing on a near daily basis since I was 13 or so. I started writing original stories, but later when I was 15 I got into fanfic and really thrived using that as writing practice. regardless of whether or not you post what you write, just the act of putting words down is going to help you. whether that be rewriting movie scenes with your favorite blorbos or coming up with the most self indulgent fluffy stuff that you never want to see the light of day, or plotting out massively expansive stories with grand plots and worldbuilding, no matter what it is it's going to help you gain a natural sense for rhythm and word choice and all that stuff.

besides practicing writing, reading is also very helpful for improving your writing. and I don't mean reading fanfic. while of course there is some amazing fanfiction out there, you do actually need to read published novels as well. now I'm not saying you have to go out and read the entire book list from your 9th grade english class (although classic novels are incredibly important and beneficial to read), but just read any books. try to branch out into new genres. if you're only interested in reading YA romance, sure go for it, but once you get in the swing of reading regularly you should look for recommendations in other genres. there are a ton of lists online that will tell you "if you like X book then you'll love Y-" so try to find those. don't limit yourself to books only meant for one demographic. you'll get the most benefit for your writing from reading widely and seeing how many different types of authors do things. you can pick apart different writing styles and figure out what you like about each, then try to emulate that in your own work. do you like when descriptions are kept short but use very vivid language? try doing that in your own writing when setting a scene. do you like when a characters thought process starts rambling on and on for multiple paragraphs, really giving the reader a sense of their inner mind? try doing that yourself.

experiment! practice! have fun with it! write what you want and try not to get too caught up in what's going to 'get popular' or anything because then you'll just make yourself miserable if you don't get the hits you want. of course that's easier said than done but try your best to hold onto the mindset of writing for yourself first and foremost. make the stories you want to read.

hope that helps!

[evita-shelby]

Hunt

prequel to Chase and sequel to Stay

cw: implied sex, mentions of racism, intrusive fans, secret relationships, after effects of a bad break up. idk what else

@justrainandcoffee @zablife @mischievouslittlecreature @call-sign-shark @thegreatdragonfruta

He has never cared to be serious about any woman in his life, not the girl he had been arranged to marry before he seized his chance to leave Canton nor any woman that he took to his bed.

And yet Brilliant finds himself ruminating over the witch’s words.

Exclusive devotion.

One woman for the rest of his life in exchange for the entire universe.

Billy had meant it when he called Shelby a fool for not taking such a good deal.

The businessman then does something he’s never really done before: he sends the chorus girl away without fucking her. Before morning word on the street was that Brilliant Chang, the so-called Dope King, is off the market.

The girls do not give up, why would they when it could be any of them that he’s singled out for this next part of his life? They throw themselves at him even harder, hoping they are the one and the driving themselves mad to know who the lucky woman was.

And so the hunt for this mystery woman began.

The people in his entourage knew, but nothing could ever get them to reveal the identity of the woman who had captured his heart before he had even known it. It was a good game, to see how long until the fanatics hounding him would piece the puzzle together and solve it.

“Why are you so sure they won’t tell?” Eva asks sprawled over his chest as they celebrate the new development in their relationship by lounging in bed all day. The housekeeper had been surprised to learn Brilliant’s mystery woman had stayed the night and had hidden her disdain when he paid her for her silence when she brought them breakfast.

He would get a new place, hire the right help and stop the dirty looks he gets for fucking his woman in every way he wants. Billy had never considered settling down even at his thirty-five years.

It was high time he moves from a bachelor’s apartment and into one for a family. Eva rented her own home, paid with her own money, but Billy wanted to start this new chapter in their lives properly.

“They trained with a Shaolin Master just as I did. It would take more than a few wild girls to get them to break.” He answered with a smirk before pinning her under him for a post breakfast indulgence.

Chang Chan Nan could have made it as a fortune as a fighter had he not had a knack for business. The witch had seen him spar a few times in his dojo, mastering new forms from a master from Japan with ease.

Eva gets as wet as the Thames from watching him thrash his opponents, if she didn’t have her array of potions to help them, they wouldn’t be able to carry on like this.

“Sometimes I wish we didn’t have to hide it.” The witch admits in between kisses. She is as insatiable as him, compatible in ways that make the rest of the women he’s been with forgettable and dull.

“I want to enjoy being with you without the whole world harassing us every moment of the day for a little longer.” Chan Nan has never desired peace until this fucking year.

He liked the attention when he was the smooth-talking refined entrepreneur, but now he is the wicked chink seducing white girls into ‘white slavery’.

Eva had some notoriety, the rumors of sleeping with the Prince of Wales had been true and her status as the divorcee providing consulting services for things of this world and the next paled in comparison to his. She’s never been accused of murder, even her former fiancé’s suicide is framed on his father for ordering her execution.

“Please, if you didn’t run for the hills the moment you learned Tommy Shelby was my husband, what makes you think I would run the moment the whole of England learns I took you off the market?” she uses his real name to show how much she means it. “I am far stronger than you give me credit for, Chan Nan.”

He never uses his Chinese name with his women, and then Eva convinced him to tell her his name and teach her how to pronounce it correctly. She has never gotten it wrong.

“I know, it’s one of the many things Ilove about you, Evita.” Billy in turn calls her Evita, he doesn’t feel comfortable calling her Evie as that is what Tommy Shelby continues to call her. Just as he doesn’t feel comfortable in her townhouse even if Shelby doesn’t actually own it.

“Mhm, what else do you love about me?” the witch loves him, and he loves her. The words do not slip easily from their tongues as it would’ve been had they met before Shelby broke her heart, but they have and the wait had been worth it.

“Why speak when I can show you?”

It is always a chore to leave.

Carefully and through the service entrance of the home so no one can get hide nor hair of the mystery woman who’s making an honest man out of Billy Chang.

His driver would take her to Billy’s office where she’d take a cab home or to wherever her client would meet her. The only people they encounter are the housekeeper and her son who acts as a footman and even valet for the guests.

Even she had not seen the rabid young woman with the portable camera. By evening Eva and Billy are on every tabloid from London to Acapulco.

By evening she is subjected to another screaming match with her ex-husband. It always ends the same way these days.

“I could make you happy, just like you wanted me to.” His eyes are glassy from the tears he refuses to shed.

He is heartbroken, just as she was and just as Lucy was when she decided that she needed time away from Small Heath to find herself. Perhaps the thing Eva loathes of their situation is that while they have a rught to feel what they feel it is still a fucking nuisance to deal with them.

“You say that now, but the moment Lucy returns I would lose you again.” Eva reminds him, knows well enough that they would be in a worse bind than the first time around. As tempting as it was, Eva had a real chance at happiness now and she wasn’t going to squander it for a man who will only make her unhappy. “The three of us would be miserable, I would be your bitter wife who hates the two of you, you would hate me for keeping you from her and she would hate me for the woman I would become because of you.”

She could make him forget her and ensure she has that picture perfect life she saw in Brighton. Eva knows the words and the ingredients for the tonic, in fact, she nearly did when he finally gave up looking for Lucy and came on his knees to beg for her forgiveness. But she is not that sort of person, to bind him to her like that would remove his free will and make him her puppet.

“You wouldn’t lose me, not this time, I promise you.” Tommy hates being alone, cannot sleep at night without a warm body in his bed to remind him the war is over. “I will not have other women, no whores no Lucy, no one else but you.”

The words she had wanted to hear the day he told her he loved her and wanted to marry her. Too bad they came too late for them.

“But you will always want Lucy, and I will never be enough for you. I need a husband who has no space for anyone else in his heart or his bed.” If she sounds resentful of him telling her exactly what the witch once wanted to hear, it is because she is. She has every right to be, just as Lucy deserves to be angry at Tommy for putting them in this situation in the first place.

But Lucy never went against him, it was the one thing Eva can actually say she hates about the woman. A woman as free and as independent as Eva will always look absolute loyalty like that as a defect in the person. They may be friends, have some in common, but deep down they would never work.

Eva has never lied to Tommy. He knows that when he fucks up she will tell him even if it hurts and should their son or Finn or any member of their families is put in danger because of him, she will turn on him and he will regret ever making her do that.

Tommy Shelby knows not to push her to her limits, even he barely knows what she is truly capable of.

“And is Chang that man?” he responds in like, anger that now he is the one not enough for him,

Good. Now he knows how she felt every second of their marriage.

“Yes. I do not know if will be, but chances are he could be that man.” Eva loves Billy, the man he is with her, the man who treats her as his equal and does not try to constrain her in any way because his family does not find it proper she be as involved as she needs to be.

She is more herself with him than she was those scant months she was with Tommy and Lucy.

The Shelbys had their heart in the right place ---most of the time--- but they had the tendency to think her as Tommy’s wife and not their equal. Esme has no place at the table even if she is the reason the Lees are in their corner and manages the Betting Shop as good as Polly does.

Don’t even get her started at how well the family took their divorce.

They blamed Lucy for staying even if Tommy was the one who asked her to stay in the first place. They blamed Eva for being ‘too weak’ to handle having a disloyal husband and letting him have Lucy live with him and continue working for him. They blamed Tommy for allowing both women to leave and not force them to endure their awful words any longer.

Eva had refused to set foot in Small Heath even after the necessary apologies had been made, she won’t unless she has to. Too many people are not minding their own business in this world.

“I can’t let you go.” Not you too, he means to say.

“But you must. You are my soulmate in other lifetimes, just not this one, Tom. You have to let me go.

Just as I have.”

If only her words had not fallen on deaf ears.

Not that Tommy will succeed in ruining her new love, not when Eva’s willing to brave the world for Brilliant Chang.

[dolphingirl1234]

welcome to the first headcanons post in what will hopefully become a series unless my brain randomly decides to hyperfocus on something else

starting off with our favourite traumatised polar bear...

IT'S CAPTAIN BARNACLES LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!!!! 📣✨‼️

please enjoy my shitty picrew human version of him

gonna be honest I hate this one he looks like my dad when he was like 12

imagine him looking like this but way older

anyway headcanons:

30-mid/late 30's

idk if there's a name for this one but is sexually attracted to females but romantically attracted to males

has never dated because of this and has no desire to

he/him

he was the last of the crew to actually recognise his sexuality

everyone came out to him and he was like inwardly homophobic because of the way he had been brought up, but made a notebook full of everyone's pronouns and stuff so he could remember, and never did/said anything homophobic to anyone else - kinda like Imogen in heartstopper yk

dark brown hair that's kinda going grey on the sides

grey eyes

always has eye bags because our boy does not sleep

he's not that strict on uniform - there are random clothes that tweak plonked the octonauts logo onto and that's what is considered uniform; everyone is allowed to wear whatever they want as long as its appropriate and has the logo on it somewhere.

basically always wears the same thing because the entire world will fall apart without his routine

played candy crush once in an ad and loved it

he secretly plays it on the web bc he can't admit to himself that he likes it enough to actually download it

everyone has called him dad at least once

gets fathers day cards from everyone every year

^^ has cried from this on multiple occasions

doesn't get sick often but when he does he is SICK. the second he wakes up his face is grey and pale and he physically cannot speak without coughing

peso makes him go to bed and when he eventually agrees he sleeps for like 2 days straight and is then immediately better

he tells kwazii off for being reckless but he's done some pretty dumb shit himself

will sacrifice himself for anyone and anything (has been told off about this many times and still continues to do it)

he and inkling are the only people in the crew who like dark chocolate

absolutely despises anything sour

his pain tolerance is very high

likes mint and will casually go to the garden pod and eat it raw

has claustrophobia (canon)

also has emetophobia (look it up) because I like projecting

once you've looked up emetophobia come back and read the next one:

when he was a cub and was learning to catch and eat fish he threw up after eating one particular fish and every time he sees it in the sea he will literally hold his breath and run away

he's actually very good at modern lingo and memes but does not understand for the life of him what a skibidi toilet is

sees peso as his son and will literally protect him with his life

other crew members have various mental health struggles and barnacles is genuinely so proud of them when they do anything that's hard for them even if its just surviving the day its so cute

he hasn't experienced the things the others go through but he has so much empathy and pride for them its insane

gives the best bear hugs and when he gets sad all he wants is cuddles but he's too scared to ask anyone

natquik and kwazii are the only people who have seen him have a full breakdown

if you've had a bad day he's your guy he will pick you up and cradle you like a baby no problem

on his birthday he literally gives zero fucks about presents but is insistent on getting/making really goof presents for everyone else

he has the deepest voice ever. and he's not terrible at singing either but he never sings. ever.

the accordion secretly pisses him off as well and he just keeps playing it because it's an ongoing joke and he doesn't want to ruin it

his paws are MASSIVE.

that's all for now I hope you enjoyed your exclusive look at Zoe's Headcanons TM I probably forgot some so you might get some more later 👀

[mxtxfanatic]

I know that YunmengJiang and GusuLan seem to emphasise on courtesy names but what about LanlingJin, QingheNie and QishanWen? From the Wen clan i am only aware of WN having a courtesy name but for the Nies?? I have no idea. I read somewhere that the Jin use generational names instead like 'Zi' for JZX's generation and 'Guang' for JGS' generation. I would love to know your thoughts and how canon supports them about the naming conventions of clans!

P.S. When we talk about eligible bachelors of a generation and people born in the same generation, what do we mean? like how many years apart can people be born to be considered as the same generation??

I think it’s safe to assume that all the boys and men in the story have courtesy names even if we are never told them. We know the Lan have courtesy names because of Lan Wangji, Lan Xichen, and Lan Sizhui, but we never learn the birth names for Lan Qiren or Lan Jingyi despite knowing they must have one. We know Jin Ling’s courtesy name is Rulan, which is what includes the new generational character, but if that is the case, that would mean that we do not know the birth names of Jin Rusong, Jin Zixuan, or Jin Zixun. And we don’t know anything about the QingheNie courtesy/birth names at all. I think ultimately that whether or not we know both names of each character doesn’t matter because the names we are shown are given for a storytelling purpose. They are vehicles of information, such as Jin Guangshao giving Meng Yao a “Guang” name to show how much he rejects Jin Guangyao as an heir, or finding out Lan Sizhui’s birth name is “Yuan” to foreshadow his connection to little A-Yuan, or Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji calling each other “Wei Ying” and “Lan Zhan” to denote intimacy. The details of the naming conventions matter less than what the names we are told have to tell us about the characters, themselves.

Idk how many years apart a “generation” is considered in China, but in America, the generational cutoff is 20 years. A person who’s been on the workforce as a legal adult for 10 years could be of the same generation as someone who just started their senior year in high school. There’s a 4-year difference between me and one of my younger brothers, but he’s a zoomer and I’m a millennial. Generational divides are kinda fake, but the way “generation” is being used in those two phrases is not the same.

“Bachelors of their generation”—generation is being used to denote the peer group, so that “everyone born in this x amount of years” categorization, but in the story, this is just the generation of the clan heirs (and Nie Mingjue who took over early) who are all only a few years apart from each other in age, anyways.

“People born in the same generation”—if this was referring back to the Jin naming conventions, then this is a different “generation” categorization which goes by your placement of birth on your family tree. For instance: your grandparents are one generation, your mom and her siblings are the second generation, and you and your siblings and cousins are the third. Your mom and your mom’s sister are still of the same generation even if there is a 30-year age gap between them, because they are both your grandparents’ direct children. Your mom will never be of her nephew’s generation even if they were born in the same year, because your mother is a direct child of your grandparents while her nephew is the grandchild. Age or birth year won’t ever change those placements.

[stormyoceans]

no because the things i'm reading about it are actually insane, i've learned my lesson and i barely go into the tags anymore or am in tumblr that much for that matter but the things some people are saying about tae are so mean lol... people are just so entitled my god. i don't know if you agree but finding joy outside of fandom is easier and easier every day, for some shows specifically you're better off enjoying it on your own ANYWAY just wanted to let you know that i feel the same way

honestly i always expected this storyline to bring up a fair amount of questionable comments because unfortunately a very big part of fandom (and im talking about any fandom) has a very black and white kind of mentality, which most of the times means that when something like this happens in a show they try to fully put the blame on one character while lifting others from all responsibility, but that's not how it works, in life first of all, but also when it comes to stories

people saying tae deserved to be cheated on are wild to me, but tbh also are those who keep demonizing bahmee, a 21 years old girl who is coming to terms with the fact that maybe her relationship doesn't work while realizing that maybe she also wasn't as straight as she thought she was AND was drunk when she kissed judy. and like don't get me wrong, im not excusing her for what she did (although i don't like people calling her names), but what caused all this was the complete lack of communication between her and tae, and they're BOTH at fault for this

and while i usually HATE cheating storylines, i personally find this one very well written in the way the miscommunication and mistakes is built on are actually very human. this is why i want to wait before judging the storyline as a whole, because i do think there's something worth telling here, about falling in love young and eventually growing up and apart and learning about oneself and hurting people and finding a new way to care about each other (whether romantically or platonically) and becoming better (especially since they're paralleling them with janeryan where jane is the king of communication and maturity)

and i can understand people judging judy because she definitely should have known better, but idk it's just hard for me not to sympathize with both tae and bahmee, and the narrative is also obviously working hard on trying to make us see where they're both coming from, so i do find some comments kinda out of place tbh ;;;;;;;;;

anyway. sorry this got way too long and im not sure i was able to properly explain my thoughts on this matter, and i also don't know if you're actually going to agree with them, but still. thank you for letting me know im not alone in this!!!!!!!!

[polyhexian]

Since expanding the Jasperverse is apparently my current hobby let's try this on for size: The Collector decides rather than tattling to Philip that his current Grimwalker is stealing the new Grimwalker, it'd be WAY more entertaining to see Philip's face in the morning when he realizes what happened, and thus keeps quiet about the whole thing. Jasper makes a clean getaway with baby Hunter, but for plot reasons doesn't end up running off to some other Titan, and spends the next several years raising his son in hiding and on the run.

Fast forward to Darius finding a 6/8/10-year-old Hunter on his doorstep (or figurative doorstep, your Darius doesn't have a house so maybe it's his mom's doorstep, or Hunter corners him in Bonesborough or something), and this kid informs him that he's gotten separated from his dad, but his dad told him that if things ever went south, he could go to Darius for help.

Darius is just, like, bluescreening, because this kid looks exactly like Jasper, and admits that his dad's name IS Jasper (when it isn't something like Onyx Bloodwilliams or whatever), and is also speaking of Jasper in the present-tense, so like, 1) Jasper is alive??? and 2) JASPER HAS A KID???

A kid who is apparently relying on Darius to take care of him now. And the kid, Darius is disconcerted to learn, KNOWS Darius - he keeps asking him for his version of stories his dad has told him, like is it true that you - and can you tell me about the time you and my dad - And Darius is just like, oh my god, I never considered having kids and I was barely able to consider being in love with Jasper, but Jasper has a kid and has told the kid all about ME, and I need to be the best guardian figure possible to this child until his dad shows up and I can ask him WHAT THE HELL???

(Where's Jasper? Idk, maybe he told Hunter to split up while he goes and lays a false trail elsewhere, maybe he's dealing with bounty hunters who aren't even after them for Golden Guard stuff because who knows what Jasper's been getting up to for the last few years, maybe he's gotten in with the rebellion and is running a mission or something, who knows.)

Also Hunter is, like, a weird kid with a number of worrying skills. He's not a child soldier in this 'verse, more like a child spy. He goes through life like he's playing the world's most intense game of hide-and-seek. He squints suspiciously at everyone and everything. He can pick a lock in 6 seconds. He recreationally pickpockets and thinks it's doubly fun to reverse-pickpocket the item without his mark even realizing it was missing. He can cry on command and make for a good distraction. He knows how to break someone's instep if they try to grab him. He eats bugs.

Bonus irony points if this Hunter still has all the issues Canon Hunter has, but he has those issues because he's loved, not abused. He's very good at doing exactly what he's told…because he knows his and his dad's survival depends on doing everything Jasper says when he says it. He's scarily good at fighting for his age…because Jasper's trained him to be able to defend himself. He's got PTSD and anxiety…because he's spent his whole life worried that people will hurt him and his father. He doesn't have any friends…because they've never been able to stay in one place for very long.

Idk where Darius would stash Hunter for safekeeping. I mean, for HILARITY and SUSPENSE it'd be great to see him trying to sneak the kid around the castle. Hide him in his apartments. Shove him under his office desk whenever some other Coven Head comes in for a chat. Hunter takes it upon himself to explore the castle's fantasy ventilation system and maps out every vent and secret passage in the place to pass the time and give Darius a heart attack. Darius finds a tiny scout uniform and insists that this is totally just a small demon that's been assigned to Darius as an escort. Hunter is scarily good at maintaining a disguise, and Darius doesn't have time to unpack all that. Hm, we know nothing about the covens themselves, could there be some sort of masked Abomination Coven uniform? That'd be better so no one could try to reassign Darius's random scout escort.

The castle might not be feasible though (and Darius would realize that getting Hunter anywhere NEAR the castle would be the EXACT OPPOSITE of what Jasper would want him to do) so the other options are stashing Hunter at his mom's house or recruiting Eda into the situation.

Darius: I need you to house this kid. Eda: Do I LOOK like a babysitter?? Darius: He can pick a lock in six seconds and he's pickpocketed you twice since we started this conversation. Eda: …Intriguing.

Either way though, Darius knows he has to be there for Hunter. He knows that Jasper is relying on him to be there for Hunter. It's like, here Darius, have a universe where you DON'T shoot yourself in the foot and hurt the people you love! He barely understands what's happening and he never wanted kids and he doesn't know if he and Jasper would ever have been a thing so maybe he's not the stepdad but by GOD is he gonna be the dad that stepped up.

Hunter is a good kid despite his upbringing and is really excited to finally meet Darius after everything his dad told him about the guy, but he also really misses his dad and is worried if Jasper's okay. Darius is like, come on, we both know your dad is the strongest witch in the world (even if APPARENTLY NEITHER OF YOU HAVE MAGIC WTF??) he'll be fine. And Darius is maybe not cut out to be a father, but Hunter's a weird kid anyway, so they make it work. Granted Hunter gets REALLY irritated by some things, like, Darius doesn't know how to be as attentive to his infodumps as his dad is, and Darius can't teleport, and one time Hunter skins his knees really bad and Darius slaps on a healing patch and Hunter is REALLY UNIMPRESSED to learn Darius can't just HEAL IT HIMSELF and Darius is like HUNTER YOUR STANDARDS ARE SUPER HIGH AND A LITTLE SKEWED, OKAY???

Jasper might show up again out of the blue perfectly normal, but we all know Jasper's an overdramatic bastard so it's more likely he shows up at some climactic moment while Darius and Hunter are surrounded by enemies that Jasper blasts to kingdom come, or Jasper shows up missing approximately half his blood like "Hey Darius, do you have my kid?" before passing out while Darius is like WTF and Hunter is like "he does this sometimes."

Btw if you wanna make things even MORE complicated, throw in a new Golden Guard who's an adult Grimwalker but only a few years younger than Hunter. He could be an evil asshole or Jasper 2.0 or idk whatever the plot demands. Lol maybe he's an adult version of Will who doesn't have active decomposition issues. Literally no idea what purpose he'd serve in the plot beyond possibly existing tho.

Eberwolf thinks Hunter is great and thinks the whole situation is a riot and is generally very unhelpful except for when he's actually extremely helpful. Darius would like Eberwolf to stop feeding the child bugs. Maybe at some point Raine gets involved (surely they are doing work IN the Bard Coven long before they become its Head Witch, yeah?) and is like "Darius why do you have a child??" and Darius is like "Don't ask and don't say anything" and Raine watches Hunter lockpick his way into a file cabinet of restricted info and just kinda melts because it reminds them of a certain OTHER miscreant chaos child…

Darius and Hunter's relationship has its ups and downs because on the one hand, Hunter is excited to meet this guy, but on the other hand Hunter is a young kid under a lot of stress and Darius wasn't expecting Hunter to exist let alone be his responsibility and also Jasper probably left some stuff out during storytime. Hunter was NOT prepared for Darius to be this…stuffy. Darius is like "Here I got you some new clothes so you don't look like a streetrat" and Hunter is like "I understand the importance of blending in but why is it so fancy-looking" (Hunter thinks anything with a single frill is fancy) and Darius is like "look at all the extra hidden pockets I sewed in for you" and Hunter is like "SOLD."

Basically tho it's a Jasperverse Dadrius AU where Darius gets to be the good guy and Hunter is messed up in all the same ways for completely different reasons, lol.

WHY DO YOU KEEP SLAPPING ME WITH THESE FUCKING BANGERS???? EXCUSE YOU????

I imagine hunter is also very independent... He probably HAS been left alone before, more than jaspers wishes he was. But it's either bring him somewhere dangerous or leave him behind.

I'm going to imagine he still HAS his old GG staff but because it's so old now it's sort of... Like dying batteries, it's way past its warranty. He uses it extremely sparingly and only when there's literally no other option. So generally neither of them are using magic.

Belos must KNOW he got away. And I actually think he wouldn't put up wanted signs for him or anything- jasper hasn't exposed any of his secrets because he's in hiding. But if he's shoved out of hiding he's going to have to go scorched earth to survive. So theyre on the run... But only certain people know to look for him. Coven scouts all know they're looking for a tall blonde man with four scars on his face. Higher level members of the emperor's coven know way more about him. People like Lilith and kikimora know he was the previous GG.

But only the next GG know who he REALLY is..the next one knows he's a Grimwalker past his warranty, and so is Hunter. He is HUNTING them. Actively.

Man what could split jasper and hunter badly enough that he would pull the trigger on going to Darius after all these years and expose the huge secret that he's still alive? That he has a kid? He obviously hasn't gone to Darius yet, so he considers this a risk. What would put him at greater danger than leaving him to find Darius by himself?

I think jasper would legitimately have to be in serious danger. Maybe he gets seriously wounded fleeing coven scouts and he knows he can't protect Hunter like this so he sends him running the opposite way while he keeps them busy, so Hunter doesn't... Actually know if he's okay or not

OH! Omg hang on... They got caught by the new GG and jasper got seriously wounded like. He's bleeding everywhere. And he sends hunter away, get out of here, go find Darius. I'll find you. And hunter doesn't know for SURE if he's okay or not but he's soooo sure his dad can handle anything, nobody could ever REALLY hurt him! And Darius isn't so sure, but... Nothing HAPPENS. Like there's no big petrification ceremony or anything. If he's dead he was killed quietly. He has no idea where jasper is or if he's okay but he's got his kid now and hunter is CERTAIN his dad is fine, he will be here soon. He keeps saying stuff like "when Dad comes back" like when Dad comes back he can show you x thing or when Dad comes back you can tell him y! And Darius doesn't... Know what to say and he's terrified of when the ball might drop that.. it's been days and he's not here yet. It's been more days and he's not here yet.

ONLY HES NOT DEAD because the next GG isn't nearly as loyal as Jasper was. He's caught him and is basically holding him hostage secret from Belos trying to get his OWN answers on what's going on and what's true.

[c6jpg]

dainsleif quest

the lore drops. fucking impeccable. but also i feel edged the fuck on. like we learned a liiiiiiiitle but also get 10 thousand unanswered questions as well

that's pretty standard for dainsleif quests though ig

the quest itself. can we even call that a quest it was so anticlimatic ajkdfladjsf like just content-wise i think that genuinely might have been our worst dainsleif quest the lore was CARRYING this shit and all we got was more questions and it felt SO short

as an aside its also criminal how long apart these quests are bc i honestly already kinda forgot what happened in the previous one (caribert) and i had to like. really use my brain to remember the lore we got then

DAINSLEIF BROTHER????????????

just in general like. my mind was exploding when we were talking about the five sinners of khaenri'ah. i want to learn more about them so bad

"i'll tell you all you want to know" YOU'RE NOT TELLING US ENOUGH DAINSLEIF ELABORATE

WE DESERVED A PROPER DAINSLEIF VS ABYSS TWIN ANIMATED FIGHT CUTSCENE. HOW DARE YOU JUST FADE TO BLACK ARE YOU KIDDINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG

ngl when we first saw caribert i actually thought this might be dainsleif's brother and i was like NOOOOOOOOOO THEY CAN'T NPC DAIN'S BRO

i just KNOWWW his brother is gonna be so sexy whenever they reveal him. sorry i had to say it. anyways.

caribert man... his whole deal honestly felt like a sidequest within the quest but that was sad :(

not to be a #scarastan but i was just thinking so hard about the parallels between caribert and scara, implanting vs removing oneself from the memories of the world. both doing it to bring comfort to others, even if futile. i'm not smart enough to expand on this but i'm sure yall know what i mean

anyways okay. so the loom of fate can weave ley lines, that name makes sense now. now can literally anybody please explain what the fuck yall want to do with it

honestly the twin reunion scene felt kinda. idk. flat? like i was more hyped about the abyss twin vs dainsleif part kadjlsflds (speaking of which the way dain clenched his fist lmaooooooo i was just thinking of that one arthur meme)

i do love the detail that the twins call each other by their canon names though

was kind of 🙄 when we got hit with the "yeah btw you won't remember any of this once we're out of here." okay plot convenience

actually is it even plot convenience? like literally what harm would there have been of the traveler remembering???? what are they gonna do???? the only actionable thing of substance we learned was that the loom of fate was completed which dainsleif should have figured out anyways since he got the eye taken from him????????

actually i think it was great that dainsleif got bamboozled though. dude has been carried by plot armor for too long

sea of flowers mention interesting (i have no thoughts on this just interesting esp since i'm pretty sure that's the place shown in the teyvat trailer)

so basically confirmed the heavenly principles are asleep/inactive for some reason. idr if it was explicitly mentioned before. i actually DID wonder why we didn't get some celestia nail action smiting after all the shit that happened in fontaine, a lot of people thought that was gonna happen too with the whole celestia is floating right over fontaine

and then we wake up and the quest just ends??? LET ME TALK TO DAIN HELLO

also like. why did dain want to confront the abyss twin again??? maybe it was mentioned in an earlier quest and if so i forgot but either way i don't understand wtf dain was up to by luring the abyss twin out

no literally that felt like half a quest

objectively i think that quest kinda sucked but i will forgive it solely because of the lore drops no matter how tiny they were and bc i did really like caribert's story

[streetkid-named-desire]

Changes i want to see in the fandom and modding community in 2025

Or, "jesus christ there goes rat being an obnoxious loud mouthed broad again"

- more people rejecting mod exclusivity: posting their mods anywhere and everywhere and opening permissions to do whatever you want and just asking credit if you upload it. Because honestly what's up with the thought crimes nonsense of "ask permission before editing for personal use!!!!" You have no way of actually enforcing that. And furthermore none of us actually own any of the mods we make per CDPR's EULA so there is zero point except theater. None of you would survive the actual hacking/computer culture that the cyberpunk genre is meant to convey and/or satirize. We would not have Cyberpunk 2077 if it wasn't for open source, if it wasn't for budding game designers and developers to pick apart other games and play with making their own. Everything is a derivative of something. We should not be trying to perpetuate legal copyright frameworks when talking about intellectual property.

- more people purposefully and openly rejecting/oppressing/making fun of the absurd hypersexual bodies like the angel body: mostly because the desperation of men that use those bodies begging for refits is funny but also because we have got to stop normalizing this bullshit. Cis men are only one half of the population. We don't have to cater to them! Just stop it! You know it doesn't look good. I know it doesn't look good. Let's stop pretending that the men making these bodies are doing it because it's what people actually want to see. It's not. It's because people want jerk off material in their video games. It's why so many people are now making tiny Asian women OCs using that atrocious "Asian character creator". Because they're sex perverts. And that's not my ragging on being a sex pervert because I'm a sex pervert for my own OCs. But there comes a time where you have to step back and go "hey, this isn't what real women look like. Why am I trying to make my OC look like a blow up doll or a lolicon hentai character."

- big name fans are not above reproach, criticism, and boycotting: if you've followed me since at least like idk March or April you know exactly what I'm talking about. The only way to change the culture of the fandom is to have a zero tolerance policy for bullying and sycophants. Be the change you want to believe!

- End Discord Exclusives: similar to the first point but I also mean hoarding knowledge. Post it in a word doc and link it somewhere, add it to the wiki, just share knowledge somewhere easily accessible by anyone that doesn't have to make a new social account just to find it. And don't say you're only reachable on Discord. People shouldn't have to make a Discord account just to mod a video game. Find a better way you can provide support in a standardized and efficient way that isn't chatrooms. Use a ticketing system! Email! Forums! Q&As!

And once again, to reiterate, the biggest change I want to see?

big name fans are not above reproach, criticism, and boycotting

Speak out against them, there are more of us than there are of them. Don't tolerate their bullshit. Refuse to work with them. Do it publicly. If people close to them won't tell them "hey this is kind of fucked up" then they're never gonna fuckin' learn and change! They likely won't anyway let's be honest. But you don't have to tolerate that shit simply because they make mods you like or you wanna orbit in their circle.

It's a video game. It's not that serious. Your relationships with your friends are serious.

[georges-chambers]

hi! may i pretty please have your thoughts on your namesake george chambers for the character asks?

if you've already been asked about him then how about george hodgson instead? thank uuuuu!

Thank you so very much for both of these, I'll be delighting in answering both <333

George Chambers

First Impression: 'Oh! that's just a little guy. he looks kind of like me. such a little guy though, I'm sure he'll die next time I see him.... okay maybe next time... okay Definitely this-no?? oh wow.. wait did he Ever. actually die.'

Impression now: I have learned much more about his family and background than I expected and personally, I think he's a bit of a strange little freak (affectionate)

Favorite moment: Well, since he only has like 10 or less lines, and I've scraped all of them for So Much Meaning, its hard to choose, but I'm going with, "What's it lik to shoot a man?" because I really do think it best captures the fact that this is a little guy going up to one of the highest ranking cop soldiers on board (a rank his father once held. he may have very likely heard many stories from him about his life during that time) and just asking 'what's it really like to kill someone👁👁'.

Idea for a story: I've been thinking about writing about him and Golding when Golding was staying at the camp of the main members of the Expedition who were not mutinying undercover and the fact that Golding said he and Chambers saw the creature, and they would've shot it if 'we had our wits about us'. I chose to read this as him having had some interaction with Chambers at some point he knew Chambers wouldn't want to tell people the details of, which I'm just. I've been thinking about a lot. Because maybe Golding also Knew Chambers was scared to tell anyone what they were actually doing even if it would have implicated Golding, maybe he knew Chambers still felt a type of loyalty he didn't, but maybe he also knew Chambers was even more afraid of some sort of punishment. So eventually I Will need to write about what they were saying/doing.

Unpopular opinion: I'm not making him particularly nice nor do I think he was. There's the interest in the marines and the military of the empire but there's also the fact that, interestingly to me, he did come from probably the best-off background among the ships boys, and the line about, 'That eski girl' wherein He seems to have a new suspicion she's somehow connected to bad things happening no one really seems to. suggest to him.

Favorite relationship: In the book 'Graves od Ice' by John Wilson (no relation to the Franklin Expedition AB. To my knowledge.) I love whatever was going on between him and David Young, and I headcanon something similar to have been happening in the Terror (though the characterization of Young is very different). In the show of course I'm like many others and rotating whatever was going on between him and Bryant in my mind often.

Favorite headcanon: If counting historic things about him as canon (because otherwise, all of that), I love the backstory from Graves of Ice involving him having known David Young beforehand and I may constantly go with that. So much going on with them that I'm often thinking about.

George Hodgson

First impression: 'Okay, don't know his name either but he's very blond so he should be easy to keep track of'

Impression now: Well, there's just so much going on idk where to start. What if a very strange, very fluffy white cat were A Guy.

Favorite moment: Something about the fact that he was eating human flesh seated as the only real officer apart from all the other mutineers with a plate and fork on his lap of course as if, despite the fact that he has now literally become a cannibal, and despite the fact that he's not even united with the others, he's. somehow Above Them. Something about the completely silent way everything he's done has lead up to exactly that position exactly then.

Idea for a story: I don't know whether being born about a century earlier would have fixed him or made him worse but I'd like to see it. Honorable mention to the time I had a dream there was a surprising amount of George Chambers/George Hodgson ao3 fics (less than 10 but that alone was surprising)

Unpopular opinion: Idk if its that unpopular but I feel like the fandom doesn't often acknowledge how he did personally know at least 2 of the Erebite lieutenants/officers (Fitzjames, Dundy, and Des Voeux, maybe Stanley?) and while I like the dynamic he has with the Terror officers so I completely understand their interest in that, I'm into it too, I wish his dynamic with the Erebite officers got more attention.

Favorite relationship: Very tough choice, but I love most Hodgving content and in a non-shipping (necessarily) way, I'm very fascinated by the potential dynamic between him and Des Voeux, who, historically, he'd have met in the Opium war when he was in his earlier 20s and Des Voeux would've been like 14. And whatever Hodgson has going on with Crozier is Very interesting to me.

Favorite Headcanon: I like to think there's a lot going on there gender-wise. The Marie Antoinette Carnivale outfit . Lives in my brain forever. And again, the Des Voeux dynamic is basically purely my historical speculative headcanon, but its special to me.

[whositmcwhatsit]

Hi!

Idk if this sent the first time, the wifi i’m using is really bad, but anyway…

I’m not sure if you’ve already done this, but I was wondering if you had any recommendations on books about Elvis? I’ve already read Last Train To Memphis but that’s just about the only one.

I’m a relatively new fan, but he’s so magnetic and interesting — I’d love to learn more about him 🫠🫠

Thank you!! xx

Hi there! So, it's really a case of what you're looking for, because there are lots of different entries into the world of Elvis. Heads up, first of all: Everyone and their elderly third cousin twice removed has written a book about Elvis. They all put themselves at the centre of Elvis' life and decisions to some degree or another. They all talk about his excesses and problems as if they were not just as heavily involved and partaking just as much. Some will quote conversations with Elvis as if they are verbatim. A healthy dose of cynicism is needed throughout. Also, don't bother reading anything by The Stanleys. This is my golden rule. So, I assume you're going to read Careless Love by Peter Guralnick, but I'll recommend it anyway. It's a hard read towards the end, and Guralnick's own feelings kind of color things in contrast with the more 'objective' Last Train. Still, I consider it a must read. If you're looking for more of an overview using more than one voice, I'd recommend Elvis and The Memphis Mafia by Alanna Nash with Billy Smith, Marty Lacker and Lamar Fike. They tell a good story, they are 'characters' in their own right, and they give you a strong idea of the vibe around Elvis. Disclaimer: facts are sometimes less important than a good yarn. Like I said, most of his friends wrote about him at least once. Some are more entertaining and readable than others. Lots of people like Joe Esposito's books, such as Good Rockin' Tonight and Elvis- Straight Up, because he comes across as personable and more respectful. Just remember that he was reporting back to The Colonel and good friends with Priscilla, Lisa and EPE. Same with longtime EPE employee Jerry Schilling's Me and Guy Named Elvis, but I like that he was quite different from the rest of the Memphis Mafia and this colours his stories. I really enjoyed Larry Geller's If I Can Dream. While the man loves the sound of his own voice, he also gives an insight into Elvis' struggles in the mid-60s with losing touch with himself and the life he is living. He saw Elvis in a way that most of the other guys couldn't comprehend because of their backgrounds maybe. Some of his stories also have a weird surreal truly Elvis quality. To get a glimpse into Elvis's upbringing and strongest relationship, Elvis and Gladys by Elaine Dundy is a good one. He makes much more sense when you feel you understand where he came from, at least to me. In terms of the women, Linda Thompson's A Little Thing Called Life is a fun read. She probably got to a more intimate insight into Elvis as a famous boyfriend than any of the other women, including Priscilla, in my opinion. She knows how to spin a tale too. June Juanico's Elvis: In the Twilight of Memory is a swoonworthy dream. She is a great writer, and got to sample some pre-superstar boyfriend Elvis. I also enjoyed Joyce Bova's Don't Ask Forever. It gives a view of how it must have been to be one of his side-chicks- Elvis had a new phone line installed in her apartment just for him and would try and get her to skip work (At Capitol Hill!) because her work was less important than his! If you're interested in any of Elvis's work, I highly, devotedly recommend Ernst Jorgensen's Elvis: A Life in Music. This man is the one who should get all the credit for Elvis's legacy continuing so far. Forget EPE, RCA, Sony, all of them. He is the supreme Elvis historian, has scoured and catalogued the vaults for all Elvis' recorded material. He is involved with the FTD label, which rescued and released all the outtakes, alternate versions, studio banter, concert soundboard recordings, everything. He is my hero. I think everyone has a different version of Elvis that they love, so if anyone else has any other recommendations, please chime in! And remember, we don't read a Stanley. Thank you for reaching out. Let me know what you end up reading next, I love a book discussion!