#modern simple drawing room design

[cloudtransprncy]

Desk

IVE Gaeul x Male reader | 4647 words Part 1 of ? Tags: Oral Fixation, Bratty GF, Teasing, Semi-Public Risk, Deepthroating, Spit Play, Messy, dirty, head.

You're locked into a late-night Valorant grind with the boys, but Gaeul has other plans. With teasing glances, a knowing smirk, and a slow descent under the desk, she dares you to stay focused—except she knows you never win against her.

The monitor’s light spills into the dimly lit bedroom, merging with the deep purple glow from the LED strips running along the ceiling. The rhythmic clicking of the keyboard mixes with the muffled voices from Discord, filling the room with an ambient hum. You’re leaned back in your gaming chair, its ergonomic shape supporting you as you shift slightly, adjusting your position. Loose shirt draping over your frame, fingers moving fluidly across the keys, you call out plays with the boys.

The faint scent of fresh linen from your undone sheets lingers in the air, the bed tidy but lived-in, a slight contrast to the sleek, modern aesthetic of the rest of your space. The game’s reflection flickers across the sleek, minimal art on your walls—fractured neon streaks from a custom Vandal skin shifting with the movement on-screen. Sleek frames devoid of any band posters enhance the modern aesthetic, while a small collection of Funko Pops stands neatly on a floating shelf, their colorful forms a playful contrast to the room’s sharp design.

The match is tense, but the banter is casual—friendly jabs, loud reactions, the usual chaos of a night grinding Valorant.

“Bro, how’d you miss that?!” one of the homies shouts, half-laughing.

“Relax, I got this,” you mutter, adjusting your aim. Your screen flickers with movement, and you line up the perfect shot. “Headshot. Easy.”

The boys erupt in a mix of cheers and mock complaints, but before you can ride the high of the play, the door creaks open, the soft sound barely cutting through the steady hum of your PC fans. 

Instinctively, your fingers flick over the keyboard, hitting the hotkey that mutes your mic—just in case.

Gaeul steps in.

Your eyes flick to her, and for a second, your brain lags like a bad connection, your pulse stuttering as if your body is catching up to what your eyes are seeing. A flush of warmth spreads through your chest, your grip tightening on the mouse as your mind scrambles to register the sudden shift in atmosphere. She’s stealing your breath before you even realize it.

Her black cropped tank top clings to her, spaghetti straps exposing her toned shoulders, the smooth curve of her collarbone, and just enough of her creamy, flawless abdomen to make your throat dry. Her skin glows under the purple LED light, soft and inviting, each inch begging to be touched. The shorts she wears showcase her long, silky legs, every movement making the light catch the supple smoothness of her thighs, leaving little to the imagination. A pair of simple socks cover only her feet, emphasizing the bare elegance of her form. Her hair is tied up, loose strands falling around her face in a messy yet intentional way, the wisps framing her delicate features. Her full lips slightly parted, painted with a soft hue that catches the dim lighting. The contrast between the sharpness of her jawline and the smoothness of her skin is striking, making her look effortlessly stunning even in the simplest setting.

She doesn’t say anything at first. She lingers in the doorway, her gaze flickering over you, lips pressing into a playful pout. Then, with a slow, deliberate sigh, she finally flops onto your bed dramatically, stretching like a cat, her arms extending above her head. The motion makes the fabric of her tank top shift slightly, hinting at the tautness of her stomach.

Her movements are relaxed, nonchalant, as if she isn’t trying to draw attention to herself. She rolls onto her stomach, kicking her feet behind her lazily, her cute rear forming soft, tempting hills under her shorts. Her fingers idly scroll over her phone screen, her expression neutral, almost detached. She shifts slightly, her toned legs flexing as she shifts position, before finally speaking up.

“Babe.”

You hum in response, still locked onto the screen.

“I’m horny.”

Your grip on the mouse tightens, but you force a chuckle. “Yeah? Sucks to be you. I’m with the homies right now.”

She groans dramatically, causing you to glance over, and the sight nearly makes you miss your next shot. She's biting her finger absentmindedly, her gaze fixed on her phone, but it’s the way her tank top strap has slipped off her shoulder that catches you. The loosened fabric barely clings to her, revealing just a teasing glimpse of her collarbone and the soft swell of her cleavage. Her lips part slightly, her teeth grazing the tip of her finger as if lost in thought, though you know better—she knows exactly what she’s doing.

She sighs, getting up from the bed, the movement slow, deliberate. Her sock-covered feet shuffle lightly against the carpeted floor as she makes her way towards you, her presence growing impossibly closer. She drags a hand down her stomach lazily, adjusting her tank top as if unaware of your eyes on her, though you know better.

As she reaches your left side, she leans in, and the familiar, clean scent of cherry drifts over you—subtle yet distinct, a fragrance that clings to her skin, comforting in its familiarity. It mixes with the warmth of her body, the closeness making your breath hitch as she presses just slightly into your space, her presence wrapping around you effortlessly.

“Come on,” she murmurs, reaching up to gently tug your headset back, just enough to expose your ear. She nuzzles against your neck, her lips hovering close, her breath warm as she inhales softly, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine.

You swallow hard, your focus slipping.

She moves fluidly, settling just behind you, her arms draping lazily over your shoulders. One hand trails across your chest, her fingers tracing slow, feather-light patterns, while the other lingers at the edge of your headset, still tilted from her tug. She tilts her head slightly, pretending to check something on her phone again, the glow reflecting on her smooth skin. You almost think she’s given up—until she suddenly shifts closer, her fingers ghosting over your wrist before she reaches for your headset, her lips curving into a knowing smirk before she glances at you through her lashes, biting her lower lip absentmindedly. Then, with deliberate ease, she shifts her hips subtly, pressing against you just enough to make you notice. Her lips hover just beside your ear, her voice smooth, teasing, sinking into your skin like warm honey.

“I don’t need much,” she breathes, her voice dropping to a near-whisper, but just before the words slip into your ear, she pulls back slightly, letting the moment hang between you. Then, suddenly, she leans in closer again, her lips brushing just faintly against your skin as she whispers the last word, the sensation sending a deep shiver down your spine, as if she’s already won.

You inhale sharply, fingers hovering over the keys, willing yourself to stay focused. It’s just Gaeul being Gaeul, you tell yourself. She loves to mess with you. But the warmth of her breath, the way she moves without even trying—it’s getting harder to pretend you’re unaffected. Your fingers hesitate on the keys. Just for a second.

She sees it.

The smile she gives you is soft—knowing, smug, just a little bit spoiled.

Her hands drift down, playing with the hem of your shirt, her nails grazing your stomach lightly, sending a wave of heat coursing through your veins. A sharp exhale escapes you before you can stop it, your muscles tensing under her touch. The sensation is maddening—just enough to tease, to remind you of how easily she can unravel you. Your mind races, fighting between keeping your cool and giving in to the way she’s setting every nerve in your body on fire. The feeling sends an involuntary shiver up your spine.

You try to focus, try to keep your cursor steady, but she’s right there—warm, teasing, a living distraction you can’t ignore. You know exactly where this is going. And you should stop her. You should. But when have you ever been able to tell Gaeul no?

Your character moves erratically on-screen, and one of the guys on Discord notices.

“Yo, what was that flick?”

You clear your throat and adjust your mic. “Slipped.”

Gaeul giggles, her warm breath ghosting over your skin. She nuzzles against your neck briefly, then tilts her head, her lips brushing softly against your cheek instead, a fleeting yet deliberate touch that lingers just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Come on,” she whispers. “I promise I won’t be a bother.”

She shifts slightly, fingers trailing down your chest before gripping the edge of your shirt. ‘Maybe I should just sit here instead,’ she muses, voice laced with amusement. You brace yourself, already anticipating the warmth of her weight on your lap, but she smirks.

You exhale through your nose, but you don’t object.

That’s all she needed —and sinks to her knees instead.

And just like that, she disappears under the desk.

Your heart kicks up a notch.

The second she disappears under the desk, your heart rate spikes. She shifts beneath you, adjusting herself before pausing. No touch, no teasing—just the warmth of her presence lingering between your legs. The lack of contact makes it worse. Your pulse thrums in your ears, waiting, expecting. The seconds stretch unbearably. Then, finally, her fingertips graze your thigh, featherlight, sending a ripple of heat straight to your core. Your breath comes just a little faster, anticipation creeping into every inch of your body. You sit up a little straighter, adjusting in your chair as if that will somehow help you keep your composure.

Her hands, warm and soft, brush along your thighs, fingertips featherlight at first before pressing in with teasing intent. She’s taking her time, letting you feel every little touch, every stroke of her nails against your sweats. Your grip on the mouse tightens as you glance at the screen, trying—failing—to focus on the game.

She palms you slowly, deliberately, the heat of her hand pressing through the fabric in lazy, teasing strokes. It’s maddening. The kind of slow torture only she could get away with. Your jaw clenches, but you force yourself to stay still, barely shifting in your seat as you adjust your headset.

The boys on Discord are still talking, oblivious to the way your body tenses under her touch. One of them cracks a joke, and you let out a forced chuckle, hoping no one hears the slight waver in your voice.

Then, Gaeul pauses, dragging it out. She blows warm air over you first, waiting, making sure you feel the anticipation crawling under your skin. A quiet hum leaves her lips as she rests her cheek against your thigh, her breath steady, unhurried. You feel her smile against you before she finally moves.

With a slow, deliberate motion, she hooks her fingers into your waistband and tugs down—not too fast, not too slow, just enough to make you lose your breath.

Cool air rushes over you for all of a second, and the relief is immediate—skin stretching, blood thrumming as your hardness finally breaks free from its constraint. The sensation is dizzying, your cock pulsing as it fully unfurls, heat rushing straight to your core. Before she does anything else, she pauses, taking in the sight of you—her breath hitching slightly, her fingers ghosting over your length in reverence.

She nuzzles against it, pressing soft, lingering kisses along the side, her warm breath sending another shudder through you. She’s told you many times before how much she loves sucking your cock, but whenever she’s actually doing it, it feels like more than that—like she’s worshiping you, indulging in something she can’t get enough of. She’s savoring every inch before she even begins. A soft hum escapes her, as if just having you like this is enough to satisfy her. Only then do her lips part, and she finally takes you in.

Wet. Warm. Hot.

The first flick of her tongue sends a sharp jolt of pleasure up your spine. Her lips wrap around you, slow and firm, dragging along your length with teasing precision. The suction is just right, enough to make your fingers twitch over the keyboard. It starts clean, controlled, but soon the warmth of her mouth deepens, her spit coating every inch. You glance down between ragged breaths, watching as she slowly drags her tongue from the base to the tip, only to scoop up the slickness pooling at your crotch, bringing it back to the top with a slow, deliberate stroke.

Your hand flies to the mute button.

The first few slow, obscene strokes of her tongue make your head tip back slightly, your fingers gripping the edge of the desk. It’s wet, so wet, messy from the start.

She doesn’t hold back. Not today.

Her tongue glides firmly along the underside, tracing every vein, her movements deliberate as she circles the tip before enveloping you again, her lips stretching around your girth with practiced ease. The lewd sound of her lips smacking around you is barely muffled under the desk, but it’s enough to make your stomach tighten.

You will yourself to stay composed, to not give anything away, but it’s a losing battle.

She’s relentless—her mouth hot and soft, taking you deeper each time, her spit slicking every inch of you. She bobs her head with a slow, steady rhythm, a mix of suction and slippery, messy tongue work that makes your breath stutter.

You will yourself to focus, force your fingers to keep moving on the keyboard, but it’s useless. You tell yourself to think about the match, about the callouts, about anything but the heat pooling in your stomach. But then her breath ghosts over you again, and it's like a wire short-circuiting in your brain. Your grip tightens on the mouse, but the effort is futile—your body betrays you, drawn irresistibly to the way she moves, to the slow, maddening rhythm she’s building beneath you. The second her lips ghost over the fabric, you’re gone. The game, the boys on Discord, the match—it all fades. Your only reality is her, beneath the desk, and the slow, maddening heat pooling in your stomach. Your breathing grows heavier, and it doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Yo, you good?” one of your friends asks.

You clear your throat, forcing a neutral tone. “Yeah, just—uh, adjusting my seat.”

Beneath the desk, Gaeul giggles, and the vibration of it alone makes your stomach clench. Then, she spits, warm and thick, letting it drip down your length before she spreads it with her tongue. A wet, filthy glide.

A sharp inhale rushes through your nose. Your free hand tightens on your thigh. God.

She deepens her rhythm, her mouth molding around you, her cheeks hollowing as she sucks with more urgency, a wet, obscene symphony filling the space beneath the desk. The slick sounds grow louder, more obscene, as spit pools and dribbles from the corners of her mouth, coating your length in a messy sheen. A soft gag stutters in her throat, and when she pulls back slightly, her breath is ragged, chest rising and falling as she pants through the high. For a brief second, her eyes roll back, dazed, before she collects herself with a quiet, needy hum.

Then, she spits again, slow and deliberate, watching the saliva trail down before she gathers it with her tongue and takes you in once more. Some of it drips onto the chair, smearing across the leather, but you don’t care—your mind too fogged with pleasure to register anything beyond the mess she’s making of you. Sloppy. Wet. No hesitation. Her throat clenches around you before she pulls back, eyes fluttering as a garbled moan escapes her, her breath labored. She lets another thick strand of spit fall, her fingers smoothing it down as she strokes you with both hands, her grip greedy, insatiable. Then she goes back in, her nails digging lightly into your thigh, like she’s steadying herself, like she’s getting lost in it.

Your cursor drifts aimlessly on-screen, and the boys notice.

“Bro, what are you even doing? We’re losing.”

You blink rapidly, forcing yourself to refocus. “Shut up, I got this.”

But you don’t. Not when she’s like this. Not when she’s ruining you beneath the desk, her tongue flicking, her lips tightening, her throat swallowing around you just enough to make your vision blur.

Your next move is purely instinct. Your hand finds the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair as you press her down just a little more. She hums in approval, her lips glistening, strands of spit clinging between them as she lets her drool drip deliberately onto your skin, smearing the mess with slow, deliberate kisses. Then, her throat tightens as you push just a bit deeper, the tip hitting the back of her throat, making her gag around you.

The air around you is thick, tainted with the intoxicating mix of her hot breath, her saliva, and the lingering scent of her cherry perfume. It clings to your skin, seeps into the fabric of your chair, wrapping the space in something primal, something undeniably filthy. It’s overwhelming, making your head swim, as if the very atmosphere is charged with the evidence of everything she’s done to you.

You bite down on your lip, head tipping forward as pleasure crashes through you. Then she pulls back with a lewd, messy gasp, a wet pop breaking the tension as she stares at you, her composure long gone. What started as slow, deliberate control has unraveled into something raw and desperate. Her breath comes in ragged gasps, her lips swollen and slick, spit clinging to her chin and trickling down her throat. She blinks, dazed, before a quiet whimper escapes her, her body shivering like she’s addicted to the taste of you. Her eyes roll back slightly, lids fluttering as if she’s dazed, drunk on the feeling of having you in her mouth. She pants softly, her breath ragged as she collects herself, a cough slipping out before she snorts, shaking her head slightly like she’s high off it.

A hum of satisfaction vibrates in her throat before she spits on you again, her hand wrapping around your slick length. She strokes you slow, loud, and proud, her fingers working you with a deliberate pace. Looking up at you from under the desk, she looks utterly wrecked—lips swollen and slick, spit trailing down her chin, her eyes glassy and dark with hunger. Drops of saliva dot her chest, some clinging to her collarbone, dampening the fabric of her top. She pants softly, her breath shaky, as both hands work you with slow, messy strokes, her fingers coated in the evidence of her own devotion.

Muted again.

She’s winning. And she knows it.

Your thighs tremble as Gaeul keeps stroking, her grip firm, fingers gliding over your slick length with a slow, almost lazy confidence. Her breath is uneven, hot, little moans slipping past her lips as if she’s lost in the act itself, dazed by the sensation of having you in her hands. Her spit coats every inch, her palm twisting just right as she drags it up and down. Her eyes stay locked on yours, her smirk hidden behind the mess she’s made of you.

She doesn’t just stop there.

Gaeul lets your cock rest against her tongue for a moment, her eyes locked onto yours, dark and hazy with need. She holds it there, savoring the weight of you, before spitting thickly onto it, her lips parting just slightly as if mesmerized by the sight. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, she slaps it against her wet muscle, the obscene sound cutting through the heavy silence between you. The sound is obscene, sticky and loud in the quiet room. She giggles, flicking her gaze up at you from under her lashes, her fingers still stroking steadily as she tilts her head slightly, as if daring you to break.

And then she goes lower. All the way down.

Her lips trail to your base, kissing, licking, before her tongue glides further—dragging along your balls, her breath warm and heavy against your sensitive skin. She pauses for a moment, savoring, letting her lips graze over them before she sucks one into her mouth with a messy, drawn-out slurp. A deep, muffled moan vibrates through you, the sensation sparking along your spine.

You shudder, thighs flexing, your fingers tightening involuntarily as she hums against you, relishing every second, her tongue swirling, teasing. Her eyes flutter closed as if she’s lost in it, indulging herself, her own pleasure evident in the way she sucks greedily, releasing with a wet pop before shifting to the other.

She breathes out a small laugh, breathless, her lips slick as she licks back up, dragging her tongue purposefully before kissing back down, making sure every inch of you is drenched in attention. She doesn’t stop stroking, her grip tightening as she jerks you in slow, deliberate motions, the slick warmth of her saliva spreading over every inch. Her palm glides with a perfect mix of pressure and indulgence, squeezing just enough to make your thighs tense. The wetness pools, smearing between her fingers, dripping down in messy trails, but she doesn’t slow—if anything, she seems to revel in it. Every stroke makes an obscene sound, every twist of her wrist drawing you closer to losing it.

She releases you with a pop, licking up the entire length before wrapping her lips around you again. This time, she doesn’t tease. She dives in.

Your body tenses as her throat tightens around you, her free hand rolling your balls in her palm as she bobs up and down with an unrelenting pace.

It’s overwhelming.

Her movements are fast, ruthless, each descent pushing you deeper into her throat. She takes you over and over, no hesitation, no mercy. Her moans turn breathier, more frantic, as if she’s unraveling with every greedy suck, every eager, wet drag of her lips, lost in the heady rhythm of it all. Her thighs squeeze together involuntarily, a faint tremor running through, completely lost in it. Her fingers twitch slightly, gripping your thigh tighter for balance, her breathing faltering between moans, her body responding instinctively, greedily, to the act itself. Her tongue presses against the underside, rubbing against that sensitive spot as her lips stretch around your girth. Tears prick the corners of her eyes, spit dripping from her chin, but she doesn’t stop.

She can feel it. You’re right there. Your thighs twitch, seizing in tight, instinctive pulses, the tension sparking through you like an exposed wire. A hushed moan slips past your lips, unbidden, as your breathing catches. Her nails dig into your thigh, her body shuddering, her eyes rolling back for a brief second as she gags around you, spit bubbling at the corners of her lips. It’s filthy, it’s intoxicating, and she looks like she never wants to stop.

She grips your thigh, steadies herself, and swallows you whole, her throat convulsing around you in quick, desperate gulps. The wet heat, the tight pressure, the sound of her gagging and moaning all at once—it shatters you.

Your head tips back, mouth falling open in a silent cry as your hips jerk forward involuntarily. Pleasure crashes over you like a tidal wave, blinding, unstoppable. Your muscles go taut, your grip tightening on the desk as your breath catches, lost in the sheer intensity of the moment. Thoughts scatter, dissolve into nothing but the heat of her mouth, the desperate pull of her throat, the way your body surrenders completely to her. The first pulse erupts deep inside her, and she moans around you, swallowing greedily as if she’s desperate for every last drop. The thick warmth shoots down her throat, and she takes it all effortlessly, her lips sealed tight, sucking you through every wave. Her body trembles, her exhale shuddering slightly as she savors the taste, the sensation.

A blissed-out hum escapes her, reverberating through you, her eyes fluttering in a heady trance, completely overtaken by the moment. Even after you’re drained, she stays there, swallowing once more, her lips still wrapped around you as if reluctant to let go. Finally, she pulls back, her tongue flicking out to clean up anything left behind, her lashes heavy, her gaze hazy with satisfaction. Only then do you finally look down, watching her beneath the desk.

She’s on her knees, her body slumped slightly, as if she’s been completely overtaken by the moment. Her hair is a mess, strands clinging to the damp sheen on her flushed skin. Her tank top is a disaster, the thin fabric darkened in places, speckled with spit, barely hanging onto her frame. She looks utterly ruined—stunning in her disarray, a vision of chaos and need, her lips still slick, slightly parted as she catches her breath. There’s something almost innocent in the way she gazes up at you, juxtaposed with the depravity of what she’s just done. And yet, she’s still hungry, still savoring the taste of you, a soft, breathy hum leaving her lips as she drags her fingers over your oversensitive skin, enjoying how you twitch under her touch.

Your fingers grip the desk like a lifeline, chest heaving, body wrecked.

And when she finally pulls away, a string of spit still connects her lips to your spent length, her expression smug as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

The boys are still talking. The match is still going.

You don’t even know who’s winning anymore.

Your hand is still gripping the mouse, your fingers twitching slightly as you struggle to recover. The warmth of her breath still lingers on your skin, her presence under the desk unmistakable.

Your legs feel like jelly. Your entire body is still pulsing from the aftershocks, and you barely process the sound of your friends in your headset. When you finally force your fingers to move, they don’t feel like your own

You clear your throat, exhaling hard through your nose before unmuting. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“Bro, you disappeared for a sec,” one of your friends laughs. “What happened?”

Gaeul leans forward, resting her chin on your thigh, her fingers tracing light patterns against your oversensitive skin. She looks up at you, amused, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Just… needed a breather,” you manage, voice hoarse.

A chuckle from your homies, some light teasing, but they move on, diving back into the game.

Gaeul, however, doesn’t budge. Her eyes remain locked on you, heavy-lidded, her lips still slick and parted as if savoring the moment. A satisfied smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth, but there’s something else there too—an insatiable hunger, a quiet challenge lingering in her gaze, like she’s not quite done with you yet.

You exhale, still reeling, and finally push your chair back slightly, giving her space. Gaeul stretches out lazily, her body still humming from everything she’s just done, then crawls out from under the desk with slow, unsteady movements. Her tank top clings to her skin, damp, wrinkled, barely hanging onto her shoulders. With a small, bratty huff, she tugs it back into place, though it does little to fix the absolute mess she’s become.

Before you can react, she leans up and presses a kiss to your cheek, soft and fleeting, but the smirk tugging at her lips betrays the false innocence of it. "Next time, I’m riding you," she murmurs, voice still thick, breathless, her words dripping with amusement. "Let’s see how well you mute then."

Your fingers tighten on the mouse.

Game over.

AN: I was gone and stopped writing and thinking of shit, had some changes in my life, but im back to writing again. Keep an eye out I got some more ready to go

[buglass]

Funny How Time Slips Away - Chapter 3

Summary: By 2025, America is under an authoritarian dictatorship in an alternate dystopian future. To sustain the economy, one of the few tricks the government has permitted is biological advances allowing the biggest stars in entertainment to be cloned, trained, and sold to the masses as they once were before. At long last, Elvis Presley’s DNA is next to be developed and brought back to life. Melody Cunningham, a developmental biologist, questions over time if what Truman Laboratory and the government are doing is ethical. Risking her career and life, she must decide if enough is enough to help the new Elvis escape. Pairing: Elvis Presley x Melody Cunningham!Black!OFC WC: 6.8K Warnings: 18+, Authoritarian/dystopian society AU, infringing upon bodily autonomy, cloning, smut, paranoia, & anxiety.  A/N: I’m so happy people are enjoying this oddball take on what it is to be a celebrity in the modern age even after death. Sorry it took so long after the first two chapters! Slightly rough start to the month but I’m hoping this long chapter will help. Enjoy.

Read chapter 2 here.

The dressing room air carried the thick scent of their coupling, or maybe the smell was stuck in her nostrils and aided by her paranoia. Melody wiped herself clean with a nearby box of tissues and Elvis helped to pull and crimp her dress back into place. He was gentle in helping her do so, smoothing down her hair and dabbing away smeared makeup with a napkin. The intimacy caused her to shiver as she watched Elvis in the mirror and he picked up on her nervousness. He would give her gentle smiles, reassuring Melody everything would fall into place. 

“I will talk to you after the show, okay? They’re makin’ me socialize after with a bunch of people I’m meant ta impress,” Elvis whispered, dropping his head to press a kiss to her shoulder.

Melody wanted to look as hopeful as she did but she was afraid. She turned slowly, forcing a smile onto her face as she did. Some parts of her still felt reserved in light of their unexpected romp. She hated how Elvis had affected her in the past year and came to accept that his natural charm and charisma would make her feel things she didn’t care to explore. 

“After,” Melody agreed.

Elvis hummed, a deep sigh escaping him as he dropped his head to kiss her lips. He bit down into her bottom lip playfully, tugging at it before drawing away. They spent more than enough time together that his absence would become suspicious. Elvis had a show to put on and Melody needed to return to her seat. A few minutes passed and both were back in their designated places. Melody was sure everyone in the room and the entirety of the Kennedy Center knew what she had done. Elvis was confident there weren’t any cameras but she should have known better than to trust that the Regime wouldn’t keep a watchful eye on their new prized possession. Elvis was one of many experiments with a tracking device implanted into them the second they were big enough to insert one. Melody sighed as she forced herself to settle in between suited jackasses and military men and women alike. 

The era planned to be promoted was Elvis back in the fifties. Seeing him come out on stage was lackluster compared to his impending future. Melody felt a sinkhole developing in her stomach picturing that sweet boy in front of her becoming intoxicated by fame. Elvis was jittery but ecstatic to be welcomed by endless applause and smiling faces. He still had so much time and room to grow. There were twenty years on their side, at least, unless modern times expedited the process. The nagging feeling for Melody returned because she knew that on average, most of the clones usually fell victim to the unavoidable fate that was death. If the subjects didn’t die at the same age as their predecessors, it was either before or after.

Elvis shimmied across the stage near the front and center, his band as simple as the original Elvis when he first gained fame. Melody’s eyes drifted to the drummer, the bassist, and the lead guitarist. They looked nothing like DJ Fontana, Bill Black, or Scotty Moore but they served their purpose. Melody swallowed back her concern when Elvis looked happy for the first time in a long time as he always did when he sang. When the two of them locked eyes, although just for a second, the sparks between them flew. Elvis smirked at their shared secret and just for a second he could feel another chub growing. He was riding a high that Truman Labs couldn’t replicate. The woman he wanted craved him as he did her and so many people wanted to hear him sing. He grabbed the neck of the microphone feeling happier than ever in the past year.

Three months passed.

Melody had to watch as Elvis went on tour and he was left without knowing realistically when he could fit her into his schedule again. Similarly to the real Elvis, he was touring nonstop across the country because States—now four Districts instead of fifty separate territories—demanded the revenue and the space for a show. Most of the money went to the government but the people in those districts could benefit from the influx of a clone’s presence. Bartering became much more affluent since then, and those still willing to spend money on buying off-brand products helped stimulate the local economy. 

Work went on and someone else filled the room that was once Elvis’ Audubon home. Each new subject was still just as interesting but she was lucky to get by without being reprimanded for her inappropriate evening with Elvis. When she tried to stay behind to find Elvis after his show at the Kennedy Center, not only was she denied access but it didn’t appear he could escape his obligations. Anyone who paid for the separate ticket were the only ones allowed to visit him. If she tried to pass on her phone number to Elvis, someone might mistake her as a crazed fan wanting his attention. So she was left with images of being fucked on a couch in his dressing room. Melody would catch him on a nighttime television show that was carefully curated and ironically open to what Elvis could say or do. 

Over time, the hurt faded for her. Melody understood it wasn’t his fault and how inevitable it was. That didn’t mean she didn’t want to be a little selfish. She felt she had more than enough on her plate as it was at work and she didn’t need the blowback of falling in love with Elvis Presley weighing on her shoulders. The days went on one after the other and Truman Labs reached the point where production of clones could be slowed down as more than enough filled the entertainment industry. Melody’s conscience could rest for a while. Later in the week, just before the weekend, she didn’t feel like dragging herself out of bed. Lately, she was starting to dislike Truman Labs. Her team was expected to switch gears into Truman’s Grocery line which made her stomach twist and turn. Engineering food products with subpar and bare minimum supplements made her crave her childhood. Back when food wasn’t completely shitty and tasted real. 

Melody rolled her head toward her glowing glass clock, frowning as the number read a quarter past six in the morning. She had another hour before she had to get to work. When a heavy knock thumped at her door, she jumped. Rarely did she ever have guests besides her grandmother and her grandmother wouldn’t knock as hard. The worst-case scenario played out in her head. Someone found out or realized what she and Elvis did. Or maybe she had an unpaid fee somewhere that she forgot about? Either way, a visit from the Regime meant she fucked up. She shivered as she pushed away her covers, the cool dank cellar an unwelcome chill down her spine. Melody crept out of bed, sliding on fuzzy slippers, and grabbed her discarded hoodie once she was past the couch. 

She wished she had a peephole for once. 

Melody pulled open the door and was greeted by the expected Regime officer. He plucked his hat away from his manicured and polished haircut, the brim of his hat black and the rest of it the dreariest green she ever knew along with the tan and greens of their uniform besides the black tie. His name tag read ‘Everett’ and he cleared his throat, brows going up briefly. 

“Ms. Cunningham?” Everett asked. 

“Yes, that’s me,” Melody said slowly, holding the door.

“Well, that’s good to hear. We’ve been looking for you. Specifically Elvis.” 

“Elvis?” Melody said softly, attempting to remain passive. 

“Hey, E,” Everett called back over his shoulder into the stone stairwell leading down from the ground level of the tiered home. 

There was shuffling in the now browned and crunchy grass until long legs descending came into view. Everett stepped back as Elvis filled the space and replaced his guard dog in the doorway. Everett turned to head up the cement steps, giving them the privacy Elvis must have asked for. Melody couldn’t breathe just yet. She needed to measure the engagement and why Elvis came to her door at all after how much time passed. 

“H-Hi, honey,” Elvis stammered. 

He looked as sheepish as he did when they met and spent time together. Melody felt her cool exterior melting as she realized maybe he also felt wary of her. Though it was cold outside and Elvis wore a jacket, she said, “Come inside. It’s cold out.” 

Elvis didn’t need to be told twice. Melody’s heart was pounding loudly in her ears and chest. The basement was mostly dark except for the partial light of daytime and the sun slowly rising through the few high windows. She looked around as she became aware that Elvis was in her place and she couldn’t remember how many dishes she left in the sink or when she lazily tossed a pair of underwear toward her hamper if it made it in. Melody swallowed down some of her pride as she shuffled toward the couch covered in various blankets to sit down. Elvis followed without hesitation and sat as humanly close next to her. He didn’t lose any of that need for human touch. 

“Nice little shorts you got on,” Elvis said about her pajamas. His fingertips grazed over her thigh and she gasped softly. Melody placed a hand on his wrist though the blood rushed down in a hurry. She needed to clear the air between them. 

“I was about to get ready for work. I’m surprised you’re awake right now,” Melody said. 

“It’s about my bedtime. But I-I had to see you. We were coming back ‘round to the East District and it’s been driving me crazy not being able to see or talk to you since that night. No one would listen to me.” Elvis ranted. 

“So… It’s not that you got your fix?”

“Goddamnit,” Elvis muttered, moving to hold Melody’s hand. “No, Mel. Not at all. When I asked for someone to go back and get you, that same kid, he couldn’t. Said he would get into trouble if anyone saw him sneak in someone who didn’t pay for the Meet and Greet. Then, everything happened so fast. They didn’t even give me a phone till recently.”

Melody heard him and read his expression but if she were truthful with herself she missed him. She feared who he would meet on the road and how much his new circle would brainwash him, which was hypocritical considering that she actively aided in altering his thoughts and feelings for the benefit of Truman. 

“And that guy, Everett, does he do that often? Help you get to women?” Melody tested. 

“Does it matter? The answer is no anyhow. We just only started trustin’ each other. Givin’ the other leeway. That’s probably why he was comfortable enough to do me this favor. The guys around me have connections I don’t have when it came to findin’ you.” Elvis fiddled with her fingers. 

“I… I missed you,” Melody forced out. 

Feelings weren’t her forte but Elvis needed to know. The past three months made her sick to her stomach and she wanted to be by Elvis’ side even if they had to hide the fact. Her thoughts alternatively went to finding ways to get to him again and tell him she wanted Elvis all to herself.

“Didn’t I always tell you that you don’t have to be shy with me?” Elvis said, cupping a hand on her cheek to meet her eyes. 

Melody’s mouth set into a pout as she drank him in. He had a somewhat fading blue eye shadow on his lids that made the blue of his irises stick out even in her dim basement. Melody felt that stirring feeling in her chest and gut that told her she loved him. She loved that version of Elvis because he was sweet and stubborn. All the things that she hid away, Elvis lived it loud and proud. She was wasting time she didn’t have to spare. Melody pressed forward, climbing onto Elvis’ lap, and dropped her mouth to his in a kiss. Elvis didn’t hesitate to grab handfuls of her ass, guiding her forward into his lap as he kissed back. His tongue lapped at her, parting her lips like he hadn’t fed in three months. Melody hated that she loved the one person who would take effort to love. Her selfishness kept pulling and tugging at her, wanting her to beg that he stay and give up on chasing a dream implanted into his head. Truman Labs had a success rate of ninety-eight-point-two percent. How was she going to manage to work against that? 

Melody pulled back and Elvis chased after her. She pressed her hands into his chest and he pressed his back into the cushion. She loved seeing him that way, lips swollen and slick with spit. The look in his eyes also changed, and she wanted every inch he was willing to give her. Elvis pressed his hips upward as if on cue and she exhaled softly. 

“I need to know if this is a game before going forward. I have a lot of thoughts and a lot of feelings. I need to know if you’re doing this just to…cover your Districts,” Melody blinked, searching for a slip-up. 

“You’re the first girl I’ve ever loved. I came back to you,” Elvis’ eyes softened. “I’m not lookin’ to hurt you… I’ve been holdin’ back for so long and I didn’t get the chance to say what I-I—“

“I love you,” Melody cut in. Elvis would keep rambling if she didn’t. 

“You do?” Elvis asked in the most boyish way possible. Melody was sure, for the first time in a long time about anyone or anything, how she felt. She had too much time to think about the pros and cons. Elvis was one-of-a-kind even if he was a replication of his former self. 

“I do, which is why it’s hard for me to see you go. Why it was hard for me to be with you at Truman and I couldn’t be close to you in the way I wanted. This is highly, highly unethical… I shouldn’t entertain it because maybe you’re conditioned to feel attached to me.” Melody breathed, her eyes stinging with unshed tears.  

“No, Mel. Don’t do that,” he looked on with pursed lips. “I wouldn’t have tried so hard if I didn’t feel the same. You saw for yourself that I’ve always had a thing for you. Don’t minimize it. I love you. You hear me? I will do whatever I have to to make you happy. What will make you happy?”

“I don’t know. I can’t ask you for what I would want or need.” Melody shook her head. For the first time in a while, she was crying and didn’t know why. Elvis cupped his hands, the cool metal of his pinky ring grazing her skin. He held her face between his hands and shook his head. 

“What is it? What do you need?” Elvis pried. 

“I‘ll be miserable without you around. I need you with me. I breached my contract by being with you. It’s not only within the Lab but after. They’ll terminate my contract and I’m not supposed to speak on ever wanting to defect… But, how else am I supposed to have you? They’ll work you like a dog like they did with the real Elvis,” Melody sniffled, softly sobbing. “Then you’ll die and I’ll be without you all over again.”

“Honey,” Elvis exhaled softly as he took it all in. “This head of yours is always so full of worry. Seeing the Districts for myself, I get it. The stories some of the men that tour with me talk about are beyond imaginable. Is that how I died, because of the Regime?” 

“No. I’m not supposed to say,” Melody shook her head. 

“You also aren’t s’posed to be givin’ me a hard-on but here we are,” Elvis smirked. 

“Little shit,” Melody snapped out of it and into their usual banter. “I can’t help myself.” She grinned. 

“Neither can I. You’re gonna give me your number and we’ll figure it out. Take some leave. They don’t need you, do they?” Elvis asked distractedly. 

He returned to kissing her, moving to her neck. Melody didn’t need very much convincing to do as he said. His hands slid to the bottom of her hoodie and underneath to warm, smooth skin. Elvis groaned against her neck as he grabbed her hips and brought her weight down to grind against her. Melody could be a little late to work though D.C. traffic was a gamble she didn’t like taking. 

“And there’s no one else?” She whispered. 

“No one, baby,” Elvis answered firmly. 

“Then, let’s be quick.”

Elvis nodded and Melody smiled. They both scrambled with her hoodie to remove it and avoid being too warm. Elvis did the same with his jacket, exposing the rest of his plain button-down shirt. Melody looked down at her pointed nipples showing through her camisole, the cold of the basement getting to her quicker than she had planned. Elvis was pulling at her shorts while he took her in with parted lips. His mouth snapped shut as Melody reached down between them, undoing his zipper and pulling him free through the slot of both his underwear and trousers. 

“Help me pull my pants down. Don’t need them gettin’ caught on the goods,” Elvis joked though his voice had deepened. 

Melody obliged him and tugged his pants down out of the way. Since they were at it, Elvis pulled his underwear down, too, leaving nothing in their way. Melody wasted no time as he held the base of his cock, drawing back the skin to expose a slick and leaking beaming red tip. Melody groaned at the sight of it as she spit on her fingers and slid them between her folds. She scooted forward on her knees, using the back of the couch next to Elvis’ head to balance her weight. Elvis sucked in a breath as her wet heat teased at him, rubbing along the head with her opening to ensure the descent wouldn’t be painful. Elvis watched, hypnotized by the way Melody rubbed her pussy onto him. He could come like that if she let him. Elvis bit down into his bottom lip and when he had enough, he gripped her hip over her shirt to guide her forward.

Melody spread her legs wider, her chin tipping into the air as she moaned out. “Will your Regime dog care?” Melody panted.

“No, not at all. Let me hear you, baby. You don’t have to be quiet here. Show me how good you feel.” Elvis grunted, shaking his head. He wanted her to lose herself in the moment with him. The last thing he was thinking about was John Everett. Melody moaned again when she bottomed out, leaning forward onto the couch where Elvis rested his head with her elbows. She bounced her hips speedily, the skin of his thighs meeting her ass. Elvis’ expressiveness quickly reminded her how much she enjoyed having sex last time. Every bit of pleasure was written on his face from the wrinkled brow to how his lips formed an ‘o’. 

“This is your pussy,” she whispered in his ear.

“Goddamnit, Mel, you’re gonna make me come if you keep talkin’ like that. Slow down, slow down.” Elvis nearly begged. He breathed out when she decidedly slowed down, soon gripping her hips to control how fast she went. Melody enjoyed when he took over as much as she liked to see him become nervous about losing his wits. 

“Too much?” Melody smiled, dropping her mouth to Elvis’ earlobe to toy with it.

“You are a dangerous woman when you wanna be,” Elvis huffed. “You still have ta come yourself.”

“You can always use your fingers and mouth. But, another time. We need to finish because I have work and you need to sleep. I know you haven’t yet.” Melody said. 

She spoke just in time because Elvis decided to get her off before she changed her mind about letting them go slow. He would be damned to disappoint her otherwise. He planted his feet on the floor, asserting his hold on her waist as he fucked up into her. Elvis pinned her hips to jam the head of his cock into her G-spot, causing Melody to wrap her arms around his neck as if holding onto a pillar during an earthquake. Her moans were a lot louder, frantic, and shrill as she felt the building tension turn to expanding warmth.

“Oh, my God, I’m coming. I’m coming!” She shrieked, toes curling against the couch. 

Melody whimpered helplessly and Elvis slowed down when she moved as if she was trying to escape his thrusts. He hummed, the sound husky approval as his hand came around to circle on her clit. She jumped and twitched around him until she began bouncing her hips again. Elvis watched with pursed lips and a look that bordered on serious. Melody knew she had him in the palm of her hand now, using her leverage on the couch again to stroke the singer dry. He was grunting and his eyes shut as he shot his hot load into her, spurt after spurt painting the inside of her until she could feel it hit the back wall. Not long after did a mess form where they were connected, Elvis’ come spilling onto the base of his dick and slowly down his balls.

“Mel… Holy shit,” Elvis said at last.

“I’ll get you a cloth,” Melody said, working to catch her breath. 

Elvis stopped her as she tried to break away, reeling her in with a hand half on her cheek and neck to pull her into a kiss. For so long, she wondered how she could feel that way for a subject but Elvis was Elvis. He was still so curious and accepting even then. He might not have shared the same soul as the original but he was just as good and she was afraid of losing him because of it. No one else would compare otherwise.

“Now, go,” Elvis mumbled against her lips. 

Melody nodded only to stand on wobbly legs. She disappeared off into the tiny bathroom, sucking on her bottom lip to taste Elvis again. Returning with a dry towel, she handed it to Elvis who made easy work of his clean before handing the towel back to Melody. 

“I don’t think that was very quick of us. It’s a quarter ‘til seven. I have to jump in the shower but give me your phone and maybe you and Everett can find somewhere safe for us to meet.” Melody offered. She used the towel to spruce up between her legs and grabbed her underwear from her shorts as a temporary fix. Elvis was tucking himself away before sitting down on the couch again. He blew out a breath and swept a hand through his hair.

“Sounds good, honey. I’m thinkin’ his home. He’s originally stationed at the Pentagon and lives in Crystal City. It’ll make for a good meetin’ spot that isn’t a hotel. If I’ve learned anything, hotels have even more cameras than the streets do sometimes.” Elvis nodded, stretching his arm out over the back of the sofa. 

“When do you normally wake up in the evening?” Melody asked. More so out of politeness. At Truman, he would wake up anywhere between five and eight at night. Since he was touring, she figured there was room for that to change. 

“Lately? About six,” he weighed, his eyes focused on the bit of her stomach that showed. “Why?”

“One: you need to sleep more. Two: I think we should talk.” Melody said.

“It’ll have to be after my show. That’s if I can skate past the rest of the officers with sticks up their asses. Everyone is a little more…lenient. More than they were before at the first leg of the tour,” Elvis grimaced. “Hell, they gave me a phone.”

“Well,” Melody sat beside him, flopping as she did. “Just be careful, E. Before I forget, give me your number.”

Elvis dug into his front pocket to retrieve his smartphone. It was odd to see him in his fifties clothing with a modern device. Additionally, she couldn’t remember if it was the Regime or Elvis who insisted on wearing the dated garments. 

“I think we should use a special code word if we think something is wrong,” Melody added, clueing Elvis into her suspicions about him being watched. “Like… If something feels unsafe. Maybe there’s a camera or microphone we saw. I’m thinking… Peacock?”

“Peacock?” Elvis laughed as he watched her add her number.

“Believe it or not, you back then really liked them. Felt they were a symbol of eternal life and resurrection. I guess it’s fitting to think about.” Melody shrugged. Elvis raised a brow but weighed it as he was still a believer of God in his current lifetime and shrugged in understanding. 

“Peacock it is,” Elvis agreed.

Melody hated having to play ‘normal’ when she got to work. When she arrived, she was twenty minutes late and expected an earful from Randall. Upon arriving at her desk, a nondescript business card with a golden eye on a black background sat on her desk. Melody furrowed her brow as she looked around and slowly flipped over the card to a QR code. Her phone was locked away, probably for the better. She slipped the card into her purse as she tried to settle in. She felt like she had enough on her plate from having a morning quickie with Elvis and him being escorted by a sympathetic Regime officer. Melody’s attention was drawn to the side where two junior scientists were whispering.

“Did you hear that the British monarchy is following suit to something similar to the Regime?” The guy said in a failed attempt at whispering.

“It’s actually fuckin’ crazy,” said the seated young woman.

Melody rolled her eyes but not at them. Any other society that followed what America was doing just spelled bad news for the rest of the world. 

“Cunningham,” Randall called from the other side of the lab. 

He was the only one with an office although it was glass all around. Standing in the doorway, he waited for Melody to lift her eyes to him and she sighed. She knew it was coming and he only used her last name when he was disappointed. Melody pushed away from her desk, leaving her things and the strange card in her purse. She crossed the floor past their empty tubes where Elvis first looked at her to get to the office across grated drains. Randall insisted she step in first before the wooden door was shut behind either of them. He rounded his desk and sat back, clasping his hands together as he leaned into his chair. Melody thought he looked too smug for her being twenty minutes late. 

“Look, I had a weird start to the morning—” Melody began.

“Mel, that’s not why I called you back here,” Randall said, waving his hand. 

“Why else would you…?” 

“The card.” He said plainly.

“What? What about it? I just got in. I have no clue who placed it there—”

“Melody, I placed it there,” Randall explained away, holding his palms out. She looked warily at him because she had no clue what he was getting at but worse, she didn’t know why or what the runaround was all about. “I think you are more of a free thinker than you care to admit to.”

Melody’s mind began turning in on itself as she watched Randall closely and glanced out the windows of his office. He was admitting to something treasonable and life-ending if she understood correctly.

“At the Kennedy Center, I saw you come from backstage. Look, I’m not judging you. I think it was bound to happen. All of the tapes and time spent with Elvis, the guy knows how to get a girl. The Regime isn’t going to let you just be with him,” Randall sighed, interlacing his fingers. “You’ve been off since that night and I’m guessing his tour has something to do with it.”

“I don’t know what you think you saw—”

“Technically, I saw nothing. But, I know you’re worried about losing your job for what you feel. Whatever has happened, I think it would be bullshit to fire you for it. All I’m saying is… Consider the card. Consider opening your mind up to what life used to be like. Also, try not to be late anymore. We want to keep the Eyes Above away from us as much as possible, don’t we?” Randall said.

Melody nodded stiffly as he gestured toward the door for her to go. She shoved her hands back into her lab coat pockets once she was in the open space again. Clicking at the pen in her pocket, she focused instead on getting to Elvis in the evening rather than the implication Randall left her with. He took a big risk in opening himself up to her judgment when she could report him. Sure, Melody could lose her job, making her life more difficult. Randall could be killed in a public execution. 

Evening came after a ten-hour shift of Melody surreptitiously carrying her anxiety the entire day. She checked her phone during lunch to see she had a waiting text from Elvis:

Can’t wait to see you tonight. Here’s the address.

Below the text was the underlined address and she was reminded of how careful they had to be about what they sent the other. When she got home, she deadbolted herself in. Barely able to focus, she connected her phone to a VPN and didn’t bother leaving it connected to the WiFi. She dug the card from her discarded purse on the couch, walking deeper into her home and toward the bathroom to shower. Melody didn’t have time to waste since it was already past eight and she had to hit the road again to head into Virginia later tonight. 

Melody leaned into the sink with her back and rear pressed into the counter. She held the card steady in her palm while she used her camera to scan it. The link that appeared rerouted her to a private tab in her browser, and she worried her layers of security wouldn’t be enough. The same golden eye on the front of the card appeared and the script below it stated, ‘Invite Accepted’. Both disappeared and were replaced with golden coordinates, causing Melody to scramble for a pen and a napkin to scribble them down. The numbers disappeared after about a minute like dust in the wind and the eye returned. 

She exhaled as she pondered what she got herself into.

John Everett lived in one of the hundreds of high-rise apartments and condos commandeered by the Regime for military housing near Reagan International Airport and the Pentagon. Melody found a guest parking spot, the evening not as cool as it tended to be. Spring seemed to be trying to sneak its way into the city. She dressed down post-shower, sporting the same hoodie from this morning and baggy sweats that pooled around her clunky, sherpa-lined shoes. She squeezed at the strap of her purse as she entered the quiet and lonesome lobby. The ride up on the elevator gave her momentary peace, the space warmer than the outside. Any time she was close to Elvis gave her pause to reel in her emotions and calm down. Sometimes she wondered after a year of checking in on Elvis if she conditioned herself too.

Probably, as all guidelines were out the window with them.

Melody stepped off the elevator when the lift stopped and bounced as it did. The feeling made her dizzy. She walked down the hall, passing doors on either side until she got to the middle of the hall and double-checked her text messages to be sure it was the correct number. Melody knocked, shifting from one foot to the other. Barely two seconds later the door opened, Elvis filling up the doorway with his lithe figure. It was the first time in a while she saw him in a plain white T-shirt tucked into his slacks. Melody wasn’t complaining as the entire look cinched his waist and his hair was a little messier than normal as if he showered not long ago. 

“A sight for sore eyes. I’m getting quite the treats today seein’ you in something other than a lab coat and dressy clothes,” Elvis flirted. Melody felt her face bunching up into a smirk and scrunched her nose at him.

“Are you gonna let me in and stop oglin’ me?” Melody teased, stepping in past the threshold and Elvis. 

Elvis smiled as his eyes then his head followed Melody. He shut the door, locking it before following Melody inside. He reeled her in by her waist so they were side-by-side, using his fingertips to direct her chin up and catch her mouth with his. Elvis kissed her sweetly, the moment chaste. Melody undoubtedly needed it to remember he was real and actively working to be with her. 

“You seem tense,” Elvis murmured.

“I am. I’ve got to talk to you,” Melody shivered from the kiss. “I hope you had a good show tonight, too. I’m sorry I have a lot on my mind. Don’t let me take away from that.”

“It’s okay. Just a warning, John is in the kitchen. It’s alright though, hm?” Elvis asked worriedly.

“Okay,” Melody agreed despite her dismayed mood.

Elvis led her the rest of the way into the condo. It looked how she expected it to from a twenty-something-year-old man living alone, or so she thought. She peeked around and spotted a kid’s bedroom with the door ajar and the light off. The lights from the living room and kitchen spilled into it, making it easier to see toys and whatnot past the doorway. 

“Does he have a kid here?” Melody asked. She didn’t want to bring unnecessary strife into the Regime officer’s life and much less did she trust him to be on their side.

“Shares custody with his ex,” Elvis whispered. “It’s just the three of us here.”

The man in question was chopping up vegetables on a cutting board in the kitchen while food sizzled in a pan behind him on the stove. John was dressed down, too, similar to how Melody was, in a loose-fitting gray T-shirt that simply said ‘ARMY’ on the front of it and black sweatpants that hung low on his waist, the band of his underwear showing. The dark-haired man looked up from his cutting and gave a warm smile.

“Make yourself at home, Melody,” John said.

“Thanks and thanks for having me. I’m sorry this is interrupting your dinner.” Melody answered shyly.

“It’s no bother,” John shrugged.

“I figured this would be better than the hotel they made me shack up in. You’d feel even more jittery about the whole thing,” Elvis said, tugging Melody away and down a hall to a bedroom. “Not like they don’t know where I am.”

They entered a spare bedroom, most of the accouterments plain and solely for a guest to fall asleep. A couple of pillows, a plain dark blue comforter, and an additional blanket laid on the end of the bed. Melody felt she could breathe a little easier since they were alone and sat down on the edge of the mattress. Elvis rubbed his hand on his chin as he shut the door behind them with a soft click. He sat down next to Melody, leaning in close as he always did as if trying to read her mind. 

“Can I kiss you? Before we start talkin’ about all the serious shit you have on your mind,” Elvis asked, his tone softer than the words. 

Melody opened her mouth to speak, letting her purse slide off her shoulder and onto the bed. Her brows wrinkled but she nodded because she needed something to ground her and there Elvis was. His bright eyes searched her face for what was wrong but unable to resist having the opportunity of being near her. Elvis slid a hand up along her cheek to pull her in, his lips soft on hers again. Unlike the kiss at the door, he deepened it with every ounce of passion he concealed for the past year for her. Melody groaned into him, her palm resting on top of his thigh as their tongues swirled around the other’s. Though Elvis was getting turned on again as he had been this morning, he didn’t think it was the most appropriate to soil John’s guest bedroom by having sex. More or less. Melody could agree but she could also see herself convincing Elvis they could be quiet enough to get away with it.

“Okay,” Elvis exhaled, pecking in between his words. “What is it? What’s on your mind?”

“This card I got today. Hold on,” Melody said, turning to her purse to draw out the napkin and business card. “This was left on my desk by my boss. The napkin has these coordinates that the QR code spit out. I wonder if it changes daily or weekly. Hell, monthly. I don’t know.”

“Randy?” Elvis raised a brow, taking the business card and the napkin.

“Yeah… I think he’s part of some sort of movement. One where we would be going against the government,” Melody lowered her voice.

“Shit, honey, I don’t know if it’s a good idea to get involved with this. I’d be sick to see you get hurt because of him.”

“But, what if this is the only way we can be together? We could change things so you can have the life you want like we always talked about. Truman and the Regime will only go according to and similarly to the original Elvis’ trajectory in life. It’s sadistic, controlling the direction your life goes in…” Melody grimaced.

“Mel, while I do agree, they publicly execute people for this sorta shit. I don’t agree with what they’re doin’ to me. But I’d never play for an audience again. We’d be runnin’ for the rest of our lives and if we…” Elvis sighed, swallowing back his hesitation. “If we had kids, if I got you pregnant, they wouldn’t have a normal life.”

Melody knew Elvis was right. What if their love for one another was fleeting? Elvis was young. She still had yet to ask him what he had gotten up to in the last few months. How many other women were there? Or had he realized that it was her fault he was in his circumstances at all? 

“One step at a time. Can’t we at least see what this is all about? They censor resistance groups all the time until it’s time for them to be publicly humiliated or executed. What if this is one of our chances to change things?” Melody frowned, wanting Elvis to open his mind. But she knew. She could tell by the way Elvis looked at her apologetically that he couldn’t force himself into it just yet. 

“I’m not ready to chance it. I’m just not and I think we should quit talkin’ about it before somethin’ bad comes from it. Okay? I just went three months without you and thinkin’ you wouldn’t have me.” Elvis shook his head, reaching for Melody’s hand to hold.

“So, that’s it?” 

“Mel, I think we should let it be. Just for now. I want you to be my girlfriend. We should give it a shot and see how things play out. My career is takin’ off and I’m excited about it even if the Regime is backin’ it. I-I know that’s selfish of me but life can be good. Even better if you join me in makin’ the most of it.” Elvis said.

“I… Okay, I’ll agree only if you promise me that the second you or I start to feel the pressure is too much, we use the card again,” Melody bargained.

“You’ve got a deal, little girl. Now, can we go back out? I feel rude sequestering ourselves,” Elvis smiled, bringing the back of her hand to his lips.

“Sequestering,” Melody laughed. “You’ve been reading a lot more haven’t you?”

“It’s the only thing that makes the noise stop in my head besides the music. Come on. Are you hungry?” Elvis asked. He tugged Melody up to bring her along while the coordinates and golden eye remained prominent in her mind.

“I could eat,” she assuaged. 

Taglist: @sissylittlefeather @ccab @livelaughelvis

[spocks-kaathyra]

Cardassian egg painting

I know it doesn't make a lot of sense for Cardassians to lay eggs but humor me for a second here because imagine the culture that could evolve around it.

You know how reptile eggs shouldn't be rotated during incubation otherwise the baby will die, so breeders will often mark the top of an egg so they know the proper orientation? What if Cardassians do this too. And what if it's evolved from simple markings to, like, auspicious sigils. Like, you can wish your baby health/prosperity/filial piety/etc. by painting or stamping the corresponding symbol on top of their egg. Of course it's superstition that this actually affects the baby's fate, but even non-superstitious people do it anyway, just because it's tradition.

The substance that the symbol is painted with also supposedly affects the baby. This is a bit more scientifically sound, since chemicals can penetrate the shell and influence the fetus's development. Traditionally you'd use different kinds of herbal dye, but in modern times people are getting more scientific about it and using dyes imbued with chemicals that are proven to be beneficial to fetal development.

There are established symbols that signify different well-wishes, but of course people get creative with it. You can incorporate multiple symbols in your design, or hire a fortune teller to come up with a personalized design for your baby, or just add your own little flourishes. The designs can get quite elaborate. In modern times, parents who don't believe in the superstition of it have started painting other things on their eggs. A pretty design incorporating the baby's name, writing a letter to their baby, drawings with sentimental but not spiritual importance.

If the baby hatches in a way that doesn't damage the design, parents will often preserve the portion of the shell that has the design on it as a keepsake. If the baby does damage the design when they hatch, it's considered a bad omen, and a sign that the baby's fate will be the opposite of whatever the design symbolized.

When you walk into a Cardassian hospital's incubator room, you'll see eggs with all sorts of different designs—and some unmarked eggs, too. Those are probably orphans or bastards, babies without parents who care enough to wish them well. Sometimes hospitals will stamp those eggs with a generic, simple design wishing health. Usually not, though.

[ambiguousthoughtsinsilence]

Stalker and the need for a purpose

Modern mass culture, aimed at the 'consumer', the civilisation of prosthetics, is crippling people's souls, setting up barriers between man and the crucial questions of his existence, his consciousness of himself as a spiritual being. / A. Tarkovsky, Sculpting in Time

It is rare to encounter a work of film that fundamentally challenges the way a person views an art form  and what it is capable of doing. I first watched Stalker (1979) in the beginning of 2023, and it is probably the film that lingers in my mind the most. It combines the techniques of cinema, such as long shots and visually abstract imagery, with a poetic and often literary script. Stalker does not lend itself to simple, straightforward interpretations and explanations, rather it invites the viewer inside its own calm, meditative universe to explore the ideas of science, art, purpose, faith and desire.

By drawing from a rich spiritual foundation and Tarkovsky’s own outlook, it manages to move into the territory of a transcendent work of art, as the film evolves.  Yet it’s not explicitly religious or faith focused, making it a more compelling experience, unlike Andrei Rublev (1966), which is explicitly Christian in its nature. Whereas Stalker explores ideas of faith in the frame of a science-fiction film, making the nature of the film more inquisitive and reflective, and thus more compelling.  I have since watched the film two more times, each time with a growing admiration for it and its three main characters.  Through its beautiful script, the film has created a whole new adoration for faith as a driving force behind creating art.

The film is loosely based on a short novel Roadside Picnic by the Strugatsky brothers. The film  takes the key idea of the Zone from the novel - a mystical and strange place brought into existence by aliens - and the idea of stalkers, people who explore and guide others through this forbidden place, often at a cost to themselves. The book contains several journeys into the area and multiple characters, whereas the film only has the Stalker, his daughter and wife, and the Writer and the Scientist. In the film the destination is a room, in the book it is an object called the Golden Sphere.  By going into the Room, one is meant to have their innermost wishes fulfilled. Stalker serves as an excellent example of taking the key elements of a story, stripping away the unnecessary and creating something new in a different art form. 

The film starts with a sequence at the Stalker’s home, with his wife begging him not to go, however he goes anyway, leaving his family behind. He meets the Writer and the Scientist and after getting past the security measures, there is an extensive and hypnotizing long shot of them being on a railway cart, moving from the sepia coloured ordinary world into the vividly green and natural landscape of the Zone. It is a film that is almost three hours long, yet is composed of only 142 shots. Through utilising the function of the long shot,the camerawork makes the viewer immersed in the imagery by making the viewer focus and pay attention. Geoff Dyer has called the sequence of the film’s three main characters going into the Zone  ‘the greatest sequence in film history’. The sound design changes as the cart approaches the Zone and after a period of looking at the characters’ heads and hearing the clanking sounds of the trolley, the viewer, along with the three main characters, enters the Zone. 

  The Zone is lush and quiet, it’s a living landscape, containing hidden dangers that only the Stalker is capable of guiding people through. Throughout the film these dangers never truly materialize, they are only spoken about. This leads to many interpretations of what the Zone is meant to represent, with interpretations ranging from a post-nuclear fallout zone to life itself. 

I do not consider myself as a person of faith and have always avoided the label of spirituality, as I have often perceived it as oppositional to ideas of rationality. However in Stalker  spirituality and faith are presented in an almost spellbinding way, as a desire to resolve the tension between the human spirit / soul and the world that values the material and provable.  The dialogue between the Writer and the Scientist  is often confrontational and combative, each trying to prove their superiority to the other. However, in contrast to them, there is the Stalker’s character. He goes out and accompanies people in the Zone as that is the way he defines his purpose. Towards the end of the film, he gets accused of doing these incursions into the zone for selfish purposes by the Writer and the Stalker responds by saying : 

“Yes, you’re right, I’m a nit, I haven’t done anything in this world and I cannot do anything... And neither could I give anything to my wife! And I do not have any friends and I cannot have, but you cannot take what’s mine from me! Everything is already taken from me, there, on the other side of the barbed wire. All I have is here. Can you understand! Here! In the Zone! My happiness, my freedom, my dignity – everything’s here! For I lead the same as me in here, unhappy ones, suffering. They... They have no other hope left! And I – I am able to! Can you understand – I am able to help them! Nobody else can help them, but I, nit (shouts), I, nit, am able to! I am ready to shed tears of happiness that I am able to help them. That’s all! And I want nothing else.”

Tarkovsky once explained that for him the Stalker embodied the kind of character that he most wanted to be like out of the three men. He was someone the world saw as too weak, yet he was actually the strongest out of the three. He has a sense of faith, of purpose, one that is independent from the pressures of the modern world. He defines himself through his ability to provide hope to others, a life in the service of trying to lessen the suffering of other people.  And the purity of this portrayal of a life of devotion and clear purpose has stuck with me since I first saw the film. The Stalker is a poor man,living in bleak circumstances, yet, as he exclaims above, the Zone provides him with a space, where his mission is clear and he can help others. Upon returning home, he despairs that the people have lost their faith:

“ [..] nobody believes. Not only those two. Nobody! Whom should I lead in there? Oh, God... And the most terrifying thing is ... that nobody needs it anymore. And nobody needs that Room. And all my efforts are worthless!”

Stalker is a character, who embodies a childlike belief in the good and the possibility of humans to experience it. However, his despair comes from the fact that the commitment to the material, to ideas of success and glory (the Writer) and the purely rational (the Scientist) have led to the loss of belief, the idea that something more meaningful is possible, this breaks his heart, because, if that is the case, then what place does the world have for someone, whose reason for existing is to give others their ability to believe?

The film does not offer a neat answer to this question, it ends on an ambiguous and supernatural note, but having seen it three times, I cannot help but explore questions of faith, belief and meaning within myself a lot more and through that Tarkovsky has definitely achieved his stated purpose - to create a work of art that serves a higher spiritual purpose.

[niuniente]

I really like the use of heavy blacks in your art, was there anything in particular that inspired that stylistic choice? I works really well for DHD especially.

I just like black as a color a lot. The more the better. I think I'd be super happy if I had a completely black room with some minor details done with some other color where to withdraw into. Overall, I like simple (and modern) black design in many things. Makes sense it would carry over to my art.

From an artistic point of view, I like how comic artist Boichi draws black clothes 99% of the time only as black silhouettes. Otherwise, his art is extremely detailed and anatomically insane.

I've been thinking utilizing this style more in my own art but I have to remember that whatever is surrounded by a black, sleek mass, it gets amplified.

I also really like the simplicity of 60's-80's manga.

[what-the-fluxxation]

Originally was planning on drawing a much higher quality version of this but I got very eepy and still had to write all of this stuff..

AWM AU update nonetheless!

Rengran’s Rhizomatic Ballista

“The Rhizomatic Ballista is a relatively compact and agile weapon with an intermediate downtime. It works by accumulating rhizomatic-based electrical currents along the insides of its pronged upper and lower extensions. The central barrel spins, creating a magnetic field that builds to immense strength, then releasing a small metal projectile with violent force.”

Initially designed for usage as a defense weapon upon the Haotian Sphere, this weapon was further refined and shrunk, now commonly appearing as a fixed and compact sentry. Current models are often placed for simple defense, either able to make use of rhizomatic currents, or standard currents, firing either a piece of rhizomatically charged metal, or plain metal. Though these modern equivalents pack a punch, they are nothing compared to the Ballistae of old.

[|||||||||||||||||||||||]

Within a few years of having joined the Jie Clan’s research and development team, Rengran and his colleges were assigned to a massive project, to create defensive weapons for something gargantuan. For the first time since the mandated service several years prior, scientists flocked to the Jie Clan to help. The word was that it was some sort of satellite, the premise was appealing. The weapons were made independently from the rest of the project, so it was impossible to tell exactly what was going on. The scraps of tolerance the scientists had for each other were already wearing thin from the hyper-competitive nature of the Jie Clan’s employment system, but this project destroyed what little was left. Nobody spoke, everyone remained isolated, working tirelessly.

Weapons were tested against each other, compared by destructive prowess, energy use, and efficiency. Slowly, the amount of defensive weapons was brought down to single digits, the pressure mounting further with each cut weapon concept. The experimental weapons testing facility was growing quieter by the day. At long last, only four remained. Emperor Jietong himself was to select the weapon he liked the most, as all of the remaining weapons were equally effective. After a few minutes of scrutinizing each, he picked Rengran’s Rhizomatic Ballista. The design reminded him of the evolution of the bow, seeing it fit that this next advance be present on his magnum opus, a sign of this great project’s place as a similar stepping-stone for Solarian-kind.

Rengran was assured constantly that these weapons would be used for defense. He was told this satellite would help better understand the nature of the cosmos, aiding in Solarian exploration amidst the stars. His weapon would protect the satellites from debris. He was only somewhat surprised at an apparent promotion in the following days. His excitement began to wane as he was given a clearance badge and lead far deeper into the general research center than ever before, through huge metal doors, past guards, and finally, into a room whose ceiling was lost within haze and fog.

Absolute dread washed over him as three massive cannon-barrels came into view.

[matthewswifeyx]

Artist!Matt headcannons

Artist!Matt who draws on you to calm you down, like stars and hearts to look back at

Artist!Matt who uses you as a canvas such as making you lay down on your front and he paints on your back with water colours and skin safe pens. It was actually your idea for him to paint on you, he was so scared that your skin would react badly with his paints and pens but you reassured him the whole time.

Artist!Matt who designs yours and his own tattoos, Matt knows exactly what you want and can satisfy you with designs to your preference. Matt doesn't mind how many times you change the design or how complicated or simple it may be, he will always start over to make sure the tattoo is perfect. Matt doesn't design his own tattoos often he only does it when it is resembling you, like your nickname.

Artist!Matt who lets you colour in his tattoos, Matt loves it when you colour in his tattoos, he loves the way your eyes light up when she is given permission (which is mostly all of the time anyway). He even lets you use his expensive art pens, Matt doesn't really care if the pens react badly with his skin, all that matters to him is that you are happy.

Artist!Matt who takes you with him to look for inspiration to art galleries. Matt just complains about 'modern art' the whole time and how it doesn't represent art in its natural beauty.

Artist!Matt who is always to help you with picking any outfits to wear, being artistic and all, he has really gained a sense of style and is surprisingly good at accessorising your outfits.

Artist!Matt who always says yes to designing your new set of nails, sometimes he gets his nails painted in a matching design to your acrylics.

Artist!Matt who paints your nails when you have a period of time without acrylics, Matt does all of the research into safe products that will clean your nails nicely, and a good brand of nail polish to use.

Artist!Matt who spends months prior painting a canvas for your birthday, he stays until 11 at night to try and finish it off before you start getting concerned on why he isn't at your apartment yet. Matt also does paintings of you from memory in secret so he can have an art piece of his favourite girl in his room.

Artist!Matt who goes to any art classes that you would like to participate with him, such as pottery painting classes. Matt thinks tat it is pointless him attending as he already a pro and knows what to do, but he joins with Y/N because it makes her happy.

Artist!Matt who does small sessions with you, teaching you how to paint. He doesn't care how many mistakes you make or how messy you get, he just likes sharing his profession with you. At the end of your sessions you aren't actually that disappointed with your final piece. As Matt reassures you that it is the best painting he has ever seen.

Artist!Matt who is saving up all of the paintings that you have expressed love for, he is hoping that one day you guys will get a home together and he can surprise you with all of these paintings he has kept secret all of these years.

Artist!Matt who loves using you as inspiration, he will have you sitting in front of him for hours so he can make your features and curves perfect in the painting.

Hey guys! I hope you have enjoyed these headcannons! If you have any requests or suggestions just send me a message and I will try to get back you asap! <3

[accio-victuuri]

excerpts from this article : “Behind the scenes of "Sunshine by My Side", a story of starting over again”

"I would think, why would a young, handsome and sunny boy like a divorced female director who is going through difficulties?" The plot gives a good explanation for this question - because Jian Bing once illuminated a small, dark corner in Shengyang’s heart.

The similarity between Xiao Zhan and Sheng Yang is a coincidence

The characters of Sheng Yang and Jian Bing can be seen from their names, as well as the warm and healing relationship between them. In the initial script setting, Sheng Yang was as direct, light and sunny as his name, without so many layers, just a simple and warm big boy. However, after Li Xiao and Xiao Zhan started to contact each other because of discussing the script , Li Xiao discovered a temperament in Xiao Zhan that could be added to Sheng Yang.

This was Li Xiao’s first close contact and understanding of actor Xiao Zhan. “I found that he was different from what I imagined.” Li Xiao said that before this, she had not fully understood Xiao Zhan and just know that he is very popular.

Perhaps this is also a stereotype, giving people a sense of distance and room for speculation. But when Xiao Zhan sat in front of Li Xiao, Li Xiao felt Xiao Zhan was beyond it. "He has a classical temperament, especially like a person who came from the past, unlike us modern people who are always surrounded by all kinds of information, his energy will be scattered, but he does not seem to be distracted by the complicated surrounding environment."

While discussing scripts, Li Xiao and Xiao Zhan would also recommend some of their favorite movies to each other, "I didn't expect his taste in movies to be so literary. Some of them are really boring movies that I can't stand."

Because of this, the story of "Wei Sheng Huozhu" popped up in Li Xiao's mind, "I think there is no love and attraction for no reason in this world. In real life, everyone can feel the hormonal changes of both parties, just like someone." It’s a kind of metaphysics, but in TV dramas, the audience may not be able to feel it, so they have to do some homework on how two people attract each other.”

In this story about a young man holding a pillar, the first thing Li Xiao thought of was warmth. Jian Bing inadvertently illuminated Sheng Yang's inferiority complex caused by his father's career, and gave him some encouragement and positive guidance. At completely different stages in their lives, the two gave each other some help and met again ten years later. "Such a romantic date and a story of worshiping a girl for ten years happened in Sheng Yang, played by Xiao Zhan. It's reasonable."

Xiao Zhan's dedicated and persistent temperament adds more possibilities to the role of Sheng Yang. After creating so many scripts, Li Xiao found that sometimes when writing a character, if the actor's own temperament is not very close to the character, it is actually half the effort. But if the character is very close to the actor, the actor's own natural temperament and temperament can be used. status, that is, getting twice the result with half the effort.

"Sheng Yang has a kind of stubbornness. He will do something very determinedly and can stick to it for a long time. Including his good impression of Jian Bing, which lasted for ten years, all came from my contact with Xiao Zhan." Li Xiao said.

On the contrary, Sheng Yang's obvious external settings, such as his career as a designer, family atmosphere, ability to draw, etc., are similar to Xiao Zhan's, but it is a coincidence. Li Xiao didn't know that Xiao Zhan was a designer before becoming an artist, and he didn't know that the plot where Sheng Yang painted clouds for Jian Bing happened to use Xiao Zhan's painting skills.

During the script creation stage, director Song Xiaofei and screenwriter Li Xiao had reached a very clear consensus on "The Sun Is With Me": the story should be real and down-to-earth, rather than just creating a romantic idol-like love.

Therefore, all the scenes in the drama are designed to make the actors feel this reality. For example, we chose to shoot in Chongqing because Xiao Zhan is from Chongqing. That is where he grew up and lived. There is no strangeness to this city, and it is easier for him to believe that he is Sheng Yang himself.

Including Sheng Yang's home, the director led the art and props team to build a 1:1 replica of the two-story corridor in the studio to capture Sheng Yang commuting and returning home. In order to create the bustling atmosphere of the courtyard, the crew not only built Shengyang’s house, but also built a room in the opposite building, so that when shooting night scenes, they can put some lights in the opposite room, or the noisy background sound of the TV , to create a breath of life and set off a real sense of atmosphere.

The messy advertisements in the corridor, the rusty stains on Shengyang's bed, and even the warped walls were all made bit by bit by the prop team. Xiao Zhan came to Shengyang's room for the first time. Looking at the basketball posters and paintings all over the wall, it became clear that Shengyang liked basketball and painting. During the break between shooting, Xiao Zhan drew some paintings by himself. When Sheng Yang was happy, he also added the "air shooting" action.

"The fit between the character and the actor is very high, which is helpful to the actor's performance. First of all, Xiao Zhan is confident when he sits in front of the computer. When he opens those design-related software, there is not one he can't use. In this way I can just shoot at his hands and the screen, that kind of focus on work does not require acting, and the sense of reality comes out all at once."

When filming, the director is also worried that if the environment creates a strong sense of stage, the actors will enter a state of acting that is out of style. So in terms of reality, "Sunshine by My Side" put a lot of effort into it: for the subway scenes, we actually went to the subway to shoot them; we also restored the details of the parts at home; when we went to work at the company, we turned on the computer and saw the design works on the computer."It is this complete sense of reality that can give actors the greatest sense of immersion and security."

[cynthiaandsamus]

Rika's Room

Rika's room is full of earth tones and simple modern furniture design, somewhat bulky but sleek furniture providing more space than she needs for her well-organized collection of sharp clothing. Her walls are decorated with various awards for pokemon tournaments as well as pictures of days hanging out with the other Elite Four Members, attending Poppy's arts and crafts class, going out to eat with Larry, shopping with Geeta, Christmas with Poppy and Geeta,even some crayon drawings made by Poppy of the group that made Hassel cry, even some pictures of more notable challengers like the day Nemona beat her.

Her various suits are neatly hung in her black and brown wardrobe with a long drawer for her various gloves and glasses. By contrast her bed is barely able to be seen underneath the absolute avalanche of pillows covering it, life-size Clodsire pillows, pillows with Wooper patterns, pillows shaped like Clodsire's footprint, if it's soft and looks like Clodsire, Rika probably owns at least one of them. She cuddles with them every night before going to skeep and by the time she wakes up half of them are kicked off onto the floor and she has to assemble the mountain again when she makes her bed.

[ask-the-almighty-google]

Concept Art

Author's Note: In this AU Secret Identities are very much a thing, and as such uniforms are tailored to obscure the face in some way or another either by helmets, masks, or eyewear.

World War II

Captain America - Steve Rogers

Steve's World War II uniform was made out of reinforced carbon fibers with muted colors of the American Flag, based off of the flimsy USO Propaganda uniform worn by William Burnside. While Will is the public face of Captain America, Steve is very much the REAL Captain America (in Will's own words) and uses the uniform in the field on missions. He usually wears a leather jacket over top that can be zipped up to cover the Stars and Stripes when on base to pass anonymously as well.

U.S. Patriot - James "Bucky" Barnes

Bucky was reluctant to become a symbol of propaganda like Steve did, but after it being pointed out that he might not have a say if Senator Brandt had his way, he was keen to avoid being stuck with the moniker "Sergeant Stripes" and became the U.S. Patriot out in the field. Like Steve, his uniform is made out of reinforced carbon fiber; his color scheme is extremely muted in two shades of blue. He usually wears a leather jacket over top at all times, and he has a special wrist-mounted drop-down vibranium knife on the left arm (and yes, I blatantly stole this idea from Assassin's Creed Valhalla lol). He also wears motorcycle goggles to maintain his secret identity.

Union Jack - Agent Peggy Carter

Later in the war, Steve was insistent that Peggy be just as large a contributor to the Howlies as he and Bucky were. England was in just as much desperate need of a Hero Figure in the propaganda as America had been, and thus Union Jack was created - though her propaganda counterpart was male. Peggy's uniform is made of reinforced carbon fiber and is purposefully androgynous to obscure her gender on her choice, as it makes it more difficult to figure out who she is when on base; she wears her hair pinned up tightly underneath a tan ivy cap, regular military trousers and boots, and a leather jacket over the muted colors of the UK Flag with a black mask pulled over the lower half of her face.

Agent Rebecca "Becca" Barnes

Becca is Bucky's younger sister, and six months younger than Steve. She and Steve match each other in height and general physique, so Bucky often refers to them as the Terror Twins because he cannot leave the two of them unattended for more than ten minutes before chaos strikes. Becca wears a more feminized version of the original TFA outfit design for Bucky, and she is a very accomplished sniper.

21st Century / Modern Day

Captain America - Steve Rogers

Steve's modern uniform has bolder colors and natural leather fastenings; he has a vibranium vambrace on his right arm that can project a shield-shaped and colored energy barrier in case of emergencies. The left arm has a simple leather fastener equipped with electro-magnets to recall the OG shield to it. His modern uniform is a mixture of leather and durable vibranium-weave fabric, and the styling is a mixture of the WWII Era and a little flair from the propaganda posters.

U.S. Patriot - James "Bucky" Barnes

Bucky's desire to remain understated translates into the muted colors and heavy influence of leather fastenings in his new uniform, though he did allow for some updated alterations to be added in the interests of drawing a clear connotation to Steve's more modern uniform. He prefers a somewhat looser fit, and uses vibranium-weave fabric cargo pants and a leather jacket. Bucky also has vibranium vambraces in his newer uniform, along with a left-arm pauldron protecting his shoulder and upper arm.

Widowmaker - Peggy Carter

Captured by Leviathan - which would eventually become the Red Room Program - Peggy's autonomy was taken from her. Unable to make the Pheromone Lock work - and unwilling to brainwash her because much of her effectiveness as an Agent is locked into her core personality - Peggy was subjected to a special collar controlling her bodily autonomy. Her uniform is purposefully androgynous to mislead SHIELD over her identity, and her hair was cropped short into a more boyish cut.

Union Jack - Agent Peggy Carter

After regaining her identity and freedom, Peggy once again took up the mantle of Union Jack. She grew her hair back out and wears it in a bun for missions to keep it out of her face, and her outfit hugs her figure more snugly than her prior two uniforms to make it clear she is a woman - she no longer feels she has to hide who she is, though she still wears an eye mask to protect her secret identity. Her new vibranium-weave suit is less gaudy and more utilitarian as well as functional, and she still prefers more muted colors.

Modern Day - Tattoos

When Steve went back to Art School, he ran into a bit of a Punk crowd. He has a semi-shaved hairline at the bottom and has grown the upper part out a bit, styling it to spike softly towards the front. He discovered a love for tattoo art in particular, and aside from wearing his own designs Bucky also sports exactly one of his efforts.

Bucky's tattoo is a ring of traditional Romanian patterning in the colors of the Romanian flag on his lower left arm.

Steve's upper right arm has a Celtic infinity ring in the Ireland flag colors. His left arm has a spiraling red, white, and blue Celtic infinity ribbon starting at his shoulder and corkscrewing down his arm to end right on top of his wrist, where he wears his "watch" that can transform into his shield. On top of this ribbon are two things: An homage to the Brooklyn Dodgers, and the Forsythia Flower - the symbolic flower for Brooklyn. He also has a Celtic infinity ring in permanent Henna coloring around his ring finger.

[6em4k]

Tongbi: It’s left in his room in Wu Temple, a simple box, paper box, something clinks inside as it’s picked up. Opening it, there is a scribbled drawing of him and his sister, and signed by Mei Shin.

The other thing in there, are freshly painted shadow puppets, hand made. One of himself and of Smokey. A plum blossom left in there too, on top of a wooden mask, carved by hand as well. It’s a grinning face, mimicking his own icon, but less modern and more traditional, like another mask he knows.

It’s not signed, he knows who made these, she’s sure.

Macaque, almost on instinct, lifts the mask to his face, fingers curling around the sides -

ripping the porcelain from her skin, throwing it to the ground and watching it shatter, watching it reform against her cheek and her lips move and voice carries his folly on the air between them

-then stops short, just as the holes hover over his eyes.

She doesn't see through those holes the way he does, blurred fantasies in both her eyes while he saw the plain walls with his one. This is just a mask. Hers is not.

He pulls it back from his face, turns it to look over the patterns, to wipe his fingers across the sneering grin he's designed for himself, that she recreated for this.

His bed is a futon on the floor, smattered in pillows to create a proper prop against the wall if needed - but the nightstand the room came with has a solid corner he can prop the strap against, settling the oil lamp atop the strap to hold it in place. Something by his bedside.

The drawing, while not in competition with the puppet, gets his attention first, as he picks the paper up to examine more closely. Of anyone to owe a debt to, there were worse options than a young girl. Especially one so talented.

Lucky me, knowing so many creative kids.

He sets it aside, just next to the box, as he lefts one of the puppets from it. Macaque smiles, handling the handles, lifting one limb then the next, moving parts finally put together.

With a pleased huff, he settles onto the futon.

"Come on," He quietly chuffs, what would be yelling at a normal volume, and he moves the puppet as he does so, arm jutting forward, the hingest propping the forearm up suddenly as the doll switched it's position. "Show me the real Sun Wukong."

Or something like that - he'd have to write something down for these, so he could have a proper use of them.

For now, he'll take Smokey from the box, just to play with these some more.

[alexissara]

Quick Review: Stray Gods

Stray Gods is among the rare, the few, the musical video game. This is a visual novel/musical that reinvents Greek myth and provides a modern story about reincarnation, trauma, pain, murder, mystery and romance. The games gameplay is very simply put, making choices, there isn't more to it then that but the choices feel impactful.

I played one run with my GF and my Metamore romancing Persephone. After that run I did listen on youtube to more of the outcomes and possibilities [in particular the rest of the Freddie romance] but have not replayed it or anything like that. I feel like I got everything I wanted from the game with just that alone but maybe one day I'll revisit. We had a play time of roughly 8 hours but a lot of time was us talking over choices together or on a pause menu the game is fairly shorter than that if your playing it solo. Especially if you just lock in on one person you wanna grab romantically. Even more so in further playthroughs where you aren't going to need to ask as many questions.

The games music is good but I don't think there is a lot of stand out banger songs. Like I am not really belting these songs out in my head or wanting to rewatch the song over and over like with many other musical moments in animated series or from proper musicals. I really love You and I (Reprise) and that is the one song that atm has returned to my head. I think a large part of why the songs aren't super sticking with me though is that the tone of the songs are mostly more somber and mellow where I prefer a more action packed or upbeat song from my musicals. I do think the songs can feel a little weird because their designed in pieces to fit together by player choices but when you listen to them on the soundtrack they do pretty much all clear.

The queerness in Stray Gods is better than average, a progress pride flag exists in Freddie and Grace's room but that flag is a generic pride flag not putting a particular label on Freddie or Grace's sexuality. As far as I can tell no character uses any labels one can assume Grace is bi in so much that she can romance 2 men and 2 women but perhaps they want you to self insert your sexuality into her. Still it would have been nice to talk more about sexuality in this game especially when talking about passing down Eidolons and stuff. Perhaps it's too messy of a topic but it was something in my head. We do some a touch of unavoidable queerness with Persephone having a past lover who is a woman who as far as I know is not at all optional to miss. That said Freddie's feelings for Grace are pretty unavoidable but I know straight people aren't very smart so I do think they could somehow miss it. The game also sadly lacks polyamory despite being about Greek gods and that not making any sense.

Overall, I think the game is really well voice acted and good experience. I recommend listening to a song or two online to see if the music clicks with you because you probably won't want to play the game if you don't enjoy that since it's the main event. It's a fun time with a good cast and fairly simple. The story can get fairly dark with suicidal ideation, PTSD, Abuse, etc all being themes but for me they were all handled well but perhaps that was how we handled choices. I really like the game overall and I will probably be on the hunt for Grace X Freddie and Grace X Persephone art for however long people keep drawing it.

If you enjoyed this review feel free to check out my Patreon or Ko-fi for more stuff like this.

[steppingonyourshadow]

Excerpts from Yuli feature on Sunshine By My Side

Sheng Yang [brilliant sun] and Jian Bing's [ice] names alone tell us about their personalities and that their relationship will be one of them bringing warmth and healing to the other. In the first draft of the script, Sheng Yang was just like his name - direct, light-hearted, sunny, not that many layers to him, just a simple, warm boy. But once [scriptwriter] Li Xiao got in touch with Xiao Zhan to discuss the script, she discovered other qualities in him that she could add to Sheng Yang.

This was the first time Li Xiao had any close contact with and got to know the actor Xiao Zhan. "I discovered he wasn't much like my impression of him," Li Xiao said. Before all this, she didn't know him very well, only that he was very popular.

Perhaps "popular“ is also a kind of stereotype, one that creates a sense of distance and room for conjecture. But when Xiao Zhan sat down in front of Li Xiao, she got to experience the rest of Xiao Zhan outside that stereotype.

"He has an old fashioned disposition, like someone who walked out of the past, and not like us modern people who are saturated with information with our attention constantly wandering. It doesn't seem like he gets distracted in a chaotic environment."

When they were discussing the script, Li Xiao and Xiao Zhan would recommend to each other movies they liked. "I could never imagine that his tastes would be so arthouse. Honestly, some of them were so stuffy even I couldn't sit through them."

Xiao Zhan's single-minded focus and implacability offered more possibilities for the character of Sheng Yang. Having written so many scripts, Li Xiao has discovered that sometimes if an actor's temperament isn't a good match for the character, it can be a case of great effort for little reward, but if the actor and character are a good match and the role can make use of the actor's natural disposition and temperament, great reward can be achieved with relatively little effort.

"Sheng Yang has a kind of wilfulness, he will pursue something wholeheartedly and keep at it for a long time, including how he was able to persist in his affection for Jian Bing for ten years, all this comes from how I felt after getting to know Xiao Zhan," Li Xiao said.

Conversely, those more obvious traits of Sheng Yang's, such as being a designer, his family background, knowing how to draw, those similarities with Xiao Zhan were coincidental. Li Xiao didn't know Xiao Zhan had been a designer before he became an entertainer, nor that the scene of Sheng Yang drawing for Jian Bing would utilise his drawing skills.

While the script was being written, the director Song Xiaofei and scriptwriter Li Xiao came to a clear consensus about Sunshine By My Side: the story had to be truthful, down to earth, rather than trying to manufacture the idol romance kind of relationship.

Given this, all the shooting locations were created with the aim of making it feel real for the actors, such as choosing to shoot in Chongqing, because Xiao Zhan is from Chongqing, it's where he grew up and lived, it doesn't feel foreign to him, and it made it easier for him to believe he was Sheng Yang.

"A high degree of concurrence between actor and character helps the actor's performance. First, when Xiao Zhan sits in front of a computer, he's confident; when he opens all the design software, there's not a single one he doesn't already know how to use. So I can shoot his hand and the screen, and when he's concentrating on his work that's not a performance. That makes it feel real."

During filming the director also worried that if the environment seemed too stagey, the actors would enter a theatrical performance mode. So Sunshine By My Side worked hard on realism: the subway scene was shot on the subway, for the scenes at home all the little details were in place, and when the characters went to work and turned their computers it had their work on it. "Only this commitment to reality can give the audience a sense of immersion and safety."

[coulson-is-an-avenger]

this is the randomest idea, but have you ever considered making something where starbuck is just exploring his gender withhhh his lovers IMAGINE starbuck with a dress that mary made/helped make or design for him or ahab just being really supportive of starbuck being Gender like !!! honestly idk what this is, no need to do anything about it it's not like it's a request or anything i just thought of it and felt you of all people would be interested in the idea

oh my god. OHHHH MY GOD. NONNY. ANON. MY GOOD FRIEND NONYMOUS. I am cupping your face I am jumping around like that cat gif. HELLO.

@pocketsizedquasar and I have talked. AT LENGTH about starbuck Gender bc there is soooo much there. We personally hc him as being bigender man and woman, but any Gender starbuck is beautiful and lovely 💙🏳️‍⚧️

In canon I don't think there's a ton of room for him to fully realize he has gender stuff going on - the man can't even fully recognize his bisexuality before Dying At Sea - but in a softer universe where the 1800s are maybe a bit kinder on everyone, where perhaps he knows and sees people who are gnc/trans, perhaps he can begin to think that maybe, maybe....

I think a Lot about Starbuck telling Mary in quiet hours of the night that he wishes he were a woman so he could stay with her and her being so gentle with him about it. waaaaaa

But bro ohhhh my god Mary making her a dress 🥺🥺🥺 that is so unbelievably soft hang on,,, starbuck trying it on and getting to feel euphoria.... Ahab telling her she looks beautiful.... both kissing him on the cheeks about it....🥺 I am so fond of this i am holding them...

also I know you said this isnt a request or anything but still pls enjoy a wip of starb trying on a dress (and ahab wearing one also for support) that im very fond of 🥺👉👈

[ID: A traditional drawing of Ahab and Starbuck standing together, wearing modern dresses. Ahab wears a bralette top piece and a long, pleated skirt over a lace up boot and his pegleg. Starbuck wears an off the shoulder, long sleeve, simple dress that ends below the knees, as well as flats. Starbuck is smiling down at the ground with a soft, bashful smile, and Ahab reaches out to touch her arm, smiling softly. End ID.]

[aestheticinteriorsanddecor]

Minimalist Abstract Lady Wall Art

Enhance your living space with the Resama Metal Wall Decor, featuring a minimalist abstract lady design. This elegant piece showcases simple line drawings in a sleek metal sculpture, perfect for adding a touch of sophistication to any bedroom or living room. Its understated beauty seamlessly complements a variety of interior styles, making it an ideal choice for those who appreciate refined, modern decor. Elevate your home's aesthetic with this striking and versatile wall art.

[theblueskyphoenix]

Been wanting to do this for awhile and finally today was the day. I've seen others do wardrobes for their OCs through out the series of Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters and I really wanted to do that for Lotus. Especially with the Ghost AU in mind. Plus, doubles as her wardrobe for Our Game Now. So, win win for both timelines. Anyways, let's get onto details. ✪ Puzzle Guardian - Her outfit she would have throughout the entire series. For those not in the know, Lotus in the Ghost AU lives inside the Millennium Puzzle. She isn't trapped in their like Atem is and can leave as she pleases but usually is wandering around the rooms. She tends to the place and provides a secondary defense system for unwanted guests. She also is a voice of comfort and reason for Atem and Yugi. Helping them in their journey and keeping them on the right path. So when in there, she'll appear like this. She'll also be seen in this outfit as well outside the puzzle but not very often since it would stick out. ✪ Domino High School Uniform - Pretty self explanatory. In the Ghost AU she only wears this when she's at the school to stand out less. (XD Our Game Now she is actually a student.) ✪ Duelist Kingdom - Kind of a modern version of her Puzzle Guardian outfit to a degree. Or least the outfit has the same color palette. Very comfy and easy to move in. Especially with traveling around the island. Perfect for camping. ✪ Battle City - The outfit I usually draw her in for Our Game Now and her favorite outfit. In the Ghost AU Yugi helped her design the outfit by looking up clothes online for her to mimic. She does duel here and there but she stays out of the tournament. She's there to support Atem and Yugi after all. Not get in the way. ✪ Doma Arc - Probably her most simple outfit. Comfy for travel and keeping warm. (Also the color scheme is a nod to a certain dragon from that arc. ;) ) ✪ Kaiba Corp Grand Prix - Her most casual of the outfits since the whole time she actually got to relax for a bit. No world ending threats just a moment of normal and cheering on the boys. ✪ Millennium World - In the memory world she is returned to her clothes she used to wear back when she was alive during Atem's reign. Her guardian outfit would stand out too much so it was back to her old clothes as a means of not drawing attention to herself. (Especially from Zorc. She's been good about hiding herself up until this point and she did not want to blow it.) During the whole arc she does her best to be discreet and help the others and when the ceremonial duel comes to an end, she's there waiting for Atem on the other side of the door with everyone else to welcome him to the after life, happy to finally be reunited with her king foreverr. And that's about it. =) Very happy with how all this came out. I'd love to do something like this again with another character but we'll see. In the mean time I hope you enjoy. (And I'll see about posting an official bio for Lotus at some point with her Ghost AU version.)