#loretta replies

[kissesandarsenic]

A domme once made me play with my nipples and I was so confused. I was totally unaware how pleasurable this could be for some men, not anymore!!

I honestly think the more I have played over the years the more sensitive they have become. I have become a complete nipple slut and I can't help it they switch my brain off almost instantly 😵‍💫

Aww, sounds like she conditioned you, how sweet.

It'd be cute if they got sooooo sensitive you couldn't even put a shirt on without having to supress a moan. One trick I like to tell people to do is spit on their fingers and tease their nipples with their spit slick hands. Something about it just makes it all the more arousing.

And it's so good this helps turn your brain off. Good boys shouldn't think after all ❤️

[dimitrscu]

YOU THERE!

What are your opinions on Loretta, knight of the Haligtree?

BIG WOMEN STRONG WOMAN THROW ME OVER YOUR SHOULDER AND CARRY ME HOME KIND OF WOMAN 💪

I love Loretta, kight of the Haligtree and honestly think she is super underrated, not only as a character, but also as a boss fight. She’s so fun to fight and is definitely one of my favourite bosses in the game. This is why I love the Haligtree in general. It’s home to two of my favourite blorbos (and technically a third one too. rip little mickey, in my head you are safe and sound at home god bless)

One thing I do wish was different with her though is her boss music. I get that it’s a big game with a lot of reused bosses and assets, but I do wish she had her own theme. But hey that’s a minor complaint really. At least it’s a banger of a theme

She also has such a cool design and the blue and sliver aesthetic is A+. I actually love how it contrasts with Malenia’s red and gold. Like the sun and the moon.

Just look at her 👀

That’s a whole woman right there. She’s actually quite a bit taller than Malenia too which is something that I like very much for reasons

Love her lore too, both the final version and the cut one. I actually quite like the idea of incorporating them both together and like to think that Radagon did gift her to Miquella as a loyal knight who would protect the Haligtree and it’s citizens. But also while she was there she asked Miquella if she could venture out to find and help guide the Albinaurics to this sanctuary he had built. With the Haligtree being relatively well hidden for its own safety it would be difficult for people to find it on their own. So Loretta, possibly with the help of some cleanrot knights, head out on a mission to find and lead the Albinaurics home. I like the idea of Loretta first being sent to the tree with very little expectations, only to see Miquella’s hard work and dedication first hand and think actually yeah, this place would make for a good safe haven for those in need of sanctuary. Over the years her respect and dedication for Miquella only grew stronger and even after he is gone she still remains, as steadfast as ever, to protect what’s left of her home. We talk a lot about how loyal and dedicated Malenia is to Miquella, but I think it’s worth noting that Loretta is also faithful to him and his cause. So much so that she hasn’t abandoned the place or given up on him even in his absence.

In conclusion, I think she’s pretty neat and definitely deserves more love 🙂

[katyspersonal]

YOU THERE

Opinions on Loretta, knight of the Haligtree? (this is a threat)

AAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!! Ohhhh boy...

As usual, I get a little stuck on ER characters, because I main BB and it is sooooo hard to switch from a hyperfixation. *sobs* SO, unfortunately, I do not have much to offer yet, but let me think...

I'll just say that I got stuck at even something as barebones as 'Is Loretta herself and Albinauric or just happens to care about them a lot?'

Her shield says that because of its shape resembling a drop of sacred dew, people had "absurd rumours" that she herself was an Albinauric! I picked how 'absurd rumours' would be in Japanese script and apparently 'tsumaranu' is closer to the meaning as 'boring' or 'uninteresting' (つまらぬ), than 'absurd'. ('Uwasa' means rumour(s)) Like... did the lore just tell us that assuming she is an Albinauric herself is the most boring assumption?? Oh hell. But then I saw that she was immune to Madness, which is specified in lore to only effect humans. Oh HELL. ...but then I remembered that Loretta is affiliated with Haligtree (well.... yeah?! lol) and even the glintstone in her war sickle was replaced with unalloyed gold. But unalloyed gold is known to block out the influence of the outer Gods. And Madness COMES from Three Fingers, which is easily qualified as outer God itself!!

For Scarlet Rot, something that is as familiar as being in a way 'natural' for this world once, of course only something as drastic as that needle would work. But for Madness, which is a sickness brought to this world, maybe a "lucky charm" like thing in her sickle is helpful enough. And her focus! I think Loretta is a human, that just happens to care about Albinaurics a lot! People would assume she had a 'personal' interest... whereas she simply had enough compassion and honour to sympathise with the species, and her shield was fashioned this way as reflection of her intent to help Albinaurics. She is not the [species] herself, but cares about them. And does it well, unlike..... some OTHER characters who "care" about oppressed kind of people within the lore ъ_ъ *shivers*

Damn, dude, the potential of Dung Eater having that cliché villain moment of "we are not so different, you and I" with a [hero] while roughly having the same motivations but being utterly depraved will haunt me now.. The trope haunted me from FMA moment with Tuck3r (if you know then you know)..

....uhhh okay, ANYWAYS,

My opinion is that this character is actually really interesting! No matter what direction you take her lore and motivation, she is a very strong character! If she is a human, she is a very compassionate and open-minded soul! If she is an Albinauric herself, she has such strong sense of duty and passion for her species that it is commendable too, one who is really capable of making a change, even if it is as simple as finding a save haven! And I certainly like the fact that Miriam (that fucking BITCH.... -_-) uses Loretta's bow sorcery. It'd mean that the tactics Loretta used (and probably invented) were so good that other people at Caria Manor were willing to learn from her as well. But yes, I do think that Loretta would invent and favour a spell like this as longbows are what Albinauric women tend to use. Glintstone sorceries have a habit of being named after those who discovered them (Comet Azur, Thop's Barrier' etc). She is like... both very strong, very smart (Glintstone sorceries demand high intellect, ok?) and very compassionate woman. In invokes both admiration and provokes a thought of what is the catch about her character, since being ideal at everything should not be possible...?

My luckiest guess is that she might suck at interpersonal relationship all things considered. So yes, great skills and caring for larger picture, and a species that faced oppression, to the point of wanting to get in their skin a bit... But like, maybe she is snappy and impulsive. Maybe she might often hurt even people who are dear for her. Maybe she could be a bit too demanding of people she does not see as victims of circumstances. It seems like a person of many skills and noble intentions would easily be the one having a hard time finding true friends she could get along with as a person, not as a "coworker" or "servant". I feel like she'd be the type to lose the line between 'telling the truth' and 'being a bit mean'! But this is just me fumbling with the ideas 🤔

I also currently do not have an idea about her face reveal, actually? ...moreover, I am surprised I never see any interpretations of her ;-; But, I already like the image of your interpretation that you sent to me!

Your version of her looks very divorced despite having never been married fdhfhdhsd I don't even know how ELSE to describe this aura, but it is valid in any way xD

_____________________

Thank you for the ask!!

[petpsycho]

continued from here with @percentstardust

"Just trying to be funny. My terms of endearment tend towards sappy when I'm not trying to crack a joke. I will use shit like darling and my love seconds after calling the very same person a rat bastard," Loretta smiled, hurrying inside with her treasures: gift bags on her arms and two Tupperware containers of buñuelos and Mexican wedding cookies from her papá; when she was there and mentioned having a Christmas celebration with the Carpenters, he wouldn't let her leave without homemade baked goods for them. She settled the containers on the coffee table and set down the bags on the floor before turning back to Sam. "That's for me to know and you not to worry about. It's not much, but it's some stuff for you, and I got a little something for Tara too. It's a cute pendant the botánica got in a while back that I thought she'd like. It's got preserved flowers in it."

[cesperanza]

So I was reading Ethel Merman's Wikipedia page...

Shh shh don't ask why, just don't! But I share with you the delightful fact that there's a section dedicated to "Profanity," which includes this delightful anecdote:

While rehearsing a guest appearance on The Loretta Young Show, Merman exclaimed "Where the hell does this go?" Young, who was a devout Catholic, advanced towards Merman waving an empty coffee can, saying, "Miss Merman, you said the 'H' word! That'll be twenty-five cents."—to which Merman replied, "Tell me, Loretta, how much will it cost me to tell you to go fuck yourself?"

[merakiui]

wait mera!!!! in the lost city au, if floyb is the cover model and azul is the eccentric billionaire, then who’s taking brad pitt’s role????

OOOO hmmm,,, I think Rook would be the most fitting for that role despite what ultimately happens to him in the film. ;;;; the role is eccentric enough to suit the equally eccentric Rook.

I rewatched the film recently and some of Alan's dialogue with the characters really does feel like Floyb. That exchange when Alan insists on coming with to help Jack Trainer for "back-up and awesomeness" or when Jack Trainer asks if he likes "this woman" (referring to Loretta) and Alan replies with, "Well, I just brought snacks. I know she gets kinda grumpy when she doesn't eat and I get it. I'm a five-meals-a-day kinda guy." AAAAAA IT FEELS SO FLOYB TO ME!!!! OTL

[bcolfanfic]

all again chap 4 pls!

When John walked inside, Gale was just hanging up the phone, the hand that had been holding it now rubbing over his face. The weariness was evident in his posture. “Hey, something wrong?”  “They want me back to work tomorrow,” Gale replied with a sigh. “I knew it was comin’. Don’t think I’d like it no matter when they called, I guess.” “Who’s watching Loretta?” John said, cogs turning in his head, towards something he hoped wouldn’t be a bullet into his foot. "Buddy of mine's wife around the corner- they have a daughter her age," Gale said. “Was gonna call her here in a minute and ask. Don’t know why I didn’t sort this out sooner guess I'm just-.” Just used to my dead wife bein’ a stay at home mom John completed in his head when Gale stopped. He considered throwing out his ask for now, surely he still had a way to go with earning his trust- with earning any sort of place here, in this. But when he met Gale's eyes, he saw something he hadn’t seen yet in the few days he’d been back. Something he hadn’t seen since he left Wyoming after the wedding, when Gale told him not to be a stranger. He couldn’t run from his own damn self now. Not this time. "Let me?"  “Let you what?"  Gale searched his face like he was looking for a sign of insincerity, and John took a deep breath, steeling himself. “Y’know, watch Loretta," he said. Gale's expression softened, a flicker of relief in his eyes, even when the next words out of his mouth were another question.  "You have work too, do you not?"  "Got a meeting in the morning with some guys the Pentagon wants me to talk to, but that's it." John replied, "I can bring her- have her color or something, it’s not gonna be more than an hour." Gale just stared at him for what felt like a long few seconds, quirking his mouth to the side- sucking his cheek in. Finally, he nodded. "Okay," he said quietly. "Okay, sure.” There was a moment of silence between that edged into awkward, John rubbing his own arm, looking off at the wall. Gale broke first, clearing his throat. “I finished sorting Marge’s stuff out, by the way,” he said, and John turned his head back to him so quick it made his neck burn. “The guest room is yours if you want it.” John hesitated. One part of him was relieved- for the fact that this felt like some sort of olive branch. The other part of him was still in bed next to Gale at the hotel, something that felt akin to guilt clawing its way towards his frontal lobe. “I- I don’t want to be in your hair, I got a hotel, like you asked.” “I’m sure,  I…”  Gale trailed off, scratching the back of his neck. “Easier for tomorrow at least, with you watchin Loretta.”

[whatstruthgottodowithit]

You Ain’t Woman Enough [To Take My Man]

Fandom: Elvis Presley, American Musician

Pairing: Elvis Presley x Reader

Characters: Elvis Presley, Reader, Original Female Character, Can be Kathy Westmoreland if you want

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 4106

Summary: You’ve come to tell me something, you say I ought to know.

Tags/Warnings: Established Relationship, Reader Has A Name, Marriage, Cheating, Adultery, Affairs, Serial Cheating, Kissing, Nudity, Shower Stuff, Guilt, Angst, Hell Hath No Fury etc etc, Song Fic, You Ain’t Woman Enough [To Take My Man] // Loretta Lynn

Notes: Ive decided to use actual names instead of YN in these reader Fics x

ELVIS MASTERLIST // SONG LINK // HALLOWEEN MASTERLIST

The suite was quiet as you entered, almost perfectly still just as your husband had left it. The curtains were closed though you doubted they’d even been opened today and the air conditioning was on making the room a crisp sixty-eight degrees. It made you shiver. After all, you had spent weeks back at home alone getting used to being in rooms that didn’t feel like a meat locker. Still, as the goosebumps formed on your flesh and the scent of his cologne hit your nostrils you were happy to be there. As you moved through the room you noticed your suitcase had already made it upstairs and though you knew you only had a small amount of time to get downstairs before Elvis went back on for his second show you didn’t find yourself rushing. No, even though you were happy to be reunited after weeks apart you wanted to at least look presentable so you heaved your suitcase up onto the bed so that you could rifle through it. However you had only managed to pull a couple of items out when you heard the door open and expecting it to be one of the boys you turned around ready to tell them you’d not be long. Yet when you looked around you found it wasn’t one of the boys at all, it was another woman, one you didn’t recognise.

She crept in, straightening up once she turned around and found you watching her, a blush on her sun-kissed cheeks.

‘Oh sorry,’ she mumbled, ‘I didn’t know anyone was in here.’

‘It’s fine. Can I help you?’ you replied.

‘No, it’s um nothing,’ she said dropping her gaze to the floor as she ran a hand through her blown-out brunette locks, ‘it’s fine I was just-’

‘Looking for Elvis?’ you asked which finally made her bright blue eyes snap up to meet yours, guilt swimming through them as they stared back at you.

‘No, uh,’ she said no doubt scrambling for an excuse yet you were quicker, having been down this road before you had learned to distinguish between the two types of women who circulated around your husband. Those who could be trusted and those who couldn’t. And those who couldn’t all seemed to harbour the same actions whenever you were around, watching you with wide-eyed guilt, dropping their gazes, or feigning stupidity or ignorance. Whether it was for your benefit or theirs you weren’t sure but sometimes, when Elvis wasn’t around, you grew tired of it. You grew tired of pretending not to know why a woman would be sneaking into your husband's private suite, not when you knew that there was no way your husband would’ve allowed her to come anywhere near his room tonight. No, he would’ve orchestrated it so that your paths never crossed which meant that her presence here was of her own choosing and so you decided to do away with pretences.

‘So what are you doing in his suite then? You’re aware it’s private, right?’ you challenged which appeared to make something change inside her, whatever coyness she had been going to attempt disappearing, an attitude in its place. Ah, you realised. She’s one of them. As you had become an expert in fishing out the woman who couldn’t be trusted you had also started to put them into categories. There were the innocent ones, the ones who fell for his charm and charisma like you had many moons ago and even though they knew it was wrong they succumbed all the same, guilt coursing through them at the mere thought of you. There were bold ones, ones who weren’t really expecting whatever they had to go anywhere but were making the most of it whilst they still had his attention. They too had guilt but it was different, rationalised that at the end of the day, he still chose you. And then there were ambitious ones, ones that had fallen for him too but now sought to lay claim. Ones that didn’t feel guilty because in their eyes you were the other woman, the one keeping them from what they wanted. These were the worst of the bunch, mostly because they almost always sought to make it sure that you were aware of their presence. Hence why she was standing in front of you. Indisputable proof.

‘If you must know he asked to see me,’ she said, folding her arms across her chest. You eyed her for a minute, musing over the fact you’d probably seen more fabric on one of your daughter's dolls than she was had on right now though she’d probably spent hours agonising over just what to wear. For both yours and Elvis’s attention presumably. As you finally caught her eye you found she was watching you exasperatedly, no doubt wondering why you hadn't torn into her. Wondering how you could remain calm when both of you knew what was going on. Sometimes you wondered how you could do it yourself but to see how your lack of reaction was getting under her skin you continued, the only words that you offered were, ‘Oh sure.’

‘He did,’ she said snappily making you smile.

‘Honey my husband is many things but he isn't stupid,’ you said moving back to your suitcase so that you could continue unpacking. To come here and goad you was one thing, to distract you from the task at hand was another.

‘What's that supposed to mean?’ she asked.

‘It means that he asked me to come to Vegas today. Do you really think he’d risk having another woman in his room?’ you said, turning around as you folded a dress over your arm. Her face went cold then, any trace of guilt wiped from it confirming your suspicions she had chosen to do this off her own back, ‘no. My bet is you thought now was a good time to come and tell me the truth right?’

You waited, looking at her expectantly as you continued to unpack. When she didn’t say anything, you sighed and said, ‘Well go on then. I haven’t got all day to wait around for whatever you’re gonna say.’

‘Elvis and I are dating,’ she said proudly, a smile tugging at her lips.

‘Is that right?’ you asked, finally stopping in your movements to look at her.

‘Yeah it is,’ she said, ‘have been for a while.’

‘Wow,’ you said sarcastically, ‘and uh, let me guess he loves you? Promised you the world you and you're just here to let me know before it all gets outta hand?’

‘It’s the right thing to do,’ she said.

‘And is dropping your panties for a married man also the right thing to do?’ you asked. You refused to show your irritation outwardly but it didn’t half stick in your craw whenever they laid on the martyr act. The girls-girl only looking out for your best interests, like they had been thinking of you and your family when they’d let him talk his way into their beds.

‘Look I didn’t have to come here. I didn’t have to tell you,’ she started making your irritation crash like a wave inside you, finally seeping out into your tone.

‘Oh but you wanted to right?’ you challenged, ‘that’s why you came looking for me when you knew I’d be here alone. Let me guess you’re just letting me know so I can plan ahead. Bow out gracefully, right?’

‘It’s better than being dumped,’ she scoffed.

‘True,’ you said, ‘but then again that would mean me allowing someone to take what's mine. And I can tell you now that'll happen over my dead body.’

‘He doesn’t love you anymore,’ she snapped.

‘Is that right?’ you mused, genuinely trying not to laugh. You knew it wasn’t funny, the idea of your husband lying beside this twenty-something and filling her head with the idea they had a future yet you couldn’t help but laugh. Because they fell for it every time.

You knew how of course. It was that same silver tongue that had gotten you into his bed, the ring on your finger, the marriage that you had. He had wormed his way into your life the way he did to theirs but there were differences because for all the promises he gave them, he gave you twenty more. For all the times he told them he loved them he made sure you were loved in every way possible. It wasn’t exactly painless, the idea that he could flout your marriage vows so easily would always hurt, but you had learned to deal with it because you knew that they didn’t mean anything, not really. Because time and time again you were the one he chose. Maybe you were a fool to let him. To turn a blind eye to it all. But when it was over, when he’d had his fill of whatever contact or affection he needed he always came back, more the man you married than before.

‘He told me he just wants out,’ she sneered, ‘he just doesn’t want to pay you your money.’

‘Honey,’ you said knowing full well your tone was fully laced with condescension but unable to care, ‘if you believe that you’re dumber than a box of rocks.’

She scoffed at that, her mouth falling into a tight scowl that made it look foreign against her pretty features. You sighed before you said, ‘you think I’m lying? More to the point do you really think you’re the first?’

At that her face flicked with uncertainty, your words calling into question whatever she had assumed to be fact, casting doubt she hadn't anticipated. It was cruel really and if she hadn't been so cocky, so determined to ruin your life, you might’ve even taken pity on her. After all, she was just a kid, one whose head had been filled with nonsense that she was too naïve to see couldn’t possibly be the truth.

‘Do you really think that if he wanted to go he wouldn’t just leave? That if he was so unhappy with me I’d force him to stay? He knows that if he doesn’t want to be in this marriage I sure as hell wont force him to be. And I'm sure whatever money he has to pay for our family he could earn back in a minute,’ you said. Again you watched as pain flicked across her features, guilt finally settling with her at the mention of your kids. Yet you didn’t let up. You refused to, ‘he has no intention of leaving me and whatever yarn he spins to get you into bed is between you and him. Hell darlin’, he’s probably as surprised as I am that it actually works.’

At that you offered a small laugh one that made her brows knit together as she tried to hold back whatever emotions she was feeling in front of you. It almost made you feel sorry for her. Almost. Yet you still needed to make sure she got the picture.

‘Elvis loves me and why his head may get turned every now and then he always comes crawling back, promising it won’t happen again until the next young thing in a tight skirt walks by,’ you said, ‘now a weaker woman would probably give up on him but I’m not weak and I sure as hell ain't gonna step aside and watch you ruin my marriage you hear me?’

She stayed quiet, that scowl still on her face though it looked as though it was holding back whatever she was scared to let burst out of her in front of you. Whether that anger or tears you weren’t sure. If anything you didn’t really care, you had said your piece. Though for whatever reason you felt the tiniest amount of compassion swill in you. After all, you were a seasoned veteran in the game of loving Elvis Presley, didn’t it fall to you to show her the ropes?

‘I will however offer you some advice,’ you said finally turning away from her and continuing with what you were doing before she came in, a slight act of mercy that allowed her to release the breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding. You heard it come out, shaky and pathetic, before her voice cut it off, her words coming out snarky as she replied, ‘Oh yeah, what's that?’

‘Don’t tell him you came here tonight,’ you said and as you pulled out a stunning blue dress, deciding that would be what you would wear at tomorrow night's show you heard her scoff.

‘Why afraid it’ll make him kick you to the kerb?’ she said, the scowl she had perfected back in full force as you turned around. You didn’t bother moving towards her, instead, you moved to the closet, sliding the door back until your husband’s vast wardrobe was on show, your dress slotting in perfectly next to his clothes, an action that made her eye twitch with irritation.

‘Oh honey,’ you said with a condescending smile, ‘it’s not me I’m scared for.’

And with that final remark she stormed from the room, slamming the door so hard behind her that the sliding door of the closet rattled in its tracks. You however couldn’t bring yourself to offer more than an eyeroll, her actions reminding you of your daughter who had a tendency to pitch a similar style of fit whenever she didn’t get her own way though of course she had the excuse of being three years old. You knew you should probably let it bother you. That the idea of another woman coming to tell you your husband didn’t want you any more should shake you to your core but it didn’t. You refused to let it because if you did it now you'd have to let it every damn time he conceded to be weak. And you refused to be weak too.

After that you busied yourself with unpacking and though you did head downstairs you made sure it was when Elvis was on stage, after all, there were things more interesting to you tonight than your husband's performance. Like finding out just who the girl was. That was how you’d come to find him on stage with her, laughing and joking as if nothing had even happened. And in an instant any thought you’d had about playing nice left your body because you had meant what you said. You weren’t going to stand aside and let her take him but now you were actively going to ensure she didn’t have the chance.

That thought came to you again later that night as you heard him call your name, the bathroom door opening as he said, ‘Lor, ya in here?’

‘In here,’ you called listening as he moved into the bathroom, clothes dropping to the floor as he went before you finally heard the glass door click open and then shut as his naked body slid in behind you, his arms ensnaring your waist.

‘Hi there,’ he mumbled as his lip met your neck.

‘Hi,’ you breathed sinking into him as he peppered kisses along your shoulder before you felt his hand snake down your slippery skin cupping your sex which caused you to shriek, ‘Elvis!’

‘I missed ya,’ he said as if it was your own fault not to have expected it.

‘I can see,’ you giggled wiggling your ass against his cock that was already growing rigid against you.

‘Joe told me you got here in between shows,’ he said his arousal not yet pressing enough that he felt the need to forgo chit-chat, ‘how come ya didn’t come down?

‘Oh I did but you know how it is when you haven’t seen folks in a while. I ended up bumping into people and we just got chatting,’ you said. That wasn’t untrue. You had spoken to some people, using carefully selected questions to get the information you craved without alerting them to what you were up to. You see you hadn’t been lying when you had told her to be careful. After all, you had done this dance a hundred times before and you knew all the steps. You knew if you challenged Elvis about his behaviour it would only get ugly. No, you needed to be smart. To orchestrate the situation so you got what you wanted but he was the one who felt like he had made the decision. And that was a skill you’d become an expert at.

‘Are they more important than me?’ he said and for a moment you were glad you were facing away from him, your expression liable to give you away as you thought about how he prioritised people in his life.

‘Of course not,’ you said, ‘but I knew I’d have you all to myself soon so I figured I’d play nice. Let them have you while they can.’

‘Ever the diplomat,’ he mused, his lips moving back to your neck for a moment. You knew now was the time to broach it, with him happy and pliant coming off the buzz of the show and the excitement of having you back. Yet you needed to do it carefully and so as he kissed you, you picked at your nails, removing the non-existent dirt from under them as you said, ‘but it wasn’t all bad. Actually, I got talking to one of your band members.’

‘Yeah?’ he asked, stopping his actions and resting his chin on your shoulder as he watched you carefully.

‘Yeah I don’t think we’ve met before though,’ you said, ‘they must be new.’

‘Yeah, there’s a couple of new faces around. We lucked onto some good talent for this season,’ he agreed.

‘Mmm, pretty too,’ you said, and though your words were casual you felt him stiffen, ‘I think her name is Kathy?’

‘Oh?’ he asked airily and though you could feel the heat of his blue eyes watching you you kept your face casual.

‘We had a nice chat,’ you said, ‘she told me you’ve really made this gig special.’

‘That right?’ he asked flatly.

‘Mmmhmm,’ you said.

‘Lori,’ he said ruefully.

‘I just think it’s a shame,’ you said continuing as though he hadn't spoken.

‘A shame?’ he asked confused.

‘Yeah well I know I said I didn’t manage to see the show before I came back up here but I caught some of it and well to think of her stuck being backing vocals when she could be great on her own is just a shame. Don’t you think?’ you asked.

‘Yeah,’ he said quietly, ‘yeah you’re right.’

‘I sure think so,’ you agreed. You could feel him hesitate behind you, no doubt trying to figure out exactly what you knew or whether to let it go but after a minute he pulled back and you turned to look at him for the first time since he had gotten in.

‘Everything alright?’ you asked with a frown that forced him to fake a smile and nod.

‘Yeah, I’m gonna get out okay?’ he said.

‘Okay,’ you said, placing a wet hand on his chest that he grabbed, taking it to his lips so he could kiss your fingertips. A feat that brought a genuine smile to your face.

‘Do you want food?’ he asked.

‘Yes please,’ you said.

‘Okay,’ he said leaning in to kiss you properly before he said, ‘take your time. I’ll order for us both.’

‘Okay,’ you smiled.

And then he was gone, moving from the room at lightning speed only just managing to throw a towel around his waist as he headed to the phone, yanking the receiver from its cradle before he punched in the number he wanted rather harshly. It didn’t take long for the line to connect, a sweet young voice saying, ‘hello?’

‘You told my wife?’ he asked in an angry whisper, listening to Kathy as she scrambled to sit up.

‘It wasn’t like that-’ she protested.

‘What the hell did you say to her?’ he snapped.

‘Not much I promise,’ she exclaimed.

‘How could you go behind my back like that?’ he said angrily.

‘But I thought-’

‘What that if you meddled in my business I’d just fall into line? That I’d just up and leave my wife because you’d decided you’d had enough-’

‘No of course not!’ she cried.

‘Because that’s not how this shit works you hear me? And if you don’t get that then maybe I was wrong about you,’ he spat.

‘Elvis,’ she whispered but he was on a roll. Too angry to bother listening.

‘You know what? We’re done,’ he snapped.

‘Elvis-’ he heard her whimper but he had already slammed the phone back onto the hook anger bubbling through him until he heard you say, ‘was that room service?’

‘What?’ he asked turning to find you standing in the bathroom doorway, unaware as to how much you had heard though on the off chance it might have been nothing he said, ‘uh no… the uh line was busy.’

‘Shoot,’ you frowned.

‘It’s okay,’ he said, ‘I’ll call down in a minute.’

You smiled and nodded, padding into the room and climbing into bed dressed in the nightie you had donned in the time since he had left the bathroom. Elvis watched you, wondering how you could be so calm when he was sure that you knew if not all at least some of it. As you offered him a sweet smile he felt his heart tug, the guilt creeping in as it did every time. He moved to throw his towel on a chair in the corner, changing into the pyjamas you’d lovingly laid out for him like the good wife you were. As he slipped in beside you, allowing you to cuddle into him for the first time in weeks, that thought consumed him.

He didn’t know why he did it. How his head could get turned time and time again when you were all he could’ve ever asked for. You were the perfect wife, the perfect mother, a friend, a lover and yet he never felt satisfied. Time and time again he’d think that the grass was greener only to find that they weren’t you. And so he’d come crawling back, begging for forgiveness. At least he used to, now it was this complicated dance the two of you did. The one where you pretended not to know what he had been doing so long as he nipped it in the bud when you asked. It was a flawed system but it was one that seemed to hurt you less. And if he couldn’t stop himself from hurting you, he’d at least try and make it somewhat better. He knew he was weak but he could give you that much. Which is why when you looked at him with knowing eyes and words that hovered around accusation but never landed he knew it was time to move on.

‘You know I’ve been thinkin’,’ he said clearing his throat which made you look up towards him, ‘about what you said.'

‘About what baby?’ you said laughing to yourself how you made fun of his floozies for feigning innocence when you were better at it than any of them.

‘Ka-’ he said stumbling over her name and instead opting for, ‘my backing singer.’

‘Oh?’ you asked, your fingers playing with his chest hair as you waited for him to tell you what you knew was coming.

‘Yeah, you’re right. She’s talented…maybe she’d be better tryin’ to get her own solo thing goin’,’ he said.

‘Oh no doubt,’ you agreed.

‘Maybe I’ll give one of the talent scouts in LA a call tomorrow,’ he said hesitantly, ‘help her out ya know.’

‘Why aren’t you sweet,’ you mused, your nervous heart finally settling as everything clicked into place. You knew it was harsh. You knew that you should’ve just been satisfied with him breaking up with her but as you pictured her smug face, the one that had expected you to roll over you couldn’t help but smile.

‘I just wanna help,’ Elvis said.

‘Well I’m sure it will. Sometimes people just need a helping hand you know,’ you said.

‘Yeah, I know.’

Women like you they're a dime a dozen you can buy 'em anywhere,

For you to get to him I'd have to move over and I'm gonna stand right here,

It'll be over my dead body so get out while you can,

Cause you ain't woman enough to take my man.

ELVIS TAGS

@girlblogger2002 @sania562 @caitlin1996 @literally-just-elvis-fics @notstefaniepresley @artlesson8892 @18lkpeters @velvetelvis @jaqueline19997 @elvispresleyxoxo @amydarcimarie @presleyenterprise @everythingelvispresley @elvispresleywife @lillypink @richardslady121 @lettersfromvenus @louisejoy86 @ccab

[ducklooney]

comics normally have a status quo that stick, but if you could change the status quo of the stories (for ex: having Huey, Dewey and Louie Duck growing up) how would you progress/and end the charachters's stories? like donald, daisy, gladstone, fethry, scrooge, brigitta, etc).

One of my ideas would be della duck returning from space, and scrooge and brigitta would eventually marry, what would be yours?

Hi, sorry to reply late again, but you have asked a good question and your idea is good. I thought something similar. Yes, comics have the status quo for their own reasons, because the changes would probably upset the readers a little, which is understandable to me. But the comics, that is, certain authors have given some of those suggestions as to what the future of the Duck family could be. One comic called "Stories Untold" (INDUCKS is D 2023-034) by author Maya Åstrup and artist Cèsar Ferioli Pelaez tells how Scrooge wanted to go into the future to see what Duckburg would look like in 50 years. He left using Gyro's watch and Gyro's time machine and he couldn't see with his own eyes that Duckburg had changed a lot, that many devices were being used that were made up like holograms and that was thanks to a man who worked with Scrooge (I forgot his name). Scrooge was even more startled when he saw that none of his family had aged but himself, HDL remained the same, as did Miss Quackfaster. Yes, Gyro and Magica worked together in that future as well. I think it's a very interesting comic.

Well, how would I imagine the future of Duckburg? To be honest, I don't know myself, but I think this is how the future in the Duck family would go:

Huey, Dewey and Louie Duck as teenagers would certainly be, but more like the Quack Pack version, since I wouldn't imagine other versions of them older than that. They would graduate from elementary school with honors and go to high school together. The same would be true of Daisy's nieces. You can see my drawings of them as teenagers on this side blog: https://ducktoonsfanart.tumblr.com/

Yes, they would have different interests, but they would all act together, they would also help their Uncle Donald.

The marriage of Donald to Daisy Duck. Unfortunately, Disney prevented it from being shown at all, but I would certainly imagine that after a long time, Donald and Daisy would finally marry each other and have children (I think two, one boy, one girl). Yes, the final consent of Donald's and Daisy's parents would condition that and it can be said that there would also be a reconciliation of Donald's and Daisy's parents who were in conflict until now. Yes, Donald and Daisy would finally adopt their nephews and nieces as their own children, because they are their children.

3. Scrooge's future - In one version, it would be that Scrooge would finally marry Brigitta after a long time, and in the other, Scrooge would be together with Brigitta, where they would go to Scotland in their parents' castle. He would give the inheritance between Donald, Donald's nephews, and Dickie Duck, Goldie's granddaughter. Giving Dickie a share of the inheritance would mean that he would finally reconcile with Goldie, an old love from the Klondike long ago and right an old wrong, and Dickie would also be a successful businessman and be able to run together with Loretta, Brigitta's niece. After all, there would be reconciliation between Scrooge and Magica and the old rivalry after more time. In my second variant, they would be pulled together in one place, and in the first one, there would definitely be an appeasement with the help of Brigitte, the future wife of Scrooge, since she is also a friend of Magica de Spell.

4. Fethry and Gladstone - Fethry would find his love with Gloria Pascoalina and Dugan would be his adopted son. Gladstone would marry two women if possible, Linda Paper and Feather Mallard, his beloved companions. Shamrock would be his adopted son, otherwise he is Gladstone's nephew.

5. Della Duck - In my opinion, she would still travel in space, but she would return home occasionally. It's just that Della herself chose to live in space, her unlimited journey. She would not forget her brother and her sons, but she would accept a different fate, and she could find comfort if her sons were with her brother, who would be a real parent for them. Of course, every time she returned home she would be welcomed home joyfully.

6. Gus Goose, Abner Duck, and Grandma Duck - Gus would live in Duckburg more, but would continue to help Grandma Duck, but Abner Duck would take on more of the chores of taking care of Grandma Duck. Grandma Duck would continue to cook and take care of the farm, but her grandchildren would help her, since she was very old. Certainly still alive, but not as strong as before. Aber would certainly also be a trucker who would transport goods from time to time.

7. Other characters - Ludwig would live with Matilda alone, Gyro would be a successful inventor in Duckburg and find his love, and he would adopt his nephew Newton as his son. Glomgold's nephew Slackjack Snorehead would help Glomgold in times of need, and Rockerduck would prepare his nephews for future business management, although he would make complications for Scrooge's heirs, since he too has the right to do so (Aunt Eider).

That would be my vision of the future for Duckburg and the Duck family, maybe I'll make a separate post about it someday, if I have enough time, what the future could be for Donald Duck, his friends and his family, as well as Duckburg himself. I already do that in my Quack Pack AU, by writing my fanfictions. It would certainly be a combination of Donald Duck comics, OG Ducktales and Quack Pack, my way.

So thank you for the idea and maybe you like my suggestions that I gave, they will definitely remain the best as they are shown in Donald Duck comics then, now and in the future. And maybe in the future we will see Donald's successors who will look a lot like Donald, Scrooge and Donald's nephews. This is certainly my opinion and I'm glad you asked. And sorry if there are things you don't agree with. But if you have anything else to ask, feel free to ask.

[kissesandarsenic]

I really want someone i trust to drug me n take me home and use me while i sleep... i wanna wake up to someones cock cumming in me, or someones mouth sucking on my swollen clit. I think id wake up and be so so scared but cry as i cum for probably not the first time that night - 🐾

tw. non con, betrayal, drugging, forced orgasms, victim blaming

THIS IS FANTASY I DO NOT CONDONE THIS BEHAVIOUR IRL.

Well, that's the thing about puppies like you. They're so trusting. I'm sure any of your friends could see that and take advantage of your naivety. If anything, it's probably a turn on.

Why stop at one friend, by the way? Maybe it's two that decided to take advantage of your sweet nature. They spiked your drink, carried you home, put you into bed and you wake up to them both on top of you. Taking their fill.

One sucks hard on your clit, drawing the sweetest little moans out of you even in your half-asleep state. The other fucks into you rough, his entire weight bearing down over your smaller frame. The scent of his cologne is enough to suffocate you. You'll try to squirm free but it's no use.

He'd lick up your tears when you realise what's happening and coo all sorts of sweet nothings about how they couldn't help themselves. You were simply too precious to resist. They're so fucking sorry but at least it feels good, right? It must do. You've cum three times already.

They'll hold you so tight once they've had their way with you. Stroking your hair, snuggling in on both sides to keep you safe and secure. You can lie there and shudder, maybe let out a few broken cries and they'll just shush you, mutter some faux apologies and reassurances that'll all be okay in the morning. Now that you finally belong to them.

[sturnwritess]

The Dark place. M.S

warnings: satanic in a way, blood, and kidnapping.

pairing: matt sturniolo x reader

----------------------------------------------

Today was the day to finally go on a trip to this small, creepy town. You didn't really think much of that town since it had waterfalls, a lake, mountains and a really amazing hike.

It was about a three-hour drive and by the looks of it, you called on the landline phone to call in. You had already rented a house for the short amount of time you were going to be there.

You had only brought a suitcase, a backpack, and a duffle bag. The trip felt long, you decided to bring your best friend Lexie. Since the town seemed a little eerie to you, she only agreed because she had the same thought about it being a bit creepy.

The house you rented had two bedrooms, one bathroom and an attic. You had to meet the owner of the house to get the key, Lexie had soon put her luggage in the back of your car. She got in the car and soon you left the driveway.

It's been about three hours since you left, you hit a little bump just now on the road and had to pull over. You went outside of the car to check the tire, you soon realized that it was losing air by the hour.

You went around the car to knock on Lexie's window to tell her "Everything is ok, but we have to go to that Car Auto shop by the morning lex" "oh okay, then let's wake up around 10?" she replies.

"Sounds like a plan lex" you say, as you're getting inside of your car you see headlights coming down the road. You soon get in your car and the headlights pull over behind you, you start your car but a man gets out of his truck and walks up to your car.

He knocks on your window and you roll it down, "you ladies alright?" he asked. "uh yeah, we were just heading into Daryn town." you reply, "oh, well I was just heading down there. I can show you the way?" he asks.

"uh yeah that would be great!" Lexie chimes in, "alright then pretty ladies, just follow me till we get there." he replies. "thank you so much..." you ask for his name. "oh, my names Matthew but you can call me matt." he replies.

"Well thanks again matt!" you say. "of course, pretty lady." his comment makes your face flustered, he walks back to his truck and you start your car. "Well thanks again matt!" Lexie mocks you. You hit her arm playfully and start following Matt.

You finally got into Daryn town but as you got in the town there was a sign that said 'once you come here you can never return' You and Lexie look at each other with a sign of regret, you finally got to the house and texted the owner.

He wasn't there but he texted you where the key was, it was in the mailbox. You grabbed the key and unlocked the door and made way in, as you and Lexie pick your rooms you made way to your car again to grab your luggage.

You felt a hand on your shoulder making you jump, it was matt. Turns out he lived across the dirt road from you, "let me help you pretty lady." he says. "Oh, it's okay don't worry about it." you say back "oh, it's no mind darling let me help you." he replies back.

You nod and he grabs your luggage and go's upstairs. "Thank you so much again." you say while he puts down your luggage. "it's like I said darlin, it's no mind." he chuckles, and you go to Lexie as he leaves the house.

"This town is really creepy y/n" Lexie says, "I know lex but at least the guys are cute right?" you say, "yeah for you." she replies.

We heard a knock on our front door, I ran down the stairs to open the door and I saw matt. "So, tonight every one of us is going to go dancing on the Miller farm. Would u care to join us?" He asked.

"Uh yea! Would you mind if i brought my friend Lexie? you ask, he pauses for a brief moment before saying "uh sure, I thought it was just going to be you but of course she can come darlin." he replies "when is it?" you ask "it's at 8:00 sweetheart." he says.

"Oh, ok sounds good" you say before waving him goodbye, you run up the stairs to ask Lexie and she agrees to go with you not wanting to leave you alone is this weird town.

You put on your cowgirl boot and a white long dress, Lexie puts on her brown dress with her black cowgirl boots. You both top it off with a Cattleman Gus hat, as you stepped outside matt was waiting for you.

"Weird." Lexie whispers to you, you give her a look that says 'stop'. Matt hopped out of his truck and took your hand and opened the door, Lexie shot him a glare and got inside of the truck.

The drive was only about four minutes, when he got there he got out of his truck and opened the door. He took my hand and helped me down, he didn't help Lexie though. I thought it was strange since he was such a gentleman.

We got inside of the miller farm, and it was beautiful and the stringed lights. Fowers and it smelled like just pure happiness and fun, I sat down at the table with Lexie. A guy came up to her and took her somewhere.

A few hours passed by and Lexie still hasn't come back, I just assumed that she went to his house to have fun. Matt soon came over to my table and asked me to dance, I of course said yes and he slowed dance with me for a while.

It was getting around midnight and Matt decided to take me home, I thought it was a sweet gesture. I finally arrived at the house and my car was gone.

Just gone, and Lexie was also. I started freaking out and pacing around the house, I just figured to go to sleep and she would be there in the morning.

Next morning

I woke up and tried going to Lexie's room, when I walked in everything of hers was gone. I don't know why she took my car and disappeared, you don't know why she just picked up her bags and left. You were determined to find out why, you went over to matt's house and knocked a few times.

He answered the door almost immediately, "hey sugar, what you doing here?" he asks. "oh nothing, I was just wondering did you see Lexie last night after she left?" you ask.

"uh yeah I think I saw her leave your house last night with some bags and took your car." he replies. You could swear he seemed a bit nervous, "oh uhm, thank you I just don't know how i'm going to leave." you say.

"I guess the town saying is true, once u come here you can never return." he said. You laugh nervously and thanked him before you went back. You tried going upstairs to the attic, it seemed locked but you pulled a bobby pin from your hair and tried pick locking it.

You successfully got inside of the attic and walked up into it, you saw this little curtain covering something up and you decided to move the curtain just to only see pictures of you.

Your heart skipped a beat and you felt as if you couldn't breathe, next to your photos was your birthday, your parents, siblings, friends and a pentagram next to it.

You started freaking out and covered up the board again, you stepped back to feel a somewhat crack in the floor. As you turned around you saw it was a pentagram in the middle of the room, you screamed into your hands as you saw there was blood smeared over it.

It looked like fresh blood, it stuck to the bottom of my shoe and I freaked out. I turned around to look for more clues and felt like someone was behind me, I felt a hand come around my mouth and I screamed into that person's hand. I took a glance around before I saw darkness, it was matt.

As my eyes started to open, I was struggling inside of this chair. It seemed my hands were tied to the wooden chair, as I looked around it all seemed too familiar. It was the miller farm, matt had been watching me from the stables.

"M-matt?" you ask "hey pretty girl, don't freak out." he says, "what did you do to me, what did you do to Lexie!?" you scream. "pretty girl, you saw too much information about me, and she was always trying to get between us." he responds.

"i-i barely know you!" you scream, " But I know everything about you sweetheart, and don't bother to shout the miller house is far away from town folk." he says.

"p-please just let me go." you ask, "sweetheart this town is evil, I am going to get you out of here even if I never see you again." he says.

You try to say something, but everything goes dark. He put a chloroform rag over your mouth. You wake up at a bus station with bags next to you, you guessed he put you somewhere far from him. The bus came fifteen minutes after you woke up.

You hopped on the bus and put your luggage up, you swore to yourself that you would never look back on that town. But one part of you wanted to stay for matt, but you couldn't.

As some minutes passed by, you could've swore someone was staring at you. You decided to search the bus with your eyes, you saw no one in particular. The bus pulled over on the side of the road and you got scared for no reason, but the bus driver had this cold stare on you.

He got up from his seat and someone had snaked their arm around your mouth. The last thing you heard was "once you come here you can never return"

Everything went dark.

----------------------------------------------

a/n: so this might be the end or i can write a part two, lemme know though.

____________________________________

@mattsgirlie@madisonbeer@mattsnymphette@mattsmunchkin@mattsmunch@mattsk1tten@mattestrella@loveesiren@flowerxbunnie@strawberrysturniolo@mattitties@nicksnosering@sturnioloshacker@sturniol0s@strniohoeee@sturncrazy@sturniolosluvv@sturnioloskies@sturniolosstar@matthewsturniolowife@matthewsturniolo@christinarowie332@chrisgirlgirl@chrissturnlover@chrisslut25@chrissturnlover@chrattenthusiast@chrissolosa@chrisloyalgf@christophersturniolo@mattsturnioloarchive@mattsturn@mattsturniolosmainbitch@mattsturniolox@mattsturnioloz@stuniolobbg

love you guys nd don't flop tis shit I had writers block writing this!

#feetfindr!!!!

[sweaterkittensahoy]

Hello! Could you please write a prompt for Rosie and Ken where their child is learning how to talk, and one day the child says 'love you' in the sweetest voice possible? Needless to say that Rosie and Ken are crying tears of joy.

P.S. The is a part of you always standing by is an amazing; I loved every bit of it. I particularly enjoyed how you wrote about them falling in love. I must confess that, while all 28 chapters were phenomenal, the first 9 chapters hold a special place in my heart ❤️

[Oh, that is so wonderful to know about Always Standing By. I added a Chapter 29 between the time you sent this [ages ago] and finally figuring this prompt out. I hope you've seen it and enjoyed it.]

Ken and Robert both admit they've been trying for weeks to get Loretta to say "I love you." They say it to her every morning when they wake her up. When they put her in the high chair. When they clean her up after breakfast. When they both leave her with Robert's mother so they can both to work.

"Love you, Loretta," Ken says.

"Love you, Lot-Lot," Robert says.

Loretta waves goodbye. "Bye Daddy Daddy," she says.

She says plenty besides that. She says "Daddy" most often (and in a different cadence for each of them). She knows "Granna" and "Gramp" and "apple" and "biscuit" (with Ken's drawl exactly, which makes Rosie melt every time). She knows "dog" and "cat" and "car" and "plane" and "book" and "food" and "up" and "hug" and "kiss" and "goodnight" and on and on. She knows short sentences, too. "Hi, Daddy," and "Bye, Granna," and "Like dinner," and even more than that.

But she's never said "I love you." Even though she seems to understand what it means. When Ken and Robert say it her, she gets a great big smile and hugs them or curls up against them or smacks her hands in a happy way on her high chair.

And then, one night, it happens. They're all three on the couch, the radio playing the news. It's the first real cold day in New York for the winter, and they're all under the same blanket, Loretta between Ken and Robert and holding her little stuffed kitty ("Unca," because it was a gift from Uncle Pappy).

"Love you," Robert murmurs to Ken.

Ken smiles and reaches over Loretta's head to touch Robert's cheek. "Love you," he replies.

They both know the other is thinking the same thing; how they're warm and safe and content in their lives. How they have this home and their families and work they enjoy, and they can sit here and listen to the radio and simply exist in the life they've built.

"Love you," Loretta says, voice high and soft. "Love you," she repeats. "Love you," she says a third time.

Ken and Robert look at each other, then glance down at Loretta. She's holding Unca out in front of her. Making him bob his little head as she repeats. "Love you. Love you. Love you."

"Oh, Lot-Lot," Robert whispers, wiping tears from his eyes as she keeps repeating it. He kisses the top of her head, and it doesn't break her stride.

"Sweetheart," Ken says, stealing a quick kiss from Rosie before he dips down and adds his own to the top of Loretta's head.

"Love you. Love you. Love you." Loretta keeps repeating, beaming and bouncing Unca all around.

[yopossum]

Kindred Spirits - 3

Main Masterlist - Part 2

Part 3 of the Professor Jack Daniels x Reader miniseries for @secretelephanttattoo’s Secret Springs Creative Challenge 🥃🤠

Rating: M

Warnings: Alcohol, drinking, brief discussion of loss of spouse and unborn child, grief, flirting, innuendo

—————————

The night was warm and lovely, and twinkling string lights criss crossed over the cobbled road, casting everything in a soft glow. You wandered aimlessly, enjoying the quaint surroundings, until you came to a small, cozy-looking bar that opened to the street, several stools slid up underneath and a few tables and chairs scattered about. Soft bluesy music played from a speaker inside, and the people drinking at the tables wore easy smiles and laughed heartily. You slid up to the counter and ordered an old fashioned (with Jack Daniels, please, you’d requested), tipped the bartender generously, then found an empty table. You sipped at your drink, savoring the sweet burn on your tongue, and closed your eyes and let your head fall back, content.

“Well, if it isn’t my star student,” lilted a rich, familiar voice.

You sat up to find Jack Daniels himself looking down at you with heavy-lidded eyes, pink lips drawn into a crooked smirk. Had they been that plump this afternoon? He still wore his Stetson, but had traded the suit for a white tee shirt, a black leather jacket with an upturned tan suede collar, and criminally snug dark jeans. You blinked back your initial surprise, settled into an expression you hoped looked a little more relaxed despite the pang of want that poked at your insides.

“If it isn’t Dr. Daniels,” you replied, running a finger around the rim of your glass.

He clucked his tongue. “Now, I believe I told you to call me Jack, did I not?” He went to pull out the other chair at the table, but paused, looking at you with question.

You nodded, and he sat down, stretching his legs out under the table and slouching back comfortably. “You did. Having a nice night, Jack?” you snickered.

He raised his own glass to you, whiskey neat. “Am now, darlin’, thanks to present company.” You hoped the flush of your face wasn’t too obvious in the dim light, just hummed in return.

“So, I take it this whole… energy… isn't a gimmick for the storytelling gig, then?” you asked, gesturing generally at Jack. You were curious, a little loosened by the drink, and hoped you didn’t sound rude.

He snorted, amused. “‘Fraid not, honey. Just Jack.” He took a long drink of his whiskey.

You toyed with the straw in your glass. “So you’re a real life cowboy, then?”

“I am, believe it or not. Have a couple dozen acres of woods and pasture in Louisville, some horses, small farm. Spent a lot of time ropin’ and racin’ in my younger days. Livin’ a bit more slowly now, though.”

You nodded. “Same. Well, not same. I’m not a cowboy, obviously.”

“Coulda fooled me with that Loretta Lynn shirt and whiskey habits,” whistled Jack. “Y’ got good taste.”

“Cheers to that,” you snorted, reaching across the table to clink his glass. “I meant the living slow part. That’s why I was at your lecture earlier, why I’m out alone now. Girls I’m with are a rowdy bunch. I raised some hell in my youth, but my time is a lot more limited and precious now, you know? I want to spend it doing shit that fills me up.” You cackled, then, shaking your head. “And, ideally, I’d like to remember it and not wake up sick or injured or in jail.”

“Amen.” Jack emptied his glass and sat it on the table, thick fingers tapping the sides absently. “I think I’ll have another. D’ya mind the company? If you’re keen, it’d be a great privilege to buy your next drink.” He seemed almost bashful, braggadocio thinned in the moment. “‘Course, you can always tell this old cowboy to fuck off,” he added.

Oh, Lord, I’m keen. I’m keen as hell. I’m the keenest anybody has ever been. I’m the fucking queen of keen.

“I guess I could do another, sure. I’ll have what you’re having.”

He beamed and excused himself from the table to order another round, and you resisted your body’s urge to scream and fling your arms around in excitement like Kermit the Frog. By the time Jack returned to the table, you’d collected yourself (slightly).

“Kingsman whiskey. Local distillery, makes me feel close to home.” He sat the glasses down in front of you and gestured for you to pick yours up. You complied, raising your glass and giving him a soft smile, which he mirrored. It was delicious, and with each sip, smile, and chuckle, you found yourself falling into deep, rapt conversation with your twangy table mate.

“May I be frank with you, sugar?” God knows how much time had passed when Jack leaned forward on his forearms, tilting his head and furrowing his brow in a way that reminded you of a puppy.

“You may.”

“I was dreadin’ this whole damn thing. Secret Springs, the travel, the talk, all of it. Almost pulled out last minute.” He sighed, lifting his chin skyward and looking up into the night. “Booked it thinkin’ I needed to just push through some shit and get on with it; pretty much immediately regretted that.”

Your eyebrows wrinkled with concern at the previously cocky Jack Daniels, looking suddenly forlorn and vulnerable. You weren’t sure how to respond, but your hand moved of its own volition, reaching across the table again and coming to rest on his wrist. He glanced down at where you made contact, then back up to your face. You blanched, thinking you overstepped, and let go, but he swiftly stopped you from pulling away with his free hand. “No, no. It’s… I’d like it if y’ kept it there. It’s a comfort.” So, you left it.

“My wife wanted to come to a place like this for our honeymoon.”

You tried to hide the shock on your face, loosing your hand from his wrist again. A fucking wife?!

You must not have done a good job, because Jack looked up at you with weary eyes and chuckled humorlessly. “S’not what you’re thinkin’, sugar. That was a long time ago.” He sighed into his empty glass.

“You’re divorced?”

“Widowed.”

Oh shit. “Jack, I’m so sorry. I didn’t… God.”

“Nah, he ain’t bothered with me for a while,” Jack huffed. “Like I said, it was a long time ago. Twenty years, this year. Lost her and our baby, caught a stray bullet from a couple of junkies stickin’ up a convenience store.”

Your already fractured heart shattered for him then. For the third time that night, you reached for Jack, taking both his hands in yours, silently bridging the gulf of the table between you. “It reminds you of her? Being here?” you asked quietly. He nodded, a slow sad smile on his lips.

“It does. She woulda loved it. We were just young and broke and dumb in love when we got hitched, and then she got pregnant right away, so we never made good on the honeymoon. She deserved it, though. Wish I’d been able to give her more than she got.” Jack pursed his lips thoughtfully, looked like he might say something, but swallowed it back.

You paused before responding. “Sounds like you were lucky to love her, Jack. I’m sorry you lost her. Lost them both. That’s…” Your filter was still a little fuzzed with drink. “That’s so fucked up.”

Jack, shocked, threw his head back and barked a surprised laugh. “Y’know what, honey? It really is fucked up. I appreciate you not sugarcoatin’ it or some nonsense. Can’t tell you how many times I’ve gotten empty platitudes over the years. They’re in a better place and that shit.” His nostrils flared with frustration.

You snorted. “Bull fucking shit.”

“Exactly, darlin’. Exactly.”

“Tell me about her.”

Jack’s eyes widened, confused.

“I mean, if you want. You don’t have to, it’s none of my business.” Stop talking. Stop talking. Just stop talking. “Just, if you want to talk about her, I’d like to know about her, about your family. Sorry…”

“No, no, sweetheart. No apologies necessary. I’d… well, I’d love to, truly.” Jack’s eyes glimmered, damp, streetlights reflecting in the dark brown of them. “Y’ caught me by surprise, but not in a bad way. Folks jus’ want to gloss over it and move past the whole thing. Makes most uncomfortable.”

You shrugged. “Not me. Tell me about the love of your life, storyteller.”

So, he did. The young, hopeful rodeo rider falling for the homecoming queen. The scrimping and saving from odd jobs around town to buy the only ring they could afford at the pawn shop. The small wedding in the community center, everybody sticky with sweat and gulping down paper cups of punch. Patchwork scrap quilts spread proudly over a creaky bed. Disastrous casserole attempts in the kitchen of a small mobile home. Cold bags of frozen peas pressed over dusty bruises, whispered admonishments to either get on a horse and stay put or get off for good. The soft swell of a round belly under a broad, rough palm. A porch swing’s squeaking chains a metronome in the humid evenings, two (and change) bodies pressed snug together.

Jack had loved, and been loved, well. And rather than the lick of jealousy or envy, you felt… welcomed. He was a gifted storyteller, you knew already, and he was charming, which was undeniable. But what you saw as he shared, as he granted you access to his world with bright eyes and a broad smile and an ache in his soul, was that Jack Daniels had a depth you’d never imagined lay under the hat (or the juit). No, he was something altogether new to you. Smooth, sweet, refreshing, warming you all the way through. Like his namesake, indeed.

The sharp scrape of metal against stone dragged your attention from your table mate. You realized suddenly that everybody else had left the small bar besides you and Jack, and the bartender was busying himself cleaning around you and stacking chairs, clearly trying to give you a respectful hint to please leave. “Sorry!” you hissed to him with a frantic wave, and grabbed for your bag under the table.

You turned back to Jack to see him already standing and pushing his own chair in. Rounding the table, he offered you an arm, and you pulled yourself to standing, keeping a gentle hand on it after you rose. He pressed a few bills to the tabletop and tipped his hat to the bartender, who nodded in thanks, and the two of you stepped out into the middle of the now empty street.

——————————————

“This was a real pleasure, hon. Thank you for talkin’ with me, lettin’ me reminisce a while. Felt good to remember. Feel better now lookin’ forward.” Jack’s face was soft, relaxed. Affection seeping through his features, he cleared his throat. “Now, may I be so bold as to offer to walk you back to your room?”

“Pleasure was mine. And yeah, that’d be nice, Jack. Let’s…take the long way, though.”

His expression went playfully stoic. “Yes, ma’am,” he nodded, leading you off the main road and down a side street.

“Been a while since I closed down a bar,” you snickered as you passed through buildings and emerged on the outskirts of the town center.

Jack grinned, tilted his head in the direction of a dirt path that appeared to wind through tall grass down along the shoreline. “That so?”

“Mhm. It’s way past my bedtime. I would’ve been curled up in bed with a book hours ago.”

“Well, shucks, it was mighty kind of you to keep a lonesome drunken cowboy distracted while he drowned his sorrows. Didn’t know I was keepin’ you.” His dimple deepened, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“You’re surprisingly good company, Dr. Daniels,” you teased.

“Surprisingly?!” He pulled his arm from you, clasped his hands to his chest as if struck, taking exaggerated stumbling steps while you grinned after him. “And here I thought I was doin’ an alright job of charmin’ you.”

You caught up alongside and nudged him with your hip, smirking. “Didn’t say you weren’t, cowboy. Just didn’t know what kind of man was hiding behind that big ol’ mustache. Like I said, I thought it might be put on for the gig.”

“Hah! I’ve always been a bit of a character, that is true. Too much for many.” You’d reached the bluffs, and Jack slowed his steps as he turned to look out at the ocean, moon spilling out over its surface like glitter glue.

You slid to his side and threaded your arm around his waist, and he looked down at you with raised eyebrows and a gentle twist at the corner of his mouth.

“Nah, not too much.”

“You reckon?”

“I do reckon,” you laughed, and pressed your cheek against his chest, your eyes on the water. “I think you’re just right, Jack Daniels.”

“Mm,” he hummed, pressing his nose into your hair. You stood in companionable silence that way for several minutes while your thoughts swirled.

I deserve to have a good time. I want to have a good time. Jack is a good time. Jack is… good.

“Hey Jack?”

“Yes, darlin’?”

“Where are you staying?”

“Little bed and breakfast, back the way we came. Worried about me makin’ it back all by my lonesome?”

You shoved aside your oh my God what are you thinking instinct and reached out for his hat and pulled it on, cocking your head. “May I be so bold as to offer to walk you back to your room?” you drawled in a goofy imitation of him, smirking.

He put one hand on his hip and ran the other through his now-revealed (very soft-looking, very pullable) hair. “You may, honey. And as much as I’m missin’ my hat, I must admit you look a pretty picture in it. Are you playin’ at bein’ a cowgirl now?” His teeth flashed, smile stretching wide across his face in the moonlight.

“Oh, I know how to ride,” you snarked, low and heated. Holy shit, did I just…? You weren’t sure who was more surprised. Jack cackled and beamed, and in a flash he was grabbing your hand and ushering you back down the path towards town with swift strides.

“Let's hop to it, then, sweetheart, because I’d love to see that.”

You both nearly skipped as you went, sneaking through the night giggling like giddy teenagers. When you poked through between the buildings back by the bar you’d left some time before, approaching the bed and breakfast, Jack leaned in and bumped you softly with his shoulder.

“So, I spilled damn near all my secrets to you earlier tonight. When are you gonna return the favor?” He pointed two fingers in the direction of the front entrance as he talked.

“Hmm,” you mused, bringing a finger to your lips while he guided your bodies to the door and pulled it open. “Guess we’ll have to have another long conversation. You feel like talking when we get to your room?”

Jack laughed and reached for the hand at your mouth, bringing your fingertip to his lips and pressing a soft kiss there. “Sure as hell do not.” Threading his fingers through yours, he led you up a set of stairs to a door and slipped a key from his jeans pocket, turning it in the lock with a soft click. He glanced at you over his shoulder as the door opened slowly, his expression hungry and longing. “Let’s discuss it over breakfast instead, sweet girl,” he husked, pulling you through the door and into his arms.

[yunhsuanhuang]

LOVE SONGS IN A FOREIGN LANGUAGE | YH HUANG

With apologies to A.L.

When I'm seventeen, I put a picture of Loretta Lynn in the back of my clear phone case. With the same care my best friends take in decorating trading cards of Jungkook and Jisoo, I get a pair of tweezers and my most expensive stickers, and make an afternoon out of sticking little daisies all over a glossy black-and-white printout of Loretta in the 70's. In the picture she's leaning against a tree, her dark hair long and thick, smiling at the viewer with the same unshakable confidence she's always had.

The next day, I slap my phone face-down on the cafeteria table. My friends go oh-my-god and you-actually-did-it and wait-that's-kinda-cute. We propose swapping some of our cards–I get Minho, she gets Randy– until the conversation derails to exams and teachers and the presentation that's due on Wednesday but none of us have started.

Then it's two weeks later, and when I wake up, thirteen hours after Kentucky does, I read that Loretta Lynn has passed away. A clickbait news site uses the same picture for her obituary.

Sometimes I feel like everything I love is already gone and I just don't know it yet.

-

so why do you like country music, my friend Alex asks me once.

Alex is American, but the South is as alien a place to him as it is to me– he grew up in suburban New Hampshire, after all, in an impossibly huge house bursting with beach-themed paraphernalia. America, to him, is Dunkin' Donuts and perfectly manicured lawns and the pale foam of the Atlantic cutting itself open over and over again against the sharpness of the rocks.

I squint at my phone. It's late, and I'm probably supposed to be asleep by now, but I'm fifteen and the year is 2020 and time stopped mattering somewhere in the middle of March. It's not like I have school tomorrow, anyway.

I type and retype my message for a while. Then, because it sounds about as good a reason as any, I say, idk i just like the fiddles

It's true. I do like the fiddles, and the steel guitar and the autoharp and the banjos too– the joyful clatter of it, the melody so much like flight. During quarantine, I spend a lot of time lying on the bedroom floor with my headphones on, blaring bluegrass at ear-destroying volumes. Maybe if I play it loud enough, if I squeeze my eyes shut hard enough, I can transport myself into the real thing: a honky-tonk with wood-panelled walls, heat and whiskey in the air, some familiar rhythm reverberating through the floorboards. Sometimes I even imagine myself there in the crowd, singing along.

–

In 1957, a song called Geisha Girl by Hank Locklin topped the country and western charts. It's about this American guy who arrives in Japan, falls in love with the titular Japanese geisha, and leaves his American wife for her. Well-trodden ground, both in art and in reality– after World War 2 ended, tens of thousands of Japanese women married American men for love, for money or for everything in between. Locklin's Geisha Girl became so popular that a song was released in reply to it–Skeeter Davis' Lost to a Geisha Girl, in which Davis takes on the persona of the man’s lover back home, scorning her fickle-hearted husband. As is common in reply songs, lyrics from the original are changed to fit the new perspective:

Locklin sings, Have you ever heard a love song that you didn't understand / when you met her in a teahouse on the island of Japan?

Davis sings: Why a love song with no meaning makes you happy, I don't know / I've lost you to a geisha girl where the ocean breezes blow.

A song you don't understand.  A song with no meaning. A song in a language you don't speak. What's the difference, anyway?

In post-war Japan, a whole plethora of country music bands sprung up around the country, playing American hits for homesick soldiers: Tennessee Waltz, Lovesick Blues, Your Cheatin’ Heart.. The closer they were to the originals, the better. They'd bill themselves as the Japanese Hank Williams or John Denver or Patsy Cline. The catch? Some of these singers barely spoke English. painstakingly memorising each lyric until their L's and R's sounded just right. Yet, every Friday night they'd get up on that stage and sing songs they didn't understand about a country they'd never been to. 

Just a few years ago, America had been Japan's worst enemy. But here their sons and daughters were, singing American songs, working in American jobs, marrying American men. In the present day, you could almost argue that the tables’ve turned: middle-schoolers debate anime at the cafeteria table; red-blooded blue-collar workers drive Toyotas and ride Kawasakis.

One thing that's stayed the same, though– American boys, Japanese girls. Love songs in a foreign language. Kind of a funny thing.

–

For hundreds of years, the West has been fascinated by the geisha. In Puccini’s 1904 opera Madama Butterfly, fifteen-year-old Butterfly is making her living as one when she’s bought by an American soldier named Pinkerton. He marries her, knocks her up, then ditches her in Japan while he marries an American woman. The whole time, Butterfly’s left to pine for him, and when Pinkerton returns to Japan with his wife, Butterfly stabs herself so that her son will be able to live in America with his father. 

(Pinkerton, as you can probably tell, is kind of an ass.)

I keep thinking about Butterfly in that lonely, empty house in Japan, waiting for someone who didn’t love her back. I keep thinking about Alex: Alex and his horrible stupid round glasses and his old embarrassing love of Panic! at the Disco and his stupid cringe emojis, Alex who’s still the smartest person I know, Alex who was the first guy to ever pay attention to me. When I’m sixteen, I think about him almost constantly, a constant hum of obsession in the back of my head. I know I’m in love with him because that’s how all the songs go: Randy Travis declares that it’s deeper than the holler / stronger than the river; Deana Carter says it’s bittersweet / green on the vine; Keith Whitley confesses that it’s what I hear when you don’t say a thing.

Alex asks me, so what do you like about country music? And I don't know what to say to him, so I say nothing at all.

–

They read it in the tea leaves and it's written in the sand

I found love by the heart-full in a foreign distant land

–

Alex likes Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings, the outlaws and the jailhouses and the pistols at the hip.  My classmates like the feminist murder ballads, where they think she did it but they just can't prove it, where afterwards the girls sell Tennessee ham and strawberry jam / and they don't lose any sleep at night. I personally have a fondness for the silly and unserious: Alan Jackson extolling the virtues of grape snow cones, George Strait selling me the Golden Gate.

In the end, though, what I end up listening to most are the old songs– the really old ones, all the way back to the dawn of recording, the Golden Age of the radio.  These songs, collected in the 1920s and 30s, are impressively varied in lyrical content: you’ve got the ones that are basically a soap opera stuffed into three minutes flat (Lorena, My Heart’s Tonight In Texas); the religious ones (Anchored in Love, Will the Circle Be Unbroken); the relatable ones (Give Me Your Love); the unrelatable ones (The Dying Soldier, No Depression In Heaven). What I like about them, I guess, is the familiar hiss of the vinyl, the way the lyrics are both specific and universal at once, their ability to make a time and a place that you’ve never been to before feel, inexplicably, like home.

Alex and I aren't anywhere near poor– his parents are both surgeons, and I spend my evenings trying not to fall asleep in increasingly expensive private lessons. But then again, neither were the Japanese country singers of the fifties and sixties, mainly college kids from elite families who could afford custom-made cowboy hats and genuine guitars. Hell, even the prince of Japan was said to be a country music fan in his youth. None of us have worked in the fields or in the mines, none of our parents have had to tell us here's your one chance, Fancy, don't let me down. We're the people Garth was referring to when he sang about that black-tie affair, those social graces, the ivory tower.

What does it mean to understand a song? How do you sing something and really, truly mean it?

–

When I'm sixteen, my fun fact on the first day of school is that I listen to country music. When I go out with my friends, I wear ankle-length denim skirts and lacy blouses and tie my hair in twin ponytails. I beg and beg them to listen to Loretta, to Dolly, to Patsy. In response, they buy me a Cowboy of the Month calendar and save me in their phones as "the horse girl".  In one inexplicable picture that we've since lost, I've got my face in my hands, trying to hide my laughter, as my friends gleefully blast a Fox News clip about Randy Travis' drunken escapades.

So maybe my taste in music is the most interesting thing about me. What else is there? I'm not very pretty, only sometimes funny, and, to my eternal embarrassment, not good at all at being Asian. If I was smarter– fine, if I was Alex, Alex with his books and essays and critical theory– I might say that I do everything I do because I don't want to be the whitest girl in a room full of Asians (lame, boring, suck-up) but the most interesting thing in a room full of white people (exotic, rare, unique). A geisha girl, dressed in Oriental style. 

Even so, I don't like to think that that's all there is to it. You can shrink the world down to words on a page, map out the complicated intersections of nations and culture and war that make up the popular imagination of America, call it pentatonic scales, the mixolydian mode. Of course there's value in that, I know– but all that stuff's a foreign language to me. You can try to explain why music sounds the way it does, but in the end you just have to hear it for yourself.

–

For a genre obsessed with authenticity, modern country music's chock-full of performers: Toby Keith singing We'll put a boot in your ass, it's the American way, Hardy singing My small town is smaller than yours, Jason Aldean singing, I sit back and think about them good ol' days / The way we were raised and our southern ways.

A geisha's a performer, too, in a way. She trains her whole life to sing, to dance, to entertain. In yet another adaptation of Madama Butterfly, David Henry Hwang's play M. Butterfly, a Communist actor seduces a French man by pretending to be a woman for years. When the actor's finally caught, he's asked how he got away with it. He responds: Because when he finally met his fantasy woman, he wanted more than anything to believe that she was, in fact, a woman.

Don't tell this to anyone else, but when I curl my hair and put on lip-gloss and toddle around in heels, wondering if Alex would like what he sees, I feel like I'm a walking caricature in the shape of a girl. When I’m online with him I simper, I preen, I ask stupid questions just to keep him talking to me– and he likes it, or at least I really hope he does. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I wonder what'll happen if I stop performing. I wonder if there’s anything left of me below the performance.

I used to worry that I fell in love with something that doesn't exist: the myth of America, the barbeques and the cornfields and the porches, the honky-tonk and the church social and the choir all singing, the cowboys on their vast, empty ranches. A place that's already gone, or else never existed at all– but what does that matter? An unreal place for an unreal girl. If everyone's performing, then no one is.

–

How much of this is true, then?

It's true as backroads and cold beer and pickup trucks. True as private jets and cowboy hats and exaggerated drawls. True as Nashville and Wallen and the CMAs. Which is to say, it's as true a story as you want it to be.

–

Tell the home folks that I'm happy, with someone that's true I know

I love a pretty geisha girl where the ocean breezes blow

–

In the months around my eighteenth birthday, my parents start screaming at each other. Suffice to say, they never really stop. I take up temporary residence in the school library instead, and spend my afternoons staring at maths textbooks while regretting every decision I’ve ever made. My exams are drawing closer. I’m sure I’ll fail them. It doesn’t feel real. Nothing does. I can’t bring myself to look at my future, I can’t, and yet like the long black train / coming down the line I know what’s going to happen when it hits me, and I know, I know– it’s not gonna be good. I start learning how to fall asleep to the background noise of things getting thrown. When my friends come over to study, they call the house beautiful. I guess it is.

On the way back from school, pressed into a corner of a sardine-packed bus, I put one earphone in and watch the sunset fall over the expressway, the heat turning the sky a gorgeous, deadly pink. Loretta Lynn sings: Well, I look out the window and what do I see? / The breeze is a-blowing the leaves from the trees / Everything is free, everything but me. The Chicks sing: She needs wide open spaces / Room to make her big mistakes. John Prine sings: Make me an angel that flies from Montgomery / make me a poster of an old rodeo / Just give me one thing that I can hold on to / To believe in this livin' is just a hard way to go.

Meanwhile, in my headphones, a thousand different stories unfold, familiar missives from some far-off place:  a son buries his parents. A wife kills her husband. Two childhood friends fall in love. A girl convinces her father to let her marry her boyfriend. A woman pins a runaway to a motel wall. Somebody calls his ex, even though he shouldn’t. A mother sells her daughter to an older man. A traveller gets on a train. The unfamiliar place names rush past. Amarillo, Charleston, Jackson, Cheyenne, Chattahoochee: evidence of an existence outside of calculus and grammar and pushing my desk against my door to block it. In my head I picture as if through a window some wide, sprawling prairie, some open starry sky, and think of Mary Oliver – so this is the world. I’m not in it. It’s beautiful.

–

(Meanwhile, online: it’s a different story.)

–

If it was a breakup, would it have been better? There's no shortage of breakup songs in country music, after all. Like, What right does she have to take you away / when for so long, you were mine? Like, I'm crazy for loving you / Crazy for thinking that my love could hold you Like, Nothing much for us to say / One last goodbye and you drove away.

Instead, it’s the stupidest, most mundane of reasons: we just stop talking. I couldn’t tell you exactly why. For me, I’m wrapped up in exams, family stuff, a clown car full of childhood friends crashing their way back into my life without warning; for him, he’s busy at Harvard, busy with his new friends and new projects and new– 

Okay. Fine. His new girlfriend.

I can’t blame him. I don’t have any right to. I still don’t know whether I actually loved him or I was just sixteen, lonely and looking to write myself into a song. Still, after I learn that he’s dating her, I fall into a haze of social-media stalking: I scroll through their Instagrams, their Twitters, anything that’ll tell me more about who he was, who they are. She’s cute, I’ll give her that, and they’re cute together, the kind of forever and ever, amen couple whose profiles are full of heart-shaped chocolates, of candid kisses and in-jokes I’ll never get to hear.

(A love song with no meaning. A language you don't speak.)

For weeks and weeks on end I dream of him, but the really funny thing is that even in these dreams he’s nothing but a spectre: texting me, calling me, writing long-winded letters in the mail.  The closest I ever get is this dream where I’m walking through his hometown, the one I looked up in Google Earth in a fit of desperation. It’s just like I thought it would be, every house gorgeous and stately and ancient, the trees barren but still grand. My hometown’s always been warm. It’s the one thing I have in common with the people in the songs, that overwhelmingly oppressive heat, the kind that sucks all the energy out of your bones. Even though Alex lives at the edge of America, Stephen King and sweaters country, in the dream it’s not cold at all– Georgia hot, hometown hot. As I run from house to house, ringing every doorbell, the roads seem to stretch out beneath my feet until the next door seems oceans and continents away. Nobody’s home. Nobody’s there. In the dream, I’m not surprised.

Sometimes I worry that everything I love is already gone, but I guess I knew that already. That doesn’t mean I didn’t love it. 

–

When I'm eighteen, my parents spend a small fortune on a family holiday to America, some last-ditch effort at holding the household together. I miss most of it, however, because the moment I step off the plane I come down with the worst cold I've ever had in my life. Thankfully, during the last couple of days I begin to feel a little bit more like a human being and not just a collection of symptoms, so I manage to go down with my family to the shore.

Maybe it's the ghost of the fever coming back to haunt me, or maybe it's just December, but the beach is bitingly cold, the evening light only just poking through the clouds. Standing there, I find myself thinking– predictably– of Alex. We haven't talked in months, at this point: the last thing I texted him was im in the us lol to which he responded Haha enjoy, and that's about it.

On some other shore, so far away we might still be in different countries, Alex is at Harvard writing essays about America– learning how to understand it, how to shape it, how to make it somewhere he can love without reservation. But I'm not him. I know, now, that I know nothing at all about America: not the blue and far-off one in my songs. but the real place, full of contradictions, land of guns and welfare and Walmart and the Free.

I keep going back to what Alex asked me when I was fifteen, when we barely knew each other: so why do you like country music? And it's only here, now, freezing in a down jacket on the California coast, that I finally have an answer for him.

I think: because every good country song is a love song in its own way.

I think: because country music is the only thing I've ever known how to love.

I think: I have stood and watched the sun rise from the waters of the sea / and I've wondered how much beauty in this cruel world can there be / My dreams are all worth dreaming and it makes my life worthwhile / to see my pretty geisha girl dressed in oriental style.

I think: does there really need to be a reason, A?

From somewhere behind me, I hear someone call my name. I turn. It's my mother yelling: “Come back to the car! It's getting cold!”

“Coming!” I yell back, and run to her.

–

Before I have to go back home, I manage to get my hands on a Shania Twain t-shirt, which honestly makes the entire trip worth it.

[alma-amentet]

Hiya, it's that Millicent anon again! Tysm for your reply, I liked it!

What about your OCs? You mentioned Loretta's daughter before, and... Waldemia? Mother Svenja? Maybe there are some others? Can you tell a bit about them?

Oh, thank you, Millicent anon! You're the best. You can't even imagine how I love your asks (multiply it by 10 at least). And sorry for late response. I'm finally having a summer break.

disclaimer: my AU is based on Age of Abundance cut ending and obviously ignores much of the DLC (gosh, I think I need a masterpost to link it when needed)

OK. My major and most favorite OCs (besides Lyra)

Arianna - Loretta's adoptive daughter. Name can be changed... or maybe no. I know there's a Bloodborne character of the same name, and it makes me doubt. Also one my oldest DnD oc is named Riana. So I tried to think of some other name, but it felt hard. Looks like she wants to be Arianna, and who am I (the one who legally changed name myself) to judge her. So...

1st gen albinauric girl, rather young. Walks with a staff. Loretta found her one day in a distant village, wounded and sick (she's been stuck there for days doing her best to survive) and brought her to Elphael. Later Arianna wanted to study sorcery and turned out rather capable of that.

Edern - found together with Arianna, then became her friend. Decorated her new staff with beautiful carvings. Before that, he was travelling with the two bandits, former servants of the Golden Order, but doubted their ways (yet felt lost and fearful to leave them). Loretta didin't like him much at first (obviously), but Edern has earned her trust in the end.

Waldemia - nothing much on her (yet), she's just there. One of Miquella's best healers. Was at the Haligtree waiting for him, was there when he returned. Been helping Lyra all the way, together with Loretta and some others.

Later tended to Miquella himself helping ease his own nightmares (he could help everyone save for himself).

Katriana - another Tarnished, a Creanrot knight in her past life. Fun fact: she was kinda jealous of Torrent choosing Lyra but got to ride him later in postcanon. They knew each other in pre-Shattering days.

Rivals at first on their way to the Elden throne, they even had several duels. But after Lyra saved Miquella and brought him back to the Haligtree, Katriana gave up her pursuit of the throne, pledged her loyalty and offered support to Lyra.

Mother Svenja - well I thought of making me a Misbegotten OC, kind and wise, like Hewg. I failed and ended up with just some 'borderline ugly' lady with few odd detalis. One day I'll try again, for now... She's the freshest OC, imagined just a week ago.

Another of the Haligtree's healers. Crucible touched, but not that much. It saved her not once, yet she wasn't fitting in well with both humans and the Misbegotten. Though I'm sure there should be much more varieties than game models, they can be really different.

Fun detail: beautiful singing voice. Got her into some trouble when Svenja was young and careless.

Tinkers' daughter by birth (they were worried for their child and choose to raise her secretly), then fled her family and hooked with a Misbegotten community. Didn't fit in there either, but was useful. Studied with a witch, that's where Svenja started her way as a healer.

Later she heard of the Haligtree and joined the party heading there. Continued her healer apprenticeship in Elphael and stayed there ever since.

I could tell a bit more about them all, but this post feels too long already... So maybe next time. Again, thank you for the ask! THis is so great, I love talking about my headcanons and stories.

[acorrespondence]

@freekicks Oh man I have lots; so many that I’m making this a new post so I don’t clog up that poor person’s replies with 50 messages, haha! Basically, it’s an expansion on the idea that everyone has headcanons/canon details that are absolutely integral to their enjoyment of the story and any transformative works based on it (hard), and headcanons/canon details that they’re fond of but could still get pretty much unaltered enjoyment out of a fic that contradicts them (soft). Obviously all these are just opinions and what I get out of the story isn’t and shouldn’t have to be the same as what anyone else gets out of it.

One thing that sort of falls in the middle of the headcanon/canon divide is Raylan’s age when his mother died. The show contradicts itself on this point several times, and so it’s sort of fungible. I personally find the idea that Raylan’s mother died when he was very young, like younger than Loretta, while it may serve the parallels between them, to be much less compelling than the idea that she died later. It’s just so much more… boring for a character whose mother died when he was ten or so to have a gross misrepresentation of who she was as a person in his mental image of her. It’s much more compelling to me if he held onto that despite direct evidence to the contrary that he was old enough to understand. Of course he’d forget the hatchet story if it happened when he was eight. If it happened when he was eighteen, that opens up a much realer possibility that he just straight up repressed it, which is fascinating. Also, I don’t think it makes sense if he grew up with Helen in the house for the second half of his life there. To me that doesn’t really jive with their current relationship. (And on a less story-driven note, I am fascinated by the idea that, if Raylan’s mother died when he was thirty, he might not have attended her funeral. Because part of him knew it would challenge the version of her he had to remember in order to maintain his black and white perception of the world.)

Obviously, the mine and what it represents is a necessary component (though the time and place less so—my Old Guard au places them in the miners’ strikes of the 30s, and I’ve read a wonderful fic where the mine in question was on a different planet entirely. However, it does have to be placed in Harlan, or whatever approximation of Harlan fits the broader setting). The boys and their relationships with their daddies is another nonnegotiable for me. Specifically, the way they grew up; different times and causes of death for Bo and Arlo can work just as well. If Raylan and Boyd don’t meet until they’re established adults, that immediately kills my interest. Their rich history is so integral to why I’m drawn to the ship in the first place. It’s a hard sell for me to have Boyd leave or Raylan stay directly after the mine, but I’ve been known to make an exception if the story is compelling enough and doesn’t sacrifice characterization.

I think Boyd’s criminal history is important, though the nature of it less so. And even more important is the fact that Boyd never really makes it big as a criminal—making him some kind of fief lord of crime makes him much less interesting to me. His plans only succeed inasmuch as he always manages to survive their unraveling. I think it’s important that he’s spent time incarcerated. I’m not a huge fan of stories where they meet again outside of Harlan and never go back, it takes away the central tension between them and the place that made them that Raylan so struggles with and Boyd embraces so wholly, which for me is a really interesting part of their relationship, this dichotomy. I also don’t care for stories that give them a ton of good friends outside each other, or casual friends who actually know them and hang out with them—they’re too big of assholes for that. Of course, this doesn’t include the characters they’re close with in canon; I love Raylan and Rachel’s friendship, in particular, and their understanding of each other despite their vast superficial differences is fascinating. I guess I should say instead that I don’t buy either of them having typical friendships, period. They’re just too weird and fucked up for that. They trauma bonded at nineteen and it continues to be one of the most important relationships in either of their lives. Winona puts up with Raylan’s relational weirdness for love; no one is doing that for their drinking buddy. So they may have close friendships, but they don’t look the way you’d expect.

I’d never make their relationship uncomplicatedly sweet and unfraught, or sand down the kind of feral edges of it, and I don’t think they’d be much for traditional PDA—I just love the way in canon the physical (and otherwise) manifestations of their intimacy are so outside of what’s expected from buddies OR lovers. In the same vein, I don’t love it when Raylan goes crazy with the terms of endearment, because he doesn’t use them much with his love interests in canon. I have him use them with the girls in heavy heart more as verbal tics he picked up after spending too much time around Boyd, who LOVES to use them, plus I think he models at least some of his displays of parental affection after Helen, who canonically calls him “honey”. I’m fine with Boyd throwing endearments around liberally; I just don’t do it in my own fics because I love the way in canon he twists Raylan’s name itself into almost an endearment. He just can’t stop saying it every other sentence, so why would he give up the chance to say it by replacing it with another word? Plus, it fits in with how weird they are about each other in general.

More broadly, I have never really enjoyed full aus (based on any story) that don’t try to approximate at least the broader beats of place and history from canon, but I really really love stories that manage it. I respect authors who can sort of map canon onto a completely different stage, like the space au mentioned above, so much. I hope that I manage that at least somewhat with catching bullets.

That’s all the big ones I can think of at the moment, though I’m sure there’s more I’ve forgotten (most of the rest fall more under ic-ness vs ooc-ness, which is harder to articulate; “what makes them themselves?” is a much more difficult question). Ultimately, I think probably a lot of these come across through cross-referencing both of my WIPs—basically, if it shows up in both, there’s a very good chance it’s a nonnegotiable for me, and if it changes between the two, then I can obviously live without it.